AuthorLeftright
patreon
Chapter 26: Compulsory
🕑 Added 2022-12-31 07:43:39 +0000 UTCThe day started out like any other, cool, damp, and spitting with mania. Dan, like most mornings, used his drowsy state to dull the pain of whittling away the seals that constricted his magic. The pain never truly dulled, not really at least. Being drowsy only slowed his mind into accepting that a constant burning would be his reality for the next few minutes.
Dan wondered about the pain itself and why burning, of all things, was how he perceived it. There were occasionally sharp stabbings or wet pops but they were always accompanied by flameless fire. Each and every vein bubbled with thin lava, his heart acting as a rhythmic torture device.
After his drowsy state ended, Dan relied on his heart beat to keep him steady. A metronome in the face of suffering, a ticking clock through the struggle of agony.
Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum.
Bloodshot eyes slowly creaked open when Dan’s blood core was fully spent. With a thought of relief, golden light formed within his seated position right before his chest. Warmth expanded through his wrung body, the kind that soothed rather than amplified. Soon his molten blood took to the new magic, transforming his pain into gentle bliss.
His eyes reverted back to normal off brown, his inflamed swollen throat deflated. His white clenched knuckles, his cut up palms, his broken and bloodied fingernails all fell back into form. The relief was better than any vacation, better than a soft bed, better than an exquisite meal, and definitely worth it.
The progress was slow, but through the months, and with help from the occasional malformed Golden Robe experiment, Dan’s light core was leaps and bounds larger than when the seal was first placed. Frankly, if the conditions were right, he thought the bindings were shatter-able. Or, at the very least, untangle-able.
It would only take a small foothold to fully break the spell, one he felt sure he could accomplish with brute strength.
Not that he wanted to. In fact, Dan’s routine had become somewhat… pleasant. The camp, in all its misery and shame, knew how to keep a schedule. Everyone fit in somewhere, otherwise starvation was a serious route to the end. Every morning was the same, every lunch, evening, and night were all the same.
Wake up and train blood magic while pushing the seal, collect Sully and make inner camp rounds, eat lunch and train light magic, healing the miners and checking for the clutches of madness, then drop off Sully and meet with Golden Robes.
Some days, there was a murder or execution, other days there was seeing a familiar face fall to the labor of the mine. Each time hurt, but every event pushed Dan to better himself.
Some days were worse than others, especially when it came to Sully. The old man’s lucidity was growing shorter by the day, his episodes were becoming more and more disturbed. There were more than a few days Dan did not have the luxury of training magic, Sully taking priority. The human would sit with the alien man, gently pushing magic into his lacerated body, reducing the pain of the crying Sully until he fell asleep.
The sight always toyed with Dan, making his feelings into a game. How far and how long could he sit in gloom until the madness nearly took over? A dreadful game of chicken, but one that kept his mind on himself enough to dissuade breaking. Without it, without enough introspection to realize his own emotional throes, his mind would be nothing but mush.
Those nights made what came next look like child’s play. Golden Robe’s experiments were strange and often nonsensical. Some nights they were simple tests of courage, ones meant to test how madness tendrils reacted to different stimuli. Others were fueled by potions or drugs, often causing Dan to lose consciousness as his insides melted or solidified.
Those nights were the most beneficial for the slave, oftentimes chipping away at the seal. No experiment ever came close to the beneficial effects of the vial during the mine collapse. Dan thought this was Golden Robe’s attempt to keep him complacent. Dangle a golden hen but only give diseased chicken… that or, Golden Robes realized breaking the seal too fast was not a good idea.
Dan and Golden Robes were both working under the high priest’s nose. While both did it for their own reasons, each saw fit to keep the arrangement, although the deal was rather one sided. Dan was still a slave, he could easily be forced into assisting the cultist. Not to mention, there was no guarantee that Golden Robes wouldn’t sic the high priest on Dan the moment the experiments concluded.
Which only put Dan on a grander timeline.
