The shadow creatures continued to pour from the forest, their tide stemmed by Radrick and Darian’s blades. Each strike from them cut one of the creatures down, but they were endless. For every beast put to the sword, three more replaced it. Soon the entire clearing was full of them, their whispers a mental dagger in Darian’s pounding head.
He slashed, taking the head from one that took Fria’s face. Others pressed in, some wearing bodies from his old life and others from his new. But the familiar faces did not slow his strikes. If anything, they filled his attacks with a grim resolve. They would be punished.
The large shadow stepped back, letting the others crowd in. Even after all that talk. Darian sliced an exposed throat. The bastard just stands there and watches. He raised his arm and attempted to activate his skill [Blazing Spear], but the ability didn’t trigger.
“They are blocking your powers,” Radrick said, his shining sword twirling in an arc of blinding death. “Your blade must do for now.”
Darian shook his head and stepped back, an obsidian claw missing his stomach by an inch. Then he kicked, sending the monster to the dirt. Its fellows didn’t slow, trampling the creature as they hissed and slashed, each hand a black mass of sharpened shadow. He parried and cut, dodged and ducked, his bare feet dug into the ash coated ground. But the more that came at him, the harsher the voices became. They tore into his thoughts, and he began to slow.
“We must fall back,” Radrick commanded.
Darian glanced behind, seeing nothing but more monsters coming his way. “Where?”
“You have to find where they entered from.” Radrick brought his blade down from overhead, splitting a shadow in half. “If you seal the tear in your soul, they will be cut off from the other spirits.”
A monster wearing Harper’s face lunged for Radrick from behind, its bladed hands scraping down his armor. The paladin turned and decapitated it, another creature’s attack slamming into his shoulder. He stumbled, just righting himself in time to block a slash aimed right at his exposed face.
“How am I supposed to know where that is?” Darian moved to the big man’s side, the pair now back-to-back in the clearing.
“Close your eyes and focus,” Radrick replied. “This is your mind and soul. You can sense where the damage is and take us there.”
Darian grunted, shoving two of the monster’s back before severing an arm with a downward chop. “Are you insane?” He hardly had time to blink.
“I can protect you.” Beams of light split the black sky above, and the air hummed with magic. “Trest me, please.”
He wanted to argue, but the truth was they would be overwhelmed soon. “Fine then.” Darian widened his stance and closed his eyes. “But I hope you’re right about this.”
“As do I.”
Hot air blasted Darian’s face, but he remained focused. He pushed back against the voices and turned his attention inward. There he felt it, a thorn within his soul. Pain pulsed from the ethereal wound like venom from a sting, corrupting his memories. Thinking of his mother and father filled his vision with images of their bloody and broken bodies. Childhood moments of peace and happiness turned into glimpses of violent massacre. He wanted to open his eyes, to look at anything else. But he had to persist, not only for his sake, but for the people who’d fought to protect him.
Fria and Jorg’s torn and split faces assaulted his mind. They begged for help before they dissolved into piles of screaming flesh and bone. Then Carver appeared, the young man’s body pierced by hundreds of spears. He looked into Darian’s eyes with an endless pit of sorrow.
“You let me die,” he said through bloody lips. “You did this to me.”
“Carver died in an explosion,” Darian replied, shoving the distorted image aside. “And he died bravely. You do his memory a dishonor.” Then his thoughts turned to the only place that wasn’t full of death and despair.
The hospital where he died.
He opened his eyes in a flash, a yawning gate appearing before him, light pouring from beyond. The shadows fell back from the radiating energy, hissing and growling.
“The rest is up to you.” Radrick’s hand pressed into Darian’s back, and then a moment later he was tumbling through the gate.
***
Darian was face first on the white hospital room floor. His head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and he rolled to his side with a grunt.
“Radrick,” he said through dry lips, his voice barely above whisper.
He managed to get his arms under himself, but they were thin, hardly more than bone. His legs weren’t much better, but he was able to use the nearby wall for support and get to his feet. Once upright, he inched his way toward the door.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
The fluorescent overhead light flickered then dimmed, casting the room in twilight. Outside wasn’t much different, the long hall a tunnel of blinking and dying brightness. Still against the wall, he made his way down the corridor. Each step tested his strained and faded muscle, the cold ground hard and unforgiving against his bare feet.
As he passed the open door to another room, he glanced inside. There was a mirror on the far wall, and he froze as he saw himself.
The thin fabric of a hospital gown hung from his nearly skeletal form. His hollow eyes matched well with his pale, sunken cheeks. His hair was gone, replaced by a sickly, bald head.
He looked more like a corpse than a man.
