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Chapter 29: Murder
🕑 Added 2023-01-09 05:39:57 +0000 UTC“Authorities are coining the name ‘French Quarter Flayer’ for the perpetrator of three grisly murders. While his identity is still unknown, the authorities have stated they have an eye witness to the latest of the killings.”
“The New Orleans Police Department has given us a list of recommendations for all young women looking to visit the French Quarter. ‘Keep drinking to a minimum. Always travel in groups. Do not accept unsolicited items, drinks, and or rides home from unfamiliar men aged in the late thirties. And lastly, if something seems wrong, it most likely is. Please contact the police with any strange occurrences, suspicious individuals, or bodily threats.’”
“That’s right Lee, police state that most murderers are caught within a few hours of discovery. That number drops significantly as the days go by. Tomorrow night marks one full week from when the first of the suspected French Quarter Flayer’s victims was found. Which asked the question; what have the police been doing all this time?”
“I can answer that, Meg. Some say Commissioner Woodfork is harboring the killer. Others say the killer is a genius who will evade capture for many more murders to come. Regardless, trust your gut and always travel with friends.”
“That is, unless your friend is the killer.”
“Haha, that’s true. Until the French Quarter Flayer is caught, please be safe out there. More news at ten.”
Dan peeked from behind his clasped fingertips, finding Golden Robe’s dead form in the same position it had been moments earlier. With his heart rate slowing and his mind catching up to his actions, Dan pleaded in his mind for a do over.
Not for the sadist cultist, he didn’t care if the mimic lived either way. No, he wanted a redo for the simple fact that his time on this cursed planet had just significantly dropped. Cultists were family, killing a family member would cause the others to come after him. Killing another slave? That was perfectly fine, but Dan could not imagine a world where the high priest didn’t come after him.
Every heartbeat pushed his swollen brain against his skull, every breath brought steam into his burnt sinuses. Regardless of the pain, his body was technically in pristine condition, only overexerted. Both cores were nearly back to capacity at this point, although the headache remained.
He needed to go, he needed to leave right now. Sully was dead, there was nothing keeping him from-
Dan’s mind stopped cold and he peered through his inflamed eyes. Dozens of slaves watched him.
None approached, some even cowered at his scan of the hallway. A taboo had been breached, one the others were hesitant to stand with. Although none moved to rat him out, Dan could see a few gauging the situation with righteous hearts.
“You all better go together to tell the cultists. That way you all won’t be punished for my actions,” Dan spoke through leveled breaths. “Just give me a few minutes head start.”
The slaves shifted uncomfortably at that, most losing their hardened expressions. Madness nipped at their heels, however, turning some of the more fragile minded. The man Dan recognized as the camp cook stepped forward.
“That head start is going to be rather lengthy. All the cultists have gone to the mines.”
Dan tilted his head. “Then the guards?”
The cook shook his head. “Same story. You better take that staff and go. The dome won’t hold up against the magic you can wield.”
Dan nodded slowly, gripping the wooden staff close to his chest. He walked out of the prison to an empty camp and silent air. With one last look to the other slaves, he headed for the edge of the dome. The thought of taking those he could with him crossed his mind, but the danger of the Blood Rains clashed against his sense of honor.
He couldn’t protect everyone, not without a group of guards or spellcasters.
The thought projected Dan’s escape, each footstep breaking the silent night into failure of virtues and promises. Tears rushed down his face by the time he touched upon the dome. Golden light easily dissolved the white of the barrier, opening the door to freedom.
“Can you really do that?”
Dan spun at the voice, the opening sealing behind him. Sully, old and wrinkled, stood with his arms behind his back. Two pairs of feet, knees, and thighs towered down from the man’s torso, keeping him from needing healing light.
His gentle smile sent a pang of guilt through the human, grief and sorrow climbing up his throat. “You’re not real.” Dan said.
“Indeed. Well, sort of.”
Dan recoiled at his friend’s words, his expression darkening. “Then what? Are you a hallucination? Hallucinations are real in the eyes of the beholder, right? I’m crazy, is that it?”
