Allan awoke to a rustling sound in the distance. Startled, he raised himself into a crouch. In the dim light of the early dawn, he realized in horror that John was missing.
“John?” he called out, keeping his voice low.
His sleep had been restless. Despite the light reflecting from the three moons, Allan had laid awake in the foliage for several hours, the sounds of the night assaulting his ears relentlessly.
“Where are you?” he muttered under his breath.
He saw movement in the distance. A bush trembled, its occupant likely preparing for attack. In his mind’s eye, he imagined a bear or a tiger poising for the kill. Allan panicked as he searched his mind for what to do, knowing full well that he had no weapons to defend himself. As his anxiety mounted, his eyes began to glow. A silver aura began to encircle him when suddenly the creature reared up from its hiding place. An inhuman screech erupted from Allan’s lips as the aura erupted in a blast that stretched several hundred feet.
Allan fell face-first onto the charred dirt. The surge of power had knocked the wind out of him, but the weakness abated after several moments. With a groan he rolled over onto his side.
“What just happened?” he whispered to no one in particular. He eyed the carnage of his own making.
A large circle of scorched, blackened earth surrounded him. The bushes in the distance had been incinerated, and the smoking corpse of the predator lay unmoving. He stumbled forward, gazing at the creature’s lifeless body. As he approached, something in his brain triggered recognition. It wasn’t a predator after all.
John!
Allan burst into a sprint, throwing himself to the ground at John’s side. John’s beard had been nearly burned off, and his clothing hung in tatters. In his open palm a handful of berries spilled out onto the ruined earth. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive.
Allan shook John’s unmoving form. “John?! Wake up!”
His pulse was weak. His lifeless body refused to rouse.
“Come on!” Allan moaned. “Please, just wake up!”
“Ah-tsoad!” An unfamiliar voice bellowed from behind him.
Allan whipped around to face the source of the voice. Several men in green hoods approached, their bows armed. Their mouths and noses were covered by masks, leaving only their eyes visible. They continued to screech at him in their foreign tongue.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Allan raised his arms in surrender, hoping they understood the gesture. “I don’t understand you!”
The men stopped their advance, exchanging perplexed looks with each other.
“You… kill?” one of the men asked in broken English, gesturing toward John’s body.
“No!” Allan insisted. “He’s alive!”
“You… devil?” he swept his arm to indicate the desolation around them.
His mouth fell open as he struggled for something to say.
The words then found his lips. “I’m a Seraph.”
They exchanged alarmed looks, then rushed at him and tackled him to the ground. He tried to fight them off, but was quickly bound and gagged.
Poor choice of words.
Allan was forcefully marched up the mountainside while one of the three men carried John’s lifeless body. They traveled for what felt like half an hour, trudging through a thin layer of snow until they reached the summit of the mountain. Allan shivered from the cold as two of the men rolled away a large boulder to reveal the entrance to a cave.
“Go… down.” one of the men instructed.
A tunnel opened before him, lit by the fire of several torches. Several passageways broke off to the right and to the left. Allan was marched to the end of the main tunnel, where it steeply declined via a staircase carved into the rock. The man leading the way grabbed two torches off the walls and proceeded down the dark stairway.
Allan’s mind raced as he tried to decipher what had just happened. Who were these men, and why had they taken him prisoner?
The staircase was steep, and from the light of the torch the tunnel seemed to have no end. Allan wasn’t sure how deep into the mountain they had traveled, but the long journey had robbed him of strength.
The men led Allan to a small cavern blocked by an iron gate. One man produced a crude old-fashioned key that dangled from a leather strap around his neck, and unlocked the gate. Allan was suddenly shoved forward, and he fell to the ground with a painful yelp.
“You… stay.” one man said as he attached one of the torches to the wall.
Allan tried to object, but his words were muffled by the gag. The gate swung shut with a clang and an audible click as they locked it. He looked around at the rubble-strewn floor, surmising that some type of seismic event must have occurred to cause so much damage. He trembled, fearing at any moment that the walls could cave in.
Hours passed in silence. The torch petered out after the first hour, and darkness had engulfed them. He had been able to force himself back into a seated position, though the damp air caused Allan to shiver. He didn’t know what time of day it was, but the groaning in his stomach told him it had to be late in the afternoon.
His mind raced. Twice now, he had unintentionally broken free from imprisonments. If only he knew how to summon these powers on cue! His Amulet must have something to do with it, but with his wrists tied behind his back he was unable to extract it from his front pocket.
His worried thoughts turned to Lily. She was somewhere here in this world, but how could he rescue her? He toyed with the idea of riding in gallantly upon a white horse, a knight in shining armor to save his damsel in distress, but who was he kidding? This wasn’t Conquest. Knowing how much of a klutz he was in real life, he would likely fall off the horse and get trampled to death.
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