Bryreith

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Bloody Fingers: Book of Prologues- Chapter Ten

The filthy half-elf cowered in the corner of his cell, dark blood seeping through his robes where the whip had cut across his back. He took the beating quietly, crying out only at the very moment of impact. He kept his back to the guard captain and crouched into a ball-like position- trying to keep his head and hands protected from the lash. The guard was well trained and knew what parts of the dark-skinned man were valuable, so he also tried to keep the cat o’ nine tails away from the elf’s hands and face. Those were required for the dark magics he produced for the Arena. 

“Your wolves did nothing on the sand, Feigling.” The hefty human guard was breathing hard, either the exertion or the excitement of the beating could be heard in his voice. “The Masters were embarrassed.” He swung the whip again, cutting fabric and skin.

“You know my undead must be used in the same lantern-cycle they are created.” The elf said calmly. “After twenty-three clicks of the obelisk, the instructions I’ve given them fade and they will then only move to avoid conflict. They will no longer attack.”

“Doesn’t matter what I know.” Swing… Cut… Bleed… “Your wolves ran away from fairies. The round was meant to be funny, but that was just depressing. We’d cut the little beastie’s wings so they could only stay in the air a few feet. We wanted the wolves to jump and catch them out of the air like a dog catching meat bits from its master. Instead, it just slowed the fairies down so the doggies kept getting away and running to the other side of the sand…..”

He stopped talking for a moment, focused on breathing instead. “Took the fairies a long time to finally hit ‘em enough to burn through the dogs’ skulls. The crowd got bored, Feigling. People walked out of the fucking event…”. 

Another lash of the whip. The half-elf winced as the weapon sliced into his back again. A bored crowd was a huge failure in the Masters’ eyes. They would have lost heavy coin from the reduced gambling and drinking.

“How many is that, Feigling?” The overweight human had his hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath.

“Six.” The half-elf answered truthfully, even though he didn’t believe the guard was clever enough to trick him. 

“You get one more. And be grateful.” The human rose up to his full height. “Anyone else would be dead. ” He finished the last sentence while swinging the braided lashes down once more against the elf’s back.

The elf stood up, turning to face the guard now that the beating had ended. He winced as his movement caused the blood-covered fabric to pull away from the gashes. “I am grateful. I will pin a parchment to my creations with the end toll, to remind of the timing that is needed.” 

The guard’s eyes squinted, and a hand reached up to scratch at his beard. He was breathing open-mouthed, still recovering from his exertion. “I can’t read.” 

“It will remind the choreographers. That’s all.” The elf explained.

“Those fuckers are already dead.” The guard chuckled at the memory. “The Masters had them thrown down into the sand. We sliced their bellies open and the pixies pulled their intestines out. We made the flying squirrels race to stretch ‘em to the other side…. Losers got stuffed inside those meat tubes… and then we tossed the pieces into the crowd!” He was laughing hard now, his story broken up by his gasps of breath. 

“Crowd went fuckin’ crazy!”. The heavyset human reached up to wipe away tears from his eyes. His chuckles kept bubbling up from deep inside him. It was truly a great memory for the man.

“All is well that ends well.” The dark elf mumbled. He bowed at his waist to the guard and began moving over to his workbench to resume his work. There was a large dead bear on his table. He had been stripping off its decayed flesh to prepare it for the next event. He would raise it as a skeletal beast. At least he’d be able to wring the blood from his robes now and wouldn’t have to bleed himself for the spell. 

The guard stood in place, not sure what to do now as the half-elf had effectively dismissed him. His confusion was obvious as he looked into the hall in front of the cell to see if anyone else had seen. There was some movement in the shadows at the far end, but it was too dark to see clearly. He returned his gaze to the necromancer and cleared his throat to get the elf’s attention, but the small sound was suddenly overwhelmed by a roar from the Arena crowd.

Du… Ror… 

Du… Ror…

The chanting and rhythmic stomping of feet was louder than either the guard or the elf could ever remember happening in the past. The stone walls and floor seemed to shiver and bounce in time, as if the massive arena itself was taking part in the celebration.

