Inside the Perforated Anima
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“You heard me! Are you daft, girl?! Give me all your damned money!”
Eleanor blanched, looking cross eyed at the rusty knife hovering only a few centimeters from her nose.
Following the trembling arm up to the pockmarked face, she felt only an acute sense of despair as she looked into those azure-colored eyes.
An ember fiend.
Hooked on low quality soul energy, no doubt. Eleanor would be lucky if all the woman wanted was her coin. With eyes nearly brimming over with tears, Eleanor reached for the coin pouch she always kept around her neck, broke the cord off with a hard yank, and threw it at the ember fiend, uncaring of whether her aim was good or not.
Despite her violently trembling hands, the gaunt woman scooped the coin purse out of the air so fast that Eleanor barely caught the motion.
Tugging it open greedily, she grinned a gap-toothed, self-satisfied smile at its contents, before pulling the strings taut once more.
The woman gave her several suspicious glances as she slowly backed out of the alley, knife held aloft the whole while, though Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to care. When she’d gone far enough, by her own estimations, the woman immediately turned, rounded a corner, and disappeared from sight.
Eleanor, for her part, never even entertained the thought of chasing her. Instead, she merely slumped down to the ground from where she’d stood, and wept.
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
By the time Eleanor reached baker’s alley, the sun had already set, and dark ominous clouds rumbled threateningly overhead. She could smell the scent of imminent rain on the air, and it was likely she had a miserable night to look forward to. She could only be grateful that at least she’d be warm.
Sliding down the toasty outer wall of the bakery, Eleanor sat still and waited quietly for the telltale scritch scratch of an unwelcome intruder.
Unable to see past her own outstretched arm, she reached into her tunic, retrieved the last crumbs of the stale bread she’d received as payment, what felt like days ago, and held them out in her open palm. Letting the back of her hand rest on the cobblestones, only when she felt the unmistakable whisper of soft whiskers against her palm, did she move.
Snatching up the screeching rodent, she quickly snapped its neck and tossed it into her trusty rat sack. It wasn’t much of a pillow, but it would have to do for tonight.
Knowing better than to torment herself with things she couldn’t change, and yet finding herself simply unable to resist, Eleanor groped around in the growing darkness for quite some time before she felt it.
Digging her nails into the worn grooves of the covertly marked cobblestone, Eleanor carefully leveraged the false stone free, revealing the glittering treasure trove beneath, barely visible in the low light. Nearly a gold mark in silver and copper pennies.
Just five silver shy of the Knightly Academy’s junior entry fee. Ten years' savings. Ten years' worth of blood, sweat, and tears, and all for one, simple thing. A childhood promise. A long-held dream. To stand among the greats.
The Royal Cohorts.
To join the Azure Queen’s final bastion. Her knightly vanguard. The last line of defense between them, and the demonic rift spawn at large. It had been her dream since before she could remember. And she was so close now.
So damned close.
Eleanor replaced the false stone before the tears could well up again. Today had been a bust. That much was undeniable. But there was always tomorrow. And, like her idols would likely urge were they in her position, where there’s a will, there is always a way. She could only ever do her best and pray for better days.
And then, without warning, the skies opened up, and down came a truly torrential downpour.
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
Inside the Perforated Anima
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The most infuriating part about this entire farcical episode was the fact that Jun could, realistically, have escaped any time he pleased.
Indeed, without the small, likely negligible, inconvenience of one simple gemstone held under tight lock and key, he likely would have. With it, however, he didn’t particularly love his chances.
And while he’d normally disdain even the idea that such lessers might possibly hold power over him, the aura of this “binding stone” had been enough to give even him pause. Naturally this was only on occasion, and only in rare quantities, yet that truly was still saying something.
Not an easy feat to manage by any means.
Given the natives’ inbred tendency towards inferiority, with regards to higher beings such as himself, for something crafted by their feeble hands to be this potent…?
To say it had been surprising would be the understatement of the year.
Now, normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem. He’d simply kill everyone present and take the stone as was his due. Unfortunately, for the majority of the trip, he hadn’t actually known where the blasted thing was. And seeing as, supposedly, all it would take was a single drop of blood to bind his grand personage to one of these inferior’s permanently, he’d wisely counseled caution over righteous retribution.
Now, this was a reticence widely contested between the four of them, though, with cutting at the proverbial helm, there hadn’t really been much the others could do to gainsay his will.
The reason for his rightly held prominence was clear. It was a great deal more manageable to weather hours of sustained torture, when you disdained the need to feel things like “emotion,” or “pain.” He also took great pleasure in observing the natives struggles, making him the obvious candidate when it came to lulling them into a false sense of security—something both he and piercing had agreed was the optimal move.
At first, he’d thought the lessers would be reticent to “damage the merchandise,” as it were.
That was when he learned of yet another facet to these inferiors that beggared belief. That their affinity for both cruelty and the healing arts, were, apparently, not to be underestimated.