“The way the madness adapts to you and you alone is very interesting,” Golden Robes had said the previous night. “It’s changing in subtle ways every few minutes… How are you ‘purging’ yourself?”
Holding a red hot iron spike, one with some sort of magical armaments, Dan cursed out an answer, “I-I flush m-my body by f-filtering magic through my core!”
Golden Robes jotted something down in his leather bound notebook before leaning in and inspecting the test subject’s melting hands. With a roll of the eyes, the cultist gestured for Dan to stop. “It's strange. The Silver Site Iron does nothing to your kind. That has potential of its own…”
Golden light fluttered to life in the form of a winged mote. Over the months, Dan had carved his own style of magic based on his revelations inside the Void. Wings, freedom, and fearlessness each played their own part, some more than others. The change was for the better, making use of his aptitude in Light: Preservation, the evolution of Aspect.
Dan found it significantly easier to create winged mote while channeling the healing properties of his magic. Not only did the potency increase but his control and precision did as well. Searing the palms of his hands was no problem for his heightened healing magic, not that Dan appreciated the torture of Golden Robe’s experiments.
Something clicked in the back of Dan’s mind and there was a slight tugging sensation within his core as well. He glanced at his captor, seeing the mimic engrossed in his diary. Values came front and center, all increased from moments ago.
Light: Deliverance 9.56
Light: Manipulate 9.03
Light: Preservation 10.01
Light: Strife 6.11
Light: Intensity 10.44
With the latest experiment, Dan’s second powerword within his core passed ten percent to evolution. Both he and Golden Robes reacted to the change.
For the human, his vision narrowed, his mind stilled. For a mere instance Dan was limitless, he was eternity. Air sucked into his ears, nose, and mouth, each spitting out new and unprecedented information.
He could smell a bottled fingertip and preservation oil across the room through wooden cabinets and behind other large jars. He could hear the outside blood grass shift with the artificial winds, their gluttonous aspirations chittering against the foodless night. He could taste the air, coming to note the ever familiar monopoly of iron the Blood Rains had. Having grown accustomed to the taste prior, Dan felt his stomach shift with newfound ghastly acknowledgement.
It was sweeter now.
Stifling a shudder, Dan looked up to see a viscus transparent version of himself look down in belittlement. Golden Robes’ mimic appearance straightened his posture, squinched his bubbly nose, and strained his head to the side.
“For shame. I’ve come to enjoy the lack of sensation with your deluded body. No matter, it was inevitable at this point.”
This time Dan did shudder, but not from his elevated senses but rather his captor’s disgusting smile. This was now the second time one of his powerwords passed a threshold. He didn’t know what was worse, knowing there was so much of the world he was missing, or knowing that he was sharing his life with a torturous monster.
Either way, Dan felt a manic episode starting to strengthen. One last glance to Golden Robes told him that the tendrils were acting up. The cultist hardly stood still, often fiddling with something within his long wide sleeves. However this time, the man was looking at the floorboards.
Crawling through the gaps in the wood grain planks, thousands of seedlings caught the endless pressure of the god below. The seedlings split once they hit fresh air, morphing and contorting into sickly hairs. They hunched and crept over each other, each trying to reach the target as quickly as possible. The result was a mass of twisted spiteful madness.
A cloud of willpower and sin.
This, while reprehensible, was nothing new. However, Dan, and in confluence with Golden Robes, saw more. The hairs were barbed. Impossibly fine jagged pincers swayed in anticipation, each reaching out for flesh to worm their way through.
“Marvelous,” Golden Robes said after Dan purged himself of their influence. “I can see why once the madness takes hold there is no escaping.”
Dan stayed silent but agreed.
“Before you go, let’s see your progress. Come on, do it. Trust me, the faster you learn to make a mind shield, the faster your life will improve.”
Trying to hide his glare, Dan looked within. Over the months, Golden Robes had pushed the lowly slave to better his mental defenses. While he wasn’t opposed to the idea, the notion that all of his problems could simply be turned off eluded him.