“How did he do it?” The guard spoke his question mostly to the air, but the half-elf looked his way, nonetheless. His eyes then tracked over the guard’s shoulder to the door of the cell, and they widened in shock at what stood there. His gaze transferred back and forth between the guard inside his cell, and a second guard standing just outside the cell door. It was the same person!

“Look at me, Feigling!”. 

The angry command came from the guard inside his cell. The dark elf focused his eyes on that version of the man. The look on the elf’s face must not have been what the guard expected, as the man again seemed unsure of what to do next. His hand reached up to wipe across his mouth and beard. There was a soft ‘twang’ sound that could barely be heard over the crowd noise, and the point of an arrow pushed out of the guard’s hand- extending about five inches from the man’s face. 

The dark elf felt blood spatter against him and watched as the guard inside his cell crumpled down onto the stone floor. The guard’s hand was now speared against his face and open mouth. The feathered end of an arrow protruding from the back of his skull. His blood already spreading in a puddle under his still twitching body.

The dark elf stood perfectly still. His heaving chest and his eyes were the only thing that moved as he refocused on the second guard who was standing just outside the cell door, a long bow still gripped in his hand. This man’s body seemed to expand and dissolve into a red smoke for a breath and then condensed again. As the fog rethickened, it formed a blood mist on the smooth white skin of the horned woman who was now standing there. She was wearing polished armor over a chain mail gambeson. Her dark hair was pushed back behind her curling bone-white horns at her temples. She was smiling, and a small tentacle-like tongue flicked out over her lip to lick and taste the air. 

The elf dropped immediately onto his knees and then leaned forward to press his face against the cold stone. His hands were on either side of his head, palm up towards the woman.

“My lady….” He whispered. “Is my life forfeit for my failures?”. 

“Why did he call you that name?” Her voice was breathy and raspy, somewhere between a moan and a growl. 

“Feigling?” The elf was surprised by her question. “It means coward.”

“It fits you.” The was no judgement in her voice, only truth. “But it is now time for you to remember what I made you. I have waited long enough for you to be useful.”

The half-elf eyes were rolled far to the side so he could see her without lifting his face from the stone. He stayed silent in his shame.

“Come with me, Bryrieth.” The beautiful fiend turned on her heel and began moving down the hallway. “You have some work to do. Bring anything important.”

The dark elf scrambled onto his feet, stuffing items from his workbench into a large burlap sack. He slowed only to carefully wrap a small dark book with waxed canvas that he tied into place with twine. That also went into the sack. He ran out of the slave cell, his feet slapping against the stone as he rushed to catch up to the devil. She had already transformed back into the heavyset guard. There were a few more corpses scattered along the long hallway. The stadium was even louder now as they approached the sand. But the sound was a cacophony of screams instead of the organized chanting that had come before. Fingers of smoke curled along the stone floor and walls. The Arena was burning!

“I had almost forgotten the name you gifted.” The elf whispered as he stood next to the overweight guard. “Bryrieth” he whispered again, more to himself this time. 

***

He remembered when the devil had found him as a young child. Weak, sick, half-starved, and constantly beaten and raped by the elderly wizard who had owned him. Bryrieth had been sitting at the edge of a river with a sack of stones tied to his neck. He had been a coward even then, just sitting rather than going into the water. He had been praying to find his courage when he had looked up to see the beautiful woman standing on the other side of the river. She was just watching him. And she was smiling. She had been dressed in her fine armor, and she shimmered in the sunlight. He didn’t know why he had waved to her, but that had made her laugh. And then she walked right over to him. Her feet didn’t sink into the water at all. He remembered asking if she was an angel as she stood over him, and that made her laugh even harder. She had squatted down next to him, looking directly into his eyes, and asked him if he wanted her help. He said yes. She pulled him up by his hand, and together they had walked into the village and up to the shabby hovel where the old wizard lived. They went inside. And even though the old man’s shrieks and whimpers could be heard by everyone in the village- nobody came to help him.