And as such, with that being the case, it only followed, therefore, that he’d spent the first quarter of their journey lying flat on the ground, bound by the wrists and tied to a horse by his ankles, as they rode over harsh and mostly hilly terrain.
Quite honestly, by far the worst part of this section had been the dust, it just had this tendency to get everywhere. So, by the time their small procession finally stopped by an inn for an early lunch, he’d been happy to put that whole entire trying ordeal behind him.
They hadn’t fed him, of course.
What they had done instead was stuff him in a leather luggage trunk so small that it made his first ever cage feel positively spacious in comparison.
To their likely dismay, the most agonizing part about this attempt had been the crippling levels of boredom he’d felt. Thus began a trend that continued throughout the majority of their trip, as the woman in charge did her very best to break his will.
Admittedly, his task of lulling them into a false sense of security might have gone off without a hitch, had he simply stopped throwing insults every chance he got. But really, what else was he supposed to do?
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Besides, the red-faced look of incandescent fury this supposed “functionary” got whenever one of his barbs actually landed, was far too precious for him to simply ignore.
In this way, he got to experience all manner of creative attempts to administer torture while on the go, and he felt no shame in admitting that he’d memorized a choice few of them, in the event he ever found himself in a position to administer them himself.
In the end though—and only after the four of them had, surprisingly, come to something of an accord—it had been decided that it would not be him that administered retribution. That enviable task had instead been laid at the feet of piercing, a competent enough fellow, if inferior to himself.
At least he too was not swayed by trivial things such as emotion, and in turn had his priorities in order. He wasn’t generally one to put stock in others, though this time, he thought he could say with some amount of certainty that piercing would see to the task with deliberate professionalism.
If not with the same amount of delight as he might have otherwise preferred.
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
Inside the Perforated Anima
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Jun blinked open eyes of emerald green. Took a quick survey of his surroundings by dint of lamp-light streaming in through a seam in the far door. Assessed.
A cellar.
Likely that of the taverns where the party stopped for the night.
Spacious. Cool but dry. Optimal for storage with decent enough temperature control, as denoted by the many casks and barrels lining the floor and walls.
Beer most likely, with ample equipment for its production on the far table, if my suppositions are, indeed, correct.
Ah. I see.
That must mean that the sacks of grain contain barley. Or some local equivalent therein. And that smell? Rat droppings. That, in conjunction with the conspicuous holes leaking grain…
An infestation?
No. Too sparse for that.
Likely a small number of rodents with keener than average self-preservation instincts. But then, how might one go about calculating the average…?
Jun shook himself.
Focus. I need to focus on the task at hand.
Jun probed the sturdiness of his restraints with two short tugs.
Shackles. Likely made of iron. Two on my ankles. Two on my wrists.
Each connected to a wall ring which, like the name suggests, is fastened quite securely to the brickwork of the wall. Far too secure to break free by main force alone.
Regardless, it would make too much noise to be viable.
Going up on his toes to better create slack, Jun wrapped the left most chain around his wrist once, positioning the steepled fingers of his hand so that they pressed into the gap of one such link.
Then he paused, holding that position with a stillness so eerie and abrupt, that an observer might have been convinced he actually turned to stone, right there on the spot. The only movement clearly visible, the slow trickle of emerald aura which rose from his chest and filtered into his immobile left hand.
And there he stood.
Patiently waiting for the uproarious celebrations above to reach a sufficiently high threshold. When, after five minutes, the raucous volume finally peaked, Jun brought his cultivated strength to bear in a swift, nearly instantaneous strike—directing all of his considerable will towards a single stubborn link in the overarching chain.
Thrusting at a downwards angle like the practiced crane expertly spearing its prey, Jun snapped the targeted link with a resounding crack, shattering it into a dozen pieces which then clattered to the floor. Glittering shards of metal quickly disappearing into the gloom of the spacious cellar.
Once more, Jun froze. Straining his ears to discern whether or not he’d been detected. When no immediate reprisals seemed forthcoming, he prepared his right hand as he had his left. And then, he paused, and waited patiently for his next best opportunity.
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
Inside the Perforated Anima
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With a sigh, Meredith slid into the worn embrace of faded upholstery—already slightly warmed by the crackling fire.
These were certainly better accommodations than she’d been greeted with upon her arrival. And though it had taken some convincing to impress upon the innkeeper that, whether they were her private chambers or the heir apparent’s, Meredith would not settle for anything less than the very best, eventually she’d gotten the woman to see sense.
Her taste in décor still left much to be desired, but, having gotten her way in the end, she would not nitpick unnecessarily. But, really now, little embroidered cherubs wreathed in azure flame? Dozens of novelty clocks lining the walls, with every inch of flat surface liberally blanketed with frilly doilies? Was this woman a hundred years old? Meredith digressed.
