AuthorLeftright
patreon
Chapter 12: Dome
🕑 Added 2022-12-15 20:39:10 +0000 UTCWalking back to his cell, Dan was accosted. He missed what they called him, but the smirks and posture from the group caused his hackles to raise. The group of five was an odd bunch, consisting of two guards and three camp-slaves. Normally communication between the masters and filth were on a strict basis, but a few broke the conventions.
Whether it be because they were from the same original home world, they were constricted by a similar ailment, or simply because they were like minded in sadistic tendencies, a few small groups were present in the encampment. This particular group was obviously the most diabolical of the three, their echoed smile between each member was as damning as it was barbarous.
They came to play.
The three slaves were posturing behind the two guards, acting like a gang of street kids who called upon older brothers to take care of things. They each were oddly clean, devoid of visible wounds and scars, and even carried around decently large weapons that, under normal circumstances, would be confiscated.
The leader of the three was a lanky man with wood chips for eyebrows. Along his hunched back was a small ingrown tree of crimson hue. Grotesque smelling sap drained from the tree’s trunk, washing down the man’s back like wet hair after a long shower. In his hands was a chunk of wood akin to a club or two-by-four, but was coated in enough sap to be considered a bioterrorism weapon.
The other two slaves were twin in appearance and size. They moved together, like a dual headed cobra dancing to a charmer’s flute. They were significantly thinner and taller than the average human, making their appearances stick out to Dan. They wiggled unnaturally, their vibrations being all they needed to take a step. In their wake, trails of parted dirt followed their feet.
In their hands were long sticks that towered over their already superhuman size. Atop their sticks was a heavy set chain connected to a silver orb. The orbs bounced as the twins held their weapons stationary, jostling their iron chains with forceful unpleasant winds.
As Dan entertained the idea of sticking around, the winds touched upon his ears and chin, tickling him. He smiled and giggled, trying to fight off the invisible breeze. He asked the twins to turn off their sticks, but failed to speak the language properly. A sharp pain was punishment for his crimes, a fist collided against his gut.
Dan’s body took the punch, wind picking him up and pulling him further along. He landed with a dull crack, blood gushing from his clenched lips. Deep scarlet peppered the already red grass below him, causing a joyous stir from the blood-crazed foliage. The wind touched upon him again, soothing his mind from retaliation.
Something pricked in the back of Dan’s mind, telling him something was wrong. He didn’t listen, however, too focused on defending himself from the invisible tickling hands. His laughs were interlaced with coughing fits of blood as a sick smell crossed his nose.
Dan instantly shot up, like a marathon runner whiffing smelling salts. He saw the attack coming, but failed to react.
A boot kicked him through a thin wooden fence, creating more internal wounds and cracking a few ribs. Dan’s mind was present enough to stare at his attacker, the only female of the group and one of the two guards.
She was short, wide, and caked with rough stones. Past her silver guard armor was skin made of fractured garnet and hair made of thin slate. As she moved, jagged bits and pieces fell off her, solidifying them in the grass as an operational hazard. Slowly, the ground around the stone spikes morphed and twisted, bringing to life fresh rock.
Petrified stone grass blades sprouted from the dirt, becoming one with the area like a forest fire. Only seconds had passed since they fell, but the group of slaves and guards now stood on solid hard ground. This didn’t seem to bother the woman guard, just the opposite, in fact. Stones rushed to meet her feet before growing up her body and replacing the falling skin.
A sharp pain splintered from where her rocky foot smashed into Dan’s center chest. A filled outline of her foot was imprinted into Dan’s body, gravel and needle-like rocks breaking his skin and embedding into his bone. He cursed in pain, noticing he was not bleeding from his wound. The wind picked up a moment later, but before his mind fell victim to the calming effect, he realized his skin was becoming grey.
The wind pushed Dan to his feet, all the while he tried to fight off its gentle touch. He was in no pain as the air caressed him, however he was able to discern something was wrong by the time his moment became difficult.
His mind teetered on the edge of realization just as another whiff of sewage mixed with decomposing meat met his nose. Life came back to his eyes just in time for a blob of bile to land on his shoulder and neck. Screaming, Dan fought to remove the horrid discharge. He clawed and swiped, finding the ooze only dug in deeper.
As pain ripped apart his skin, like sandpaper to a leather couch, he stumbled to fuel his core. Light encompassed his mind, bolstering him against the controlling winds. An orb of gold bloomed from his palm before being swung around like a blind man fighting off robbers. Dan didn’t know who was the most important to defend against.
The twins and their weapon that could harness the wind? The horrid smelling man? The woman who was turning him to stone? Or the last of the two guards, the man of bubbling flesh.