That night, the devil had the boy make a campfire outside of that dirty little hut. The dark-skinned boy gathered several large flat stones and placed them at the edge of the fire to heat them. The woman cut long, thin strips of flesh from the old man’s body and cooked them on the hot stones. She fed them piece by piece to the boy, and when he had his fill, she pulled him onto her lap and cuddled his body against hers. Her fingers trailed up and down his back. Her small snake-like tongue flicking out and tasting his face and neck. She placed his mouth at her breast and he drank milk from her body. She told him that he had been reborn and he cried out with rapture. She whispered “Bryrieth” in his ear, and she possessed him in that moment- body and soul.

Now, when she spoke to him her mouth didn’t move. He could hear her slow raspy voice inside of his head. And her voice stayed with him even after he had awakened in the dark to find her gone. Her whisper was still in his ear, telling him to run and hide in the woods. He did so. From his hiding place he saw the men of the village come to the mud hovel in a mob as soon as the sun rose. They looked in horror at the old man’s corpse next to the smoking coals of the campfire. Someone ran to get the priest, who ordered them to toss his body back inside. They brought wood and lamp oils, and they burned the old man’s body with all his shabby belongings while the priest prayed and drew circles in the sand. The mud walls of the wizard’s hut turned it into an oven. And the smell of cooking meat mixed with some of the exotic spices and ingredients he’d kept inside the hut for his spellcraft. The aroma was almost overwhelming. The boy was so very hungry! The smell affected others as well, as the boy could see some of the grown men running their stomachs and licking their lips. The priest must have noticed them too, as he quickly took up a collection and then he ordered everyone to return to their homes. The crowd disbursed, a few grumbling as they left but most of the villagers complacently returning to their own homes.

The boy followed behind the priest at a safe distance, trailing him back to the temple which was outside the village in a nearby green meadow. The priest sensed something, as several times he turned to look behind him- but the voice in the boy’s head always warned him to hide in time. After the priest went inside the temple, the boy hid beneath the tall grass of the meadow and waited for night to come again. As he waited, the voice in his head kept him company. She whispered stories of both heroes and villains. She told him that his new name meant ‘Binder of Darkness’, and she promised to teach him the dark art of necromancy which would give him some power and control over death itself. As he lay in the field, she taught him to enjoy his own touch. His hand moving over his body in some ways similar to how the old wizard had hurt him, but now the caress brought pleasure and not pain. 

When night finally came, the boy crept up to the temple and climbed onto a small roof that extended from the back of the building. From there, he was able to crawl through a window into a storage room. He spent a little time searching through those boxes and found several flasks of lamp oil and a tinderbox. He also found a blanket and some clothing that was just a little too big for him but would still suffice. There were a few other small items the voice in his head told him to take, and he placed his loot into a fine tablecloth- pulling up and tying the corners into a makeshift sack.

The boy crept quietly down the stairs and found himself in the kitchen at the rear of the temple. He spent a little more time searching and looting. Soon, the boy had collected some basic food items for his sack, and had found a sharp knife when he held in his hand. It was more difficult to creep quietly now, as the things in the sack jingled and clinked as he moved. He set the sack down and moved into the worship hall. 

There were two rows of benches facing a raised podium. Behind the podium was a closed door. The boy could see the flicker of candlelight beneath the door. He crept forward, moving even slower now. As he neared the doorway, he dropped down onto his belly and peered into the crack under the door. He stay there for a very long time- his breathing very fast. He was too scared to go any further, or even to try and move away from the door. His body had locked itself with fear. There was a soft whisper in his ear. He could almost feel the hot breath of her voice on his skin. His muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed as her raspy voice soothed him.

“You are my Binder of Darkness. You belong to me.” Her warm sounds vibrated throughout his body. “You will do this because I demand it. Now rise, AND GO!” Her whisper turned angry at the end, and the boy found himself opening the door and rushing forward. 