“You’re not crazy Dan.”
“Then what! What am I! What are you!” The shouts echoed against the derelict camp.
Sully’s eyes drooped like a sad umbrella. “You are the golden healer, the one the slaves wait earnestly for. As for what I am…”
Dan traced his friend’s eyes down to the ground. Both stood there staring at the ground, both stood there staring at what was below.
“You-“
“I am madness.”
“But you have helped me!” Dan said with a snarl.
Sully shrugged. “Not all madness is evil. Not all good is simple.”
“Y-y-y-you have interacted with things! You fought the high priest!”
“In a way, I suppose. But you did all of the heavy-“ Sully paused, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, fixing a breath later. “lifting. My time is limited, just like the other’s. Remember that.”
“The other’s?” Dan asked with a confused head and bleeding heart.
“The younger. He’ll be back soon. Listen to me. Are you sure you want to leave? You will be abandoning everyone else.”
“You want me to stay? With Golden Robes dead? I’ll be killed.”
Sully’s smile returned. “Indeed you will. Not unless you kill them all first.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “Not evil you say. Trying to kill me seems rather evil…”
The vision flickered with shadows and yellow dots. They encompassed the dead man, growing over his body like a late stage cancer. “Not all good is simple.” Sully repeated before a presence appeared behind his eyes.
The kidnapper gripped Sully’s soul, pulling him through reality and into the endless nether. The presence then hovered before Dan, chilling the human’s bones while sundering his spirit. It then flooded through the ground, returning to its deep home.
Heavy breaths escaped Dan as his body fought to equalize. Was that real? he asked himself, looking for any clues of madness influence.
Not finding any, he returned his focus to the dome. It sizzled away as easily as before, but Dan found his simply woven shoes to be as heavy as an anvil. Sully’s words got to him, turning his mind like he did his own feet. Even as he argued in his head for reasons to leave, he sped through the camp towards the cave.
Passing the prison brought plenty of quizzical stares, and not just from the slaves. The presence was back, having reformed from the ground. It stalked behind Dan, never interfering but rather watching. If anything, the presence propelled his hesitant steps. It wanted him to go to the cave, it wanted him to die.
It presented animosity and greed, a mirror image of the gentle solitude Sully gave off.
As Dan stepped on the slanted path leading up the mountain, he asked himself one last time what he intended to do. While he didn’t know how or if it would work out, the answer was simple and freeing. He was going to burn everything down.
The cave was unguarded and vacant. The green-red lights led through the tunnels without stoppage or hindrance. Dan easily reached the freshly installed elevator, the route seared into his brain like a cattle brand of a solved maze. A hurdle appeared in the form of two guards stationed at the first intersection of the mine.
Sticking to the shadows, Dan closed the distance the best he could. Using a lesser practiced aspect of Light: Preservation, his golden hued magic shifted black like the dimmed hallway he chose to mimic. With a single thought, the orb whistled through the intersection and past both guards.
They turned as one, a silent conversation playing out between the two protectors. One investigated the empty, dim hallway, the other in the direction the movement came.
Cursing internally, Dan thought over a plethora of potential outcomes. There was only one outcome that was realistically acceptable, he knew, even if it meant spilling more blood than he wanted.
In his mind, Dan always imagined liberating the camp as a single step plan. Kill the high priest. Once the leader was dead, the rest would crumble. It was foolish, he realized when he actually thought about it. The family wouldn’t let their father fall so easily, the guard wouldn’t let their employer die without recourse.
The guard died before he ever saw Dan. The woman, plaid in silvery armor, with her weapon drawn, was no match for an ambush magical attack created with a gem embedded staff. Golden light took to life, ripping forward with blistering speed. It pierced the guard’s ear and drilled through her brain.
Dan shuddered at the guard’s vile form, madness clutching against his outstretched arm like a heavy jacket. He hated the beings in the camp. He would kill them all, just like he butchered the woman before him-
He stopped the thoughts from germinating too deeply. Kill only those who would kill me, he told himself repeatedly. Not the slaves, not those who surrender.