“Is this what I looked like, before the end?” He could hardly remember what he looked like in the days leading up to his death. But he couldn’t cast the unsightly vision off as another trick. There was a raw realness to the hospital, an uncorrupted power that told him this was a reflection of reality.
Pressing down the horror building in his chest, he continued. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but his soul was guiding him toward something. The closer he got to this mystery destination, the more pressure built in his chest. He realized that he’d been breathing this entire time, a sensation that was now foreign to him. But the air became harder and harder to swallow, and his throat clenched. Then he saw it, an open doorway, light spilling from it.
He limped across the hall, a desperate wheeze escaping his throat as he fell against the doorway. The room beyond was small, a single bed taking up its center. He pushed his way inside, the sight of the bed sending a cold jolt through his heart.
“This is where I died,” he mumbled, his bone thin fingers resting against the hospital bed’s bulky frame.
“Indeed,” a voice said from the hall.
Darian turned so fast he nearly pitched to the floor. The large shadow was standing outside, its outline a grim silhouette against the flickering lights. It reached forward, but its fingers sparked as they passed through the doorway.
“Decided to come for me yourself?” Darian asked.
“The others are coming, I assure you,” the shadow replied, its voice echoed by hundreds of others.
Solid darkness swallowed the hall outside, whispers and screams coming from within its depths in equal measure.
“I guess Radrick was right,” Darian said, easing forward. “You entered my soul from this memory, didn’t you?”
“This is where your soul is split.” The shadow raised its arms, opening one closed hand at a time. “One soul weak and clinging, and the other a vessel of divinity. One erodes the other, and through this fissure we arrived.”
“What do you mean my soul is split?”
The shadow laughed, a thousand voices joining its mad choir. “It means you are ours.”
A force like Darian had never felt tugged him forward. His legs moved on their own, carrying him right into the creature’s grasp. But before he fell into its clutches, his arms slammed on either side of the door and held. His muscles screamed, and his head split from thousands of crying voices.
“Resistance is pain,” the shadow said. “You are a broken and ugly thing, cast aside from one world just to struggle and die in another. We pity you.”
“Screw you.” Darian gritted his teeth, his body teetering forward.
“Give in. Let it end.”
Darian’s fingers bled, his nails peeling as he dug them into the wall. “No.”
Let us help you. His mother’s voice said. You’ve fought so hard for so long. This fate is cruel. Wouldn’t it be better if it was over? Let go. Let go and be free of your suffering.
“Listen to your mother,” the shadow extended its hand, the light fading.
Darian smiled, and the creature recoiled.
“You shadows are good at imitating, but that’s all you’re good for.” He focused all his resolve on the creature before him, its form shrinking back as light spread from the room and into the hall. “My mother would never say that to me.” He marched forward, strength returning to his body with each step. “Now get the hell out of me.”
He focused on the corrupted memories of his family, and one by one the horror within them disappeared. And after each purged thought, the light surrounding him grew brighter. The whispers turned to shrieks, then turned to silence.
“You are weak.” The shadow stated, its back pressed into the wall.
Darian paused before it, the thorn inside him pulled free.
“Maybe I am weak. But weakness isn’t permanent.” He looked back at the hospital bed. “I’ve escaped weakness and death once, and I’ll do it again and again.”
“And you will fail. You are a tool, an instrument to the will of others.”
“For now that might be true, but all of this has reminded me of something. And when I get back to my body, things are going to change. Now, like I said.” He closed his fist, his flesh radiating light. “Get the hell out of me.”
As his fist smashed into the shadow’s face, pure radiance engulfed everything, and the darkness vanished.
***
The Soul of Damnation fell through the air, the world slowed to a crawl, Darian and Calhaven’s fingers still on the cursed gem. Darian’s body was weak and tired, [Limit Break]’s drawbacks still in full effect. But the pain he’d just been through, the corruption of the people most precious to him, that was worse than the burden he now carried. He pushed through the pain and snatched the gem, then jumped back as Calhaven’s scythe slashed at his throat, time once again flowing.
He passed the artifact to his other hand, his two remaining fingers clutching it tight. Then he rolled and snatched up his fallen sword.
[Dash Strike]
His sword cracked into the lich’s shoulder, and it stumbled. Then Darian bent low and brought his sword up with all the strength he had left. The tip punched through Calhaven’s jaw and burst out the top of his skull, showring Darian with flecks of bone. He twisted, tearing his blade free, then slashed, severing the necromancer’s neck.
Calhaven’s head tumbled to the floor, and Darian collapsed to his knees, utterly spent. He blinked once, then fell to his side. Yaz yelled something, but he couldn’t hear it.
Several sets of boots rushed toward him, voices shouting in the dark. But the sound and everything else faded. Enemies were closing in, the shuffle of bones just behind him. But it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.