The priest had fallen to sleep at his desk. His head lifted as the boy barged into the room, but his eyes just looked startled- they didn’t really focus on anything in particular. But the boy moved without further hesitation! He stepped up to the seated man and stabbed at his throat. The priest managed to lift an arm to try and defend himself, but it was not enough. The knife bit deeply into the arm and then sank into the man’s neck! The boy yanked at the knife, trying to force it further across the man’s throat but he wasn’t strong enough to cut all the way through. He did, however, manage to rip open the puncture a little more. Blood spurted in an arc and splashed across the boy’s face and chest. And then it spurted again, more blood spilling onto the desk and floor. The holy man’s eyes finally focused, seeing the young child before him. Another pulse of the blood, but this time it lacked the strength to do more than ooze from the neck wound. The priest’s eyes lost focus again as a final wet exhale left his body. The black spots in the dead man’s eyes expanded, until the darkness of his pupils reflected the image of an emaciated and filthy young boy. A tiny boy whose lips were stretched into a grimace somewhere between a scream and a smile. Tears were falling down the boy’s cheeks, mixing with the blood droplets that were spread across his skin. 

“There are coins on the desk.” A dark velvet voice reached for his attention.

“Take the coins. You will need them.” she spoke again. 

The boy’s eyes finally broke free from the dead man’s gaze. He looked down at a small pile of coins the priest had poured onto the desk. He took the money, placing it into a fold of his shirt and then pulling the fabric up and over to keep the coins from falling. He walked back into the worship hall and through it back into the kitchen. He carefully transferred the coins from his shirt to the sack and then he sat down on the floor beside it. His hands were shaking so he clenched them together.

“It’s time for a lesson.” The devil’s voice was whispering in his ear again. Her hot breath brushed against his flushed cheek. “Find a mortar and pestle.”

The dark-skinned boy roamed through the kitchen- opening cabinets and searching on the shelves until he found a small stone bowl and a heavy wooden pestle. 

“Go back to the body.”

He didn’t react. He simply stood in place, looking down at the tools in his hands.

“GO!” the voice in his head demanded. “Go back to the priest.” It softened again, cajoling.

As the boy walked back through the worship hall, he began to whimper and cry, but his feet kept moving him towards his destination. The door to the office had been left open, and he could see the dead man slumped forward over the desk. 

“His spark has gone to the darkness. All that is left is meat and bone.” The whisper was still gentle, but the rhythm of her words had changed. She was speaking quickly now, and her voice was pitched a little higher than before. She sounded- excited…

The boy walked into the office and stopped, standing in the same spot he had been just moments before. The man’s eyes almost seemed cloudy now. They looked like the glass eyes he had seen on a doll in the town market. The body wasn’t as scary now that the eyes had changed.

“Get the knife.” A whisper.

He did so.

“Cut the smallest finger at the tip, right where the skin wrinkles beside the fingernail.” He could hear her breathing while she spoke. Her voice had calmed as she focused on the details. The priest was wearing a ring on the finger next to his pinkie. The ring was silver or platinum and had a polished black stone as its centerpiece. He pulled it from the dead man’s finger and set it on the table. The boy pulled the man’s hand toward him, and made one quick slice.

“Push hard. All the way through. You are removing the fingertip.” 

He made a second attempt. This time pushing the knife down hard. There was a crunch, but he still didn’t get through the finger. He pulled the blade back and forth in a sawing motion. It was much harder than he expected, but there was very little blood, so it was also less messy. He finally finished.

“Now, you need to use the tip of the knife to slice into the part you removed. You are trying to get the small piece of bone by itself. You are removing the meat from the bone.” Her voice was breathy and raspy again. He could feel his own will fade into the shadow, hiding. “Be careful.” She laughed, low and slow- the sound coming from deep in her throat and chest. “Don’t cut your own fingers.” The last was said in a higher pitched singsong. 

A thought suddenly pushed its way to the top of his fogged mind. She was speaking to him like a mother with her child. The thought made him angry and embarrassed, and the heat from those emotions burned away a little of the fog.

“BE CAREFUL!” Her voice hardened into a command. He felt the anger dissipate, and his consciousness sank back into the warm and comfortable cloud. “Always be careful, my little binder of darkness.” She was back to the velvet cajole.