In her hand she held a glass of something cloying and fruity—the best this meager tavern, though more likely this whole damn city, could offer her.
Unfortunately.
Embers Reach indeed.
Used to what few aged wines she could afford to import, given her rather meager bequeathedom, what she held now probably wasn’t much worse than anything she was used to, all things considered. Perhaps it was simply not to her personal liking.
Taking a hesitant sip, not for the first time Meredith grimaced at the overwhelming sweetness.
Or perhaps, she ruefully admitted to herself, it was merely the day’s many unforeseen difficulties that had her in such a foul mood. That a rift spawn capable of speech—something she had not heard of, nor thought possible, until she’d experienced it for herself—would be capable of pushing her buttons so effectively, likely should not have come as so much of a surprise.
That it also appeared to be largely immune to her many methods of nurturing compliance was also less than ideal. Perhaps a night without food or water, trapped alone in the cold and dark, would set it straight, she thought to herself. Though a part of her already knew that it likely would not.
Once more, Meredith’s eyes strayed to the blue lacquered jewelry box, accented with ornate, gilded filigree.
The very same she hadn’t allowed to leave her sight since they’d first set out for the capital that morning. Setting down her glass, she reached forward and unlatched the box—slowly lifting the lid to reveal the glittering contents within.
An ovoid sapphire the size of a quail's egg, housed within an inconspicuous bezel and looped through a long extension of silver chain. She’d spared no expense in outfitting this particular binding stone until it resembled something that might very well adorn a royal princess’s slender neck.
Even going so far as to place herself in debt to meet these extravagant ends, confident that her initial investment would pay for itself one thousandfold. All she needed now was to reach the capital, and all of her many woes would be seen to in due time.
The creak of floorboards came from somewhere to her left. Before she could turn to see what was wrong, however, a hand emerged from her periphery to pluck the binding stone from where it sat upon its velvet cushion.
Immediately a sizzling sound emerged from behind her, followed by the sickly smells of roasting meat. Tumbling her chair backwards in her haste to rise, Meredith leapt to her feet, spun swiftly around, only to find the rift spawn writhing in agony on the floor, the large sapphire binding stone still clutched tightly in one hand.
Meredith looked down on the rift spawn as it squirmed, allowing herself time to get her heart rate back in check. Once she’d finally calmed down, she smirked.
“Did you really think I would be so foolish as to let you anywhere near my person, restrained or otherwise, without sufficient failsafes in place? Did you not question the simple collar I had placed around your neck?”
Meredith stared into the rift spawn’s eyes, contented to find bewilderment there, if not outright despair.
“A slave collar. Normally too small to fit your demonic proportions without having one custom made, wouldn’t you know it? It just so happened that I already had one in your size. It really must’ve been my lucky day.”
Finally, awareness bloomed on the rift spawn’s alien features. Although, much to her irritation, no further crumpling of dismay or telltale droop of resignation followed this revelation. Only a calm attentiveness which grated on her nerves, even as the skin around its slave collar was burned to a crisp by licking tongues of azure flame.
Thinking it didn’t fully understand the true depth of its predicament, Meredith thought to educate it further.
“Without going into too much detail, a collar of this quality binds the indentured by three immutable laws, as designated by their master. Rules that they cannot break, under any circumstances, without calling death upon themselves via the collar. The first, as you can no doubt guess, would be an inability to harm my person, or any I would deem an ally. The second…”
The rift spawn reached for the collar with its free hand, eyes widening as the sizzling grew in pitch and intensity.
“Would be an inability to remove the collar. Would kind of defeat the purpose of using the thing were it otherwise.”
The rift spawn let its hand flop back to its chest, then with jerky, uncoordinated movements, attempted to stand. Amused, especially after all the shit it had put her through earlier that day, Meredith let it. Keen to watch the rift spawn struggle.
“And last but not least is an inability to touch the very binding stone you're holding right now. In fact, it’s a true wonder you’ve managed to hold out until now-!”
Something about the rift spawn changed. Its demonic aura taking on a silvery cast, before, with a pained grunt, the rift spawn leapt from its crouched position—cratering the floorboards where it’d just been standing and blasting a person sized hole in the ceiling above.
Flung backwards by the inexplicable force of the leap—pelted by bits of broken furniture and jagged wood shards all the while—Meredith crashed into a novelty cuckoo clock. Making absolutely sure it cuckoo’d its last with an explosion of gears and artisanal wood carvings.
Immediately sent into a coughing fit by the clouds of dust and debris that’d been kicked up in it’s passing, Meredith could barely think through the pain and disorientation.
By the time the dust had cleared enough for her to see and breathe more easily, all that was left of where the rift spawn had once been, was a splintered crater rapidly filling with water, and the massive hole currently letting in the torrential downpour.
Her exceedingly valuable binding stone, the one she’d gone into nigh insurmountable debt to acquire, was, much like the rift spawn, nowhere to be found.