Dan understood the core principles of the task but never achieved a stable prototype. Even with the occasional riddle of advice from Golden Robes, he failed every time. The problem arose with his situation rather than technique. His mind had to be clear of negative thoughts and at one with reality. Positive memories, sparks of joy, even distant hope all culminated into a mind shield.
The happiness was always drowned out by real life, specifically Sully. How could Dan think happy thoughts when he knew his friend was wasting away. How could Dan protect himself when he knew Sully was defenseless? If Sully already knew how to create a mind shield, would anything be different?
This attempt was no different and Dan walked back to the prison with a bleeding nose.
The next day started out much the same except for the influx of cultists out and about. They kept to the shadows, hiding within or around buildings regardless of if the structure was considered a “slave” house. This did not sit well with Dan, especially considering most of the cultists glanced at him and Sully.
It was subtle and often no more than a short stare, nothing to usually worry about. The way the madness reacted, however, was much more sinister. With his newly freed senses, Dan noticed the way the madness attempted to sway his mind. Whispers and small malefic visions were nothing new around the camp, but never had they tried to assure him he was safe.
Sure, sometimes the madness hid information or attempted to keep Dan’s attention from what was important, but never had it directly whispered that everything was safe.
The brief reprieve was nice, the mental strain of always looking over his shoulder died much like the idea that the cultists were watching him. The hymns of safety roused through the camp, and Dan wanted to take part. He carried Sully through the base, ignoring the old man’s muted muttering while going about his daily tasks.
Some waved him over, asking the young healer to proscribe his magical light. Others gave away items in the form of payment for previous visits. Lengths of strong rope, padded leather, and dry or soft food were always accepted by Dan. Past that, he didn’t take much.
Color returned to Sully’s hollow eyes. “There are seven,” he said.
The sudden words surprised Dan as lucid moments were getting rarer and rarer. He looked to his elderly friend, pity and grief among his usual pained expression. At some point, the healing glow around Sully had dimmed, even stopping completely for brief moments. The ticking time bomb of death loomed over the pair, just like the eternal wave of madness that clutched at the both of them.
“I know. I’m trying to be subtle,” Dan replied having forgone the odd ease that the madness carried along its poisonous tune.
“It has been awhile since the last event. I wonder who they are going to pick.”
Dan strained his neck trying to look at his mentor. “What do you mean?”
The words were lost on Sully, his form returning to mumbling fleshy stone. A demonic wind washed over the camp in that moment along with the growing familiarity of a calamitous apparition. The presence faded through the ground a few moments later but not after hovering just before Dan.
The presence came and went with Sully’s lucidity, however the spirit was not pure or benevolent. It came like a kidnapper, stealing away Sully’s soul and dragging him down to the depths of hell. Or, in this case, the depths of the cave.
Each time it appeared, Dan swore it stared at him with longing eyes, eager to snatch his soul in place of an old man’s. But that wasn’t important, not right now at least. The cultists had shifted while he spoke to Sully, encircling him in lethargic movements.
Some only took a few steps, others rounded a corner getting just enough of a footstep to interfere with an escape route. Dan eyed them warily, trying to ignore the madness that whispered sweet lies about safety and longevity. Purge after purge, he sped walked through the camp, Sully and his cauldron stuck firmly to his back.
Golden Robes appeared in his periphery, his pristine robes molting under the stress that was the ill-informed mind. Under the mimic’s darkened cowl, eyes and teeth appeared. Hunger, greed, and longing for the unique growled at Dan, signaling him to approach.
Dan’s feet stayed firmly planted, although he knew he had to move. The cultists all knew of his healing abilities, torture just didn’t work on him anymore. The pain was still an issue but only in the moment, something in which non-compliant beatings simply didn’t account for. No, if he didn’t follow their orders, something else would be fit for punishment.
His mind went to Sully’s haphazard form. He’s already in enough pain, Dan thought, taking a step.
A few paces into certain trouble, a wave of nothingness overcame the area. Dan trembled as every hair along his arms rushed up in guard, completely opposite of what the tendrils of madness were doing. The madness died in a rebound of dark and limitless magic. Specifically the Void magic of the high priest.