He couldn’t get the last few bits of flesh off the bone. The knife blade was too thick, and his hand was too unsteady. He put the piece in his mouth and used his teeth and tongue to maneuver it until it felt clean to him. He spit it into his palm.

“Grind it.” Her voice was little more than a growl when she said these words. He felt his heart race. He placed the bit of bone into the stone mortar, and tried using the pestle to crush it. It was difficult. The bone was hard and slippery enough it kept sliding out from under the pestle. 

“I can’t do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough.” His voice sounded far away to his own ears. 

“You shouldn’t talk out loud. People will think you’re craaaa-zzzzieeee!” She stretched the last word into a clownish parody of itself. The boy felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Just say the words inside. It’s enough. I hear them.” She lowered the heat in her voice and the boy composed himself again. 

“I can’t do it.” He thought the words this time.

“You must do it.” Just a simple statement with no real emotion to it- but the words had an impact on the boy. He felt the grip of an iron fist close around his will. It squeezed, condensing his being into a single need. He had to crush this little piece of bone. It was the only thing that mattered. It must be done!

He pulled the mortar closer to the edge of the desk. He positioned the bone under the pestle again. He placed both hands on the wooden piece and slowly began putting his weight onto it. The desk creaked a little and the mortar slid a tiny bit to the right, but it worked. He heard a wet crunch. It reminded him of eating a chicken. It was almost the same sound when you ripped off a leg or a wing. He took some of his weight off the pestle and just used the strength of his hands again to turn and grind the tool. The pieces of broken bone crunched beneath it. 

“Good!” She sounded proud. “Tilt his head back and open his mouth.”

The boy did so. The body was still easy to move.

“Put the pieces of bone into his mouth. Take the ring, and put it inside as well. And now…” She paused for a breath, as if the next part was important. “I want you to use the knife to slice across your palm.” She waited, not saying anything further.

The boy paused. He didn’t want to cut himself. He found his own voice.

“You told me to be careful.” He questioned her.

“Yes, my brave Bryrieth.” She was speaking in that smoky and slow voice again. “You have done incredibly well. I am teaching you blood magic and giving you power. Using your own blood is what allows you to control the ghoul when it is raised from the dead.” She paused, letting her words sink into the boy’s mind. “You must have control over your monster, or it will eat you. Ghouls are ravenous when they are awakened.”

The boy sat unmoving. He was trying to remember what he had been called before, but his name was lost. He… He couldn’t remember… And the angel’s voice was telling him about a monster. She was trying to keep him safe from the monster. The little boy started to cry.

“I don’t want the monster to hurt me.” He whimpered. 

“Then show me courage, Bryrieth. I know it is inside you.” Her words warmed him inside. His tears slowed. 

“You can do it.” She whispered. “Don’t disappoint me. Show me how strong you are. I’m the only one who loves you. I’m the only one who protects you. Do you love me back?”

“Yes.” He whispered back. He didn’t know if he said it out loud or just thought the word in his mind, but a flash of heat ran up his body and it was almost as if the angel had wrapped him into her arms. He felt.. Safe…

Without any further complaint or hesitation, the boy raised his hand above the dead priest’s face and with a single confident movement- he sliced the blade across his own palm. His red blood welled up from the cut immediately. He squeezed his fist closed, but the bleeding continued unabated. I thin line of thick blood poured down onto the dead man’s face and into his open mouth. 

“Repeat these sounds after I say them to you.” He was only partly listening to the voice.  He was concerned there was so much blood. The dead man’s mouth was now filled, and blood was starting to drip from the corners of his lips down onto his neck. But he felt the devil’s grip on him, and he said the sounds as he was instructed. As he spoke, he felt a cold pressure inside his belly. The cold spread from that point, pushing the heat he had felt out from him. It was cold, but it wasn’t scary. It also felt… Safe…

The dead man’s mouth began to move. His body began to shake like he was shivering and he swallowed the blood, the bone, and the ring. He swallowed until his mouth was empty and the thin steam of blood stopped falling from the boy’s raised hand. And then the dead man’s eyes opened!