The man was little more than a husk of vile flesh given form under a set of silver armor. He bubbled and burst, each time sending bile and chunks of viscera into the air. The blobs of liquid skin squirmed their way through the grass, rejoining with their host like demented tadpoles swimming back to the main flock.
Taking the lucid moment to heart, Dan pushed his orb of light created with Light: Salvation and reinforced with healing properties from Aspect into the glob of fleshly matter across his shoulder and neck and ran. The foul wad screeched in bubbling pain, like a hot iron dipped into cold water, falling off in the process.
Dan didn’t take the reprieve as victory, refocusing on his other wounds as he sprinted through the camp. His stomach was the worst off, the jagged implanted stones slowly morphing his body. Pain encroached his chest bones and ribs, the stiffness of the stone dragging against his soft insides. He rubbed his chest rough and fast, knocking loose a majority of the stone. He stiffened from the pain, but forced out another orb of gold.
Where is Sully? Dan thought, pushing nearly half of his core into healing light.
Then, suddenly, the wind died and the world stopped. A fizzle and whipping crack blasted through the camp from behind Dan. He felt the lurch of reality reverting together to fill a void, he felt of power magics, he felt the presence of the high priest. A short willed scream only pushed his lead feet faster, a sickening crunch only propelled his golden magic to newfound prowess.
Dan didn’t dare look back, the sickening faces of the other slaves answer enough. The group chasing him, his tormentors, were being butchered. Whether for their crimes or for enjoyment, the high priest’s unforgettable magic decimated the lowly group.
But then, Dan realized something. The thought came to him subtly, like it was always there hiding in the back of his mind. He wanted to watch. He wanted to sear the image of his tormentors getting shredded. He wanted to see the blood of those he deemed evil, those who were willing to harm the weak, to torture the unable.
Dan turned and looked.
The blood grass slurped up the still leaking nectar of the three slaves. Their bodies were sliced apart in a perfect arc, the aftermath of a void bomb. Their devastated legs still stood where they last walked, only one of the six having fallen to the bush below. Their weapons were nowhere to be seen as well, only the distinct smell of rotting miasma.
The high priest stood with his fists inside the two lackeys. The stone guard fought to remove the intruding appendage, but was falling short due to the void black resolve of the man. His hands glowed with eerie flux that pulled at the air, creating long winded tides in reality.
He used this to toy with the sadistic guards, going so far as to let the flesh guard’s liquid insides leak out. The guard’s bumbling mass of balloon skin crumbled under the pressure of the high priest’s hand, deflating like a punctured blister. The viscous liquid mixed against the grass below, sending a shockwave of outlandish cries through the land.
The grass demanded more blood, a request the high priest took to heart.
The stone woman’s true appearance was turned from her rocky armor. The thing was no longer classifiable as a person. It was nothing more than a circlet of fleshy stone, complete with oozing thick droplets of crimson. The high priest casually threw the helpless heap into the grass, letting the feast begin.
Dan couldn’t hear the details of the high priest’s words said to the bile guard, but the subject matter was clear enough. The high priest walked, the guard still surrounding his hand, to the edge of the encampment’s territory. The semi translucent protective dome ended with a flume of buzzing magic buried a few feet into the ground.
Walking through the dome by making use of a void construct, the high priest split the barrier and guided the desolate guard out of the camp. He threw the pile of flesh into the forest before retreating back into the safe haven.
At this point, Dan along with most of the camp had moved closer to watch. He almost reveled in the glory to see his tormentors tortured. Dark thoughts formed along the crest of his mind, fueling him with anger and hatred. He almost clapped when a lurking monster came out of the thicket of trees.
The being was a twitching set of stilts, four in total and incredibly slow. It cast a barrage of glowing beams from its mouth, its sharp teeth filed away in the process. It suddenly teleported a short distance forward, piercing its stilted legs into the boiled bag of flesh that was once a guard. It shrieked in joy, sucking the man into hideously small hairs along its legs. As the man disappeared, the monster’s teeth slowly regrew.
The monster’s teeth were only partially reformed, by the time it completely devoured the guard. It needed more, something of which it explained by blasting the people beyond the dome with a powerful beam of white. The beam rebounded off, cutting a hole through the canopy of blood-wet trees.
It shrieked again, this time resonating with the world to convey its insatiable hunger. It charged the dome, slowly at first as its long legs twitched in movement. It suddenly disappeared, teleporting into the camp.
Branches of glowing black-red rippled along the dome’s transparent exterior. A wave of power roared across the encampment, causing loose rocks to rumble against the reverb. The monster reappeared a heartbeat later, its long legs snapped up and broken.
Its lengthy torso bottomed out against the blood grass as it tried to control its broken legs. It howled in pain, its shouts echoing against the dark forest. White beams whipped through the trees as it thrashed, each slicing whatever it passed through in two.