Manic thoughts dried at the notion, the cave returning to a silent venture. Dan paused, looking at the tendrils that moved through the rock and stone. They hesitated, like waiting for car to pass through a crosswalk-
A silver bar of sharpened metal stretched through his skin, tearing through his chest and out his back. Inches from his heart, a blade jittered and vibrated. Dan screamed in pain, the sword cutting along his bones like trimming a chicken. His left shoulder slid forward when the weapon exited, all that kept it in place lacerated.
The staff fell with the same motion Dan did, both landing with a dull thud. The cave exploded with a burst of gold-tinged white light. It removed all shadows and blinded all who looked, but also slowed blood loss and regenerated flesh.
The sword whipped aimlessly through the cave, smashing into rocks and breaking apart many mining equipment. The sword’s owner growled in pain, pulling the cave through many temperaments. The walls trembled, the ceiling threatened to fall, the threat of useless torture filled the stale air.
Curse after curse fell on deaf ears as Dan stayed silent. With a painful fettle, he fell into his blood core, allowing the warmth and cold to cycle through his body. The effect was still as hellish as it was when he picked at the long gone seal, but it gave him enough to latch on to. He would not pass out, not with searing misery.
Healing magic continued to pour from his drowsy state, giving him enough presence of mind to reach his bisected shoulder forward. All it took as a simple touch, a fleeting glance, for the staff to activate. With a tired knuckle, Dan pushed his magic through the wooden pole and out to the large gem at the top.
The hallway came to his mind’s eye for a short-lived moment, giving him a clear target. A winged beast grew and flew from the staff’s tip.
The hallway went through a day night cycle in that moment, the shadows elongating through each hour of the day. At sundown, the guard fell over dead, his chest gored and his lungs on display. The sword fell where it lay, clambering against the hard floor and retracting in length.
A short laugh caught in Dan’s throat, his nerves finally getting the better of him. His narrowed eyes only wet, the pain boiling far from sadness. He kept a harsh hold on his tears, even after the feeling in his shoulder and arm fully reappeared.
He trudged on, pushing further through the cave and towards the sacrifice room. Staff in hand, two orbs hovered above his head in dim silence. They were ready and waiting, one simple command and Dan would kill another. But much to his sanity, no other guards were in his way, only shadows and dark curves.
Finding the isolated dead end from so long ago was easy, the memory having been replayed as a nightmare more times than Dan was willing to admit. Even with his improved prowess in magic, knowledge of madness, and simple depression, he still found fear walking towards the red double doors. He was numb to killing, he was numb to pain, he was numb to being alone.
The fear kept him on his toes and held his core in an ignited position.
A small hole at the end of a forgotten hallway met Dan with an awful rush of air. The hole exhaled warm, wet, and smelly breath, like a sleeping dragon protecting its horde. There were no dancing flames through the hole and beyond the bend, only creeping darkness and bleak dread.
Dan held his breath as he clambered down, scaling the wall like he had done so long ago. The irony wasn’t lost on the human, something in which he grasped with a heavy heart. He smiled at the memory, despite the horror and death surrounding the excitement. His exit of the camp would end like his entrance started, at the red double doors.
Before he rounded the bend and came into the sacrificial cavern, a set of eyes formulated into reality through silvery silent screeches. At first Dan thought the apparition to be the high priest’s familiar remote smile, but as dirty blonde hairs sprouted and grew with a seam behind the eyes, he changed his tune.
The kidnapper, Dan recognized.
It took form, emulating Sully but sixty years younger. It opened its mouth and spoke, nonwords breaking against the muted stone. There was no sound, no syllables, no life. The creature spoke unlike any Dan had heard, nothing like his elderly friend in his sharded memories.
Was it a warning, was it a call to action? Dan didn’t know, nor did he think it was wise to find out. The apparition, the kidnapper, repeated his fake words again and again, each time throwing a rougher tantrum. The shrouded monologue ended with Sully’s young form rushing through the ground like an embarrassed ghost.