The pupils had widened until most of the eye was just dead black color. But his eyes didn’t shine or reflect any longer. It was as if a hazy white film had been painted across them. They were a blind man’s eyes. A serpent’s thin, forked tongue unfurled from the mouth. It was long. And it flicked in the air towards the boy who had stepped back in shock.

“He is yours…” The voice of a proud mother. 

The priest rose from his chair. His movement was quick but it jerked from point to point. The boy almost expected to hear clicks as the monster progressed through its movements. It was very fast, but it wasn’t fluid. It was almost like its body stopped for just the smallest flicker of time at precise placements of its head and limbs. Watching the corpse move made the boy feel sick to his stomach. 

***

“He is yours.” The devil’s voice brought the man back to the present. She had shifted back to her form as a beautiful warrior with skeletal wings. 

He looked up and met her eyes. She was watching him intently. As always, he wondered if she could see inside his mind and know all of his thoughts, or if she only heard what he was sending. She sighed and pointed out onto the sand where chaos was underway.

The Arena was bedlam. There were fires throughout the stone stadium. There were thousands of spectators who were now fighting with each other. Bodies were scattered everywhere, and still more plunged from the upper levels, impacting the sand - twitching, jerking, but none rising again.

“Look.” She was still looking at him, but she was pointing out into the Arena. 

Bryrieth moved her eyes in the direction she demanded. He could see a huge body, crumpled at a bizarre angle. There was a shaggy blue-haired beast standing over him. The blue monster’s face was lifted to the ceiling and he was roaring. It was terrifying, but it was also beautiful. The monster began to laugh. The sound made Bryrieth flinch in fear. But then, the great monster seemed to be overtaken by a shadow that floated across the bloody sand and when the shadow moved on from that spot- only the twisted remains of his victim remained. 

“You’ll have to hurry. There isn’t much time left.” She reached down and gripped his forearm. Her strength was immense. She turned his arm until his hand was palm up. He opened his fingers. 

She placed a small ebony sphere of polished onyx in his palm. It had a hole drilled though its center. She then placed a large diamond beside the sphere. Somehow, the gem had been etched with the rune for raising the dead in some type of dark ink or blood. It was a spell she had taught him, but he had never performed. 

“When you reach him, push the diamond into the hole but the rune face must show from the other side. His broken mind will need to witness and realize the spell constantly, or he will rot and fade over time. I want his power- so that will not happen!” Her eyes burned with an intensity Bryrieth had only seen once before when she had tortured the elderly abusive wizard. 

“Fill the hole the rest of the way with your blood and place it where his eye would be.” She squeezed his arm hard for emphasis. “He must see the rune.” Bryrieth nodded.

“Then, I want you to cast create undead. But you must be quick.” She set another tiny vial into his palm. This one was filled with a granular gray dust. “You must complete the second spell before the first one can revive him. Do you understand?”.

Bryrieth nodded again. She pushed him towards the open arena. “I will protect you from harm.” She promised.

Bryrieth ran towards the goliath’s body in the center of the amphitheater. As he ran, he was approached by a maddened minotaur. The great beast roared at him, lowering its massive horns to charge- when an arrow streaked past and struck him with incredible force. The shaft tore away the minotaur’s skin from its skull, but it didn’t penetrate the thick bone. The blow stunned the creature however, and it rose back up to its full height shaking its head. Bryrieth kept running. As he circled around the massive minotaur, he saw a winged form drop down from the sky in between him and the beast. 

“Hurry. He must still be alive when you cast the spells!” His angel yelled to him, before turning back to the horned man and slashing at the beast with her clawed fingers.

Bryrieth kept running. He had to detour around a small group of women who were fighting in a pile. It was a bloody mass of arms and legs and teeth. He noticed one hand was holding a small dagger and it plunged up and down repeatedly. He ran past.

The dark elf slid to a stop on his knees. The giant’s body was still convulsing. He was bent forward, his face pushed into the sand. The top of his skull was broken open and his brain was exposed, a pink pulpy mass.