The man, cloaked in deep purple and black robes, strutted onto the scene. He commanded a blast of enmity, invisible and absolute. His face, plastered with thick horns, always kept a broad smile, one reminiscent of happiness and joy despite the atmosphere.
He always has a mind shield up, Dan realized, noting the odd air.
Madness groveled at his feet, pleading with Dan to allow their ridged hooks ample opportunity to strike. It was then he realized that the madness was being repelled by a black shimmer. It took form just beyond his sight, well formed around his mind like a hardened shell around a bank vault. It bulged and danced with his prodding, always snapping back to its protective means when a tendril tested its strength.
Dan knew the source, although he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He looked up, tracing a faint black vein through the air. It led him to the exact person who he thought it would, the high priest.
Dan slowly breathed out, centering himself and taking another step towards Golden Robes. The meeting between the test subject and experimenter was hijacked by the camp’s leader, however.
“Ah, Dan,” the high priest purred. “Exactly the person I wanted to see.”
Dan glanced to Golden Robe’s shrouded face and received nothing in the way of warning. “I-is there something I can assist you with?”
The man’s smile elongated, passing a few of his lower horns. “Yes, in fact. You will take part in a ritual.”
Dan squinted, his pulse rising and a tightness in his stomach forming. He wanted to hide, to keep his sealed and secondary core as far away from the man as possible. The circling cultists, while problematic, were significantly more tame than the high priest, which left little room to act. So, Dan nodded, the only avenue he saw for survival.
“Eat these and meet me in family building in one hour.”
Sticking out his hand, Dan received splinted bone white crystals. He quickly swallowed them, his throat being sliced apart in the process. Watching the high priest leave, Dan spoke to Golden Robes.
“What kind of ritual?”
“Nothing you need to understand. But if you must know, we will be making a poison of sorts.”
“Why me?” Dan asked.
Golden Robes shrugged, stepping away. “Our latest raids have gone poorly. We are low on numbers.”
At this point the cultist barrier had long dispersed, leaving Dan his freedom for an hour. He made haste to Sully’s room, dropping off the crippled elder and the iron cauldron.
The cultist’s numbers were low? The question came back to Dan again and again. What did it mean? How did it help him? The high priest mentioned adopting him into their family once before, but that ship had long sailed… right?
Dan grunted in defiance. He would rather die in an attempted escape then be forced to work for a man who sacrificed people.
The family building, as the cultists called it, was the largest within the camp. It, like most of the others, was quite high rather than wide. However, this one differed, as guards were always stationed outside the entrance and an entire glyph alphabet was carved into the wood and stone. It was a fortress, one meant for beings much more powerful than mere slaves.
Dan was quickly ushered into the lowest floor, an empty single room devoid of support pillars or anything of mention. Besides the pile of bone crystal.
The pile, which towered nearly to the ceiling, glimmered against the green-red light. A kaleidoscope of sheen and glow refracted across the barren floor, casting long shadows from the residents’ feet.
A cultist finished drawing a red circle around the pile, causing the green-red lights to pop with a sudden burst of magic. Taking the que, the high priest stepped into the fray, locking eyes with Dan.
“Do as I say, when I say. Understand?”
Dan meekly nodded, his legs vibrating like he had just run up a mountain.
The high priest’s smile lengthened. “Good. Now, prepare yourself.”
In near unison every cultist moved together, gathering power within their cores. Some carried staves, others odd trinkets, one even a severed hand, regardless of the medium, magic flared into life. The red circle blazed into reality, burning against the dark room until it peeled. The Void stared through the cracks, a hunger emanating through the boundary.
The high priest threw back his arms and yelled to Dan, “Quickly! Throw all the crystal into the hole!”
Handful after handful, Dan shoveled as much as he could. As he neared the end, an eye sprouted from beyond the plane. It sprawled into existence, phasing through the darkness like it had been watching the entire time.
It locked eyes with Dan, demanding more.