It touched Dan’s leg as it went, sending a rush of apathy and anguish. Sweat poured from the human’s neck and chest, wetting his blood stained shirt even more. The feeling chilled him through and through, something the true Sully never did.
The other… he connected.
If young Sully meant to warn, Dan did not heed his mutated call. Instead he pushed forward and kept to the shadowy stalagmites and stalactites.
The cultists were out in full force. A dozen, maybe a few more within the dark, stood around the centered sacrificial pedestal where the high priest carved into a corpse. They watched in strict horror, their cowled faces failing to hide their body’s raw emotions.
To Dan, the cultists looked like frozen hostages in front of a crazed gunman. Would he assist them? No, definitely not. But it did bring up an interesting question. What were they afraid of? After the manic Golden Robes, the answer came to him rather easily.
The high priest had snapped.
Stalking around the cavern, Dan dimmed his orbs of light the best he could. He kept them low while he moved, listening for anything that clued him into the truth of the situation.
The high priest was muttering in an unknown language, his gold plated knife making easy work of his monumental task. Stab after stab, slice after butchered slice, the father disemboweled one of his children, the discarded set of cultist robes nearby only adding fuel to the fire. A trickle of flowing blood was loud enough to be heard through the guttural fleshy sounds of ripping sinew.
A red circle surrounded the marble sacrificial table, which flowed into a glyph alphabet inscribed around the cavern’s primary level. The blood resonated with the room, forming a dark hum of lies and despair.
Dan spun at the sound of a man falling over, finding a downed cultist being swarmed by thick tendrils of madness. It was then he realized that he was being left alone, the cave’s influence was ignoring him. Every other being within the cave wore a fur coat of spindly threads of hysteria, even the high priest-
They don’t have a mind shield! Dan realized, the cultists’ terrified posture taking on a new meaning.
As if something read his thoughts, the ground shook with harmonious rage. The satanic sacrificial circle of blood jumped with joy, heavy vibration turning the surrounding area into a splash zone. Through the cracks and crevasses, multiple geysers of crimson liquid burst from far below while pustules formed around the cavern’s walls.
Bone white crystals protruded from the pimples, breaking the dam of thin skin and allowing a rush of puss to flow. The walls wet and went slick, red meaty material grew around pale strips of leathery scaffolding. The ceiling drooled, casting upon a rain of viscous mucus that slightly glowed.
At first the cultists screamed in fear, but a suffocated punishment ended all vital conversation. Three robed men or women fell from the sudden attack, a whip of black slicing their throats and spilling their insides. The whip pushed at the bodies, allowing their flowing life forces to gather and join the circle of blood.
The high priest stood at the epicenter, one hand controlling the whip, the other out and up like a true high priest. His muttering turned sour, forcing his tongue to blaze with undying glory. Words of praise and elation were spoken through boisterous cries, all in a language foreign to the audience.
A wooden creek marked the end of the earthquake. All eyes, including the high priest’s, turned to look. The red double doors with the skeletal castings of hell, moved.
It was just an inch, maybe less, but the effect was noticeable and the high priest sought to rectify his previous actions. The deadly whip struck out again, all but beheading three more petrified cultists. As his family’s blood was spilled yet again, the leader continued his dastardly prayer.
The door did not move.
He struck out again, killing three more.
The cavern turned silent.
Until the high priest smiled. “I found you,” he spoke with a voice that sounded of resolved death.
From behind Dan, two eyes and a long and dangerous smile their ethereal selves. A single fist of dark energy collapsed around the human healer, snuffing his dimed protective lamps out like a weak candle flame. The hand squeezed him as it pulled him through the cavern and to center stage.
Hovering just above the marble sacrificial table, Dan saw the mania in the high priest’s eyes. Past his pointed horns, further than his corrupt smile, hidden within his spent mind was an ancient stare. One of countless lived lives and even more deaths, one of endless repetition and graduated achievements, one of departed ethics and monstrous motives.
One of a man who had lost it all.
“Open the gates,” the broken emissary of a dead god commanded.