Bryrieth tried to roll the body by pulling at the monstrous shoulder, but he was not strong enough to lift the huge man. The elf abandoned the attempt and instead focused solely on the goliath’s head. He managed to lift and turn it to the side. The eye had fallen from the broken socket. The eye dangled on thick strings, everything coated in sand mixed with blood. 

There was a loud thump beside him and the elf jerked in fright. The angel had landed next to him in a crouched stance- her face and body rotating to scan for any approaching danger. Her white skin and silver armor was covered with a bloody spray. Her clawed fingertips dripped with gore. She had a bruise and swelling on one side of her face but otherwise looked unharmed. 

“Hurry, elf!” She screamed down at him.

Bryrieth grabbed the hanging eye in his fist, ripping it free from the ligaments and thin stands of muscle. He dropped it into the sand at his knees. He took the polished black sphere and carefully placed the large diamond inside of it with the carved rune towards the interior. He patted his waist, realizing that he didn’t have a knife. He glanced up at his devil, but she had taken up her bow and was firing shots at anyone who stepped in their direction. He lifted his palm to his mouth, the fleshy part near the wrist but away from the thumb. He bit down, hard- tearing a chunk of flesh away with his teeth.

He put his hand above the dark sphere, his blood falling down, over and into the carved hole. He inserted the huge onyx into the broken eye socket, twisting it so that the bored hole and diamond were in the center. It created a strange version of an eye- a deep ebony with just a flicker in the center as light reflected off the diamonds edge.

He placed his hands at the goliath’s temples and spoke the true name of the intense healing spell. He felt a hot pulse of energy flare through his body as his magic released, and he saw and heard the flesh of the broken body squish and stretch as it slowly knitted itself back together.

He immediately titled the great man’s head and opened his mouth. Grabbing the discarded eye, he pushed it inside. He took the small vial of bone dust and sprinkled that in the man’s mouth as well. He lifted his hand once more, squeezing hard to increase the blood flow falling from his palm and he spoke the fiendish words his protector had taught him so long ago. There was another pulse of power from within him, and the giants mouth and throat began chewing and swallowing. 

“You have done well, my little binder of darkness.” The deviled knelt beside him and purred into his ear. As always, the caress of her breath sent shivers down his body. “He is going to be something very special.” Her dark eyes reflected the flickering light of the fires. Bryrieth had never seen her look more beautiful.

The huge giant form shifted in the sand, first pushing himself up to his knees and then standing tall in the center of the Arena. Bryrieth looked at the massive man with fear. He was something different. The magic had healed his body, but his skull still appeared to be dented in. There was an empty space large enough for a man’s fist near the top of his skull above his left ear. The dark shining eye on that side flickered with light and energy but otherwise the muscles in his face were slack. The drooping eye on the other side of his face was still glazed like the eye of a blind man. His mouth was open, and a line of blood and drool was dripping down into his beard. A long, thick tongue hung out of his mouth and squirmed as it was alive. It was more than a foot long, and it flicked the air constantly like a viper. The goliath’s monstrous hands had grown even larger and the fingers had lengthened. He looked as if he could easily wrap his hand around a large warhorse’s neck. And his fingers were tipped with thick chitinous claws that extended even further.  

A stench overwhelmed Bryrieth. Every muscle clenched and he fell into the sand twitching and moaning as a seizure racked his body. His jaw opened and shut repeatedly, his teeth clicking together, biting into his cheeks as he frothed at the mouth. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he was unable to draw a breath. The agony was only made worse by his inability to scream.

“Oh, you incredible ghastly giant.” The devils voice purred with her pleasure. “Follow and protect me.”

Bryrieth could hear her footsteps crunch in the sand as she walked away. The heavy tread of the goliath ghast followed behind. As they moved away, the seizure subsided and the elf could breath again. He lay in the sand, gasping and whimpering. 

“Come along, my coward.” The devil called back over her shoulder to the elf. “I’m not finished with you yet.” She began laughing as the giant behind her swiped at a woman running past- his claws cutting her into two pieces at the waist. He then pointed his hand at another running figure and a blinding bolt of lightning leapt from his fingers- leaving the target a steaming lump of flesh on the sand.

“We have a boat to catch!” She yelled gleefully!