Except for the dome.
The dome didn’t strain under the pressure, rebuffing the camp’s pride. A few of the slaves smiled, most of the onlooking guard cheered. The scarce cultist presence, besides the high priest himself, inspected the protective magic with inspired ambitions.
Something rushed through the trees, like a spear attached to a chain, and pierced into the broken monster. The chain pulled back a moment later, pulling the screaming being along with it. A moment after the uproar ended, the bloody forest reverted back to tense silence.
The high priest scoffed at this, spinning on his heel and speaking to Dan, “Next time, I will not intervene. Learn to fight back or find someone to do it for you.”
Dan didn’t so much as make eye contact. Most of the words flew over his head, having been spoken too fast or with too much emphasis. But the message was clear enough. He watched the cult’s leader tread through the sea of souls, his presence enough to create a bubble.
With the high priest out of view, eyes turned to Dan. Some looked at him curiously, others with distant hostility. A few began to scheme, trusting that the high priest would stick to his words and not interfere again. Lastly, there was Sully, who was just arriving.
“Something wrong?” he asked the younger human.
Dan shook his head. “Not anymore.”
The old man shrugged, wrapping his arm around his friend’s shoulders and pushing him through the camp. Dan tried to make idle small talk, but his continued removal of stone shrapnel from his torn shirt and freshly healed skin caused the elder to ask questions.
“They…” Dan tried to explain the situation, but faltered when he realized that he didn’t know what the group wanted.
Did they want to harm him because they could or because there was some underlying reason? He leaned towards the latter, knowing that his arrival and subsequent presence in the camp was less than nonchalant. Was it that he was a unique race in these parts? Was it that he was favored somewhat by the cult? Other than meeting with the high priest daily, he was receiving no special treatment.
Or was he?
Generally he was left alone. Was that not supposed to happen? Were other slaves in constant fear of being singled out and beat?
“They hurt me,” was all he was able to choke out.
“Are you alright?” Sully asked, speaking slowly and moving his mouth more than necessary.
Dan traced the movements, memorizing them. “Healing magic is good.”
Two glowing black orbs floated tirelessly through the endless blood rains. They bobbed up and down with the flow of reality, drifting through the air and around trees. Every now and then, they phased to the ground, looking for tracks hidden in the dark underbrush.
The construct grew a wide smile after finding a single footprint beside the corpse of a dispatched monster. The orbs could investigate the monster for more clues, but the magus controlling them decided to progress further. Cracking black bursts of magic pulsed from the construct as they continued the hunt.
Eventually, the construct came upon a small round of temporary tents. They were magical in nature, camouflaged behind an invisible warding scheme that made the area seem unmolested by sentient hands. The orbs pierced the minute defenses easily, the magus controlling them finding the task child’s play.
The small camp was desolate and abandoned. The fire pit in the center was an interesting touch, one that the magus assumed was more trouble than worth. If even the smallest amount of flame bypassed the wards, the whole forest would know of the camp’s location.
Six tents, each sporting two or three beddings took up the temporary area. Personal items and the occasional scrap of food let the magus know he was in the right place. He had been hunting this particular group for months, only succeeding in ending the life of one of their members. He was getting closer, however. The man he killed was forced to act, serving as a decoy for the others.
That meant they were getting desperate.
They were running out of places to go. Soon they would either all be killed or captured. Either way, the magus would be happy with the outcome. The group had been a thorn in his side since the beginning. But, little by little, he was able to slaughter their numbers. Soon he’d have sole monopoly over the mountain, soon his real plan would start.
He was glad for the timing as well. His newest family member was promising. But that promise also created a set of branching paths, although both came to the same outcome. There was the simple way, but also less fulfilling. This path was short and sweet, although it went against his better judgment. Then there was the more difficult of the two. It would involve indoctrination, which was always more difficult for the headstrong types.
But, he had a few ideas about how to break the man in question. After that, the family would have a crucial weapon for protecting the mountain. It wouldn’t be until his natural death that the magus’s true goals would be achieved, however… which also meant that his plans could be foiled by premature death.
But that was a simple enough fix.
A sharp movement caught the magus’s eye through the construct. The figure of a man draped in a blood-drenched hood appeared from through the warding barrier. A slick beam of pearl white magic ripped through the air, slicing the construct into pieces.
Back in the encampment, the high priest smiled despite the rebound from the broken spell. Without any need to rush, he slipped his outing cloak on and picked up his staff. A snap of his fingers later, a message had been issued to his most combat-oriented family members.
Less than thirty minutes later, a team of cultists were leaving the protection of the dome and heading toward the last remaining members of the opposition.
