The Hunt is on
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit is intended (not that anybody would be mad enough to pay me for my writing, lol)
Warning: Although the first chapter is harmless the story will contain torture and sexual assault later on, so if you are into more fluffy stories or had to endure some traumatic experiences please consider yourself warned. I'm going to place another warning at the beginning of chapter two and an author's note at the end of the story. Don't want to offend anybody and hope you won't be spitting mad with me. Reviews and discussions welcome.
Damien Vryce ran as fast as his legs would carry him, and the dingy streets of one of Jaggonath's meaner areas passed by in a blur. Salty drops of sweat burned his eyes, and in spite of the rather cool spring evening his clothes were sticking to his body while his breath came in choking sobs, his lungs burning as if scorched by the toxic fumes of Mount Shaitan.
In a desperate attempt to clear his mind Damien shook his head, like a horse trying to chase away some irksome flies. Why on Erna was he thinking of Mount Shaitan, the most infamous volcano on the Eastern continent? Not a very scenic spot, as far as he was concerned, and certainly not a place he would care to visit, not even in his dreams.
But he had dreamed of Shaitan, hadn't he? Dimly Damien remembered a landscape that could have been transferred to the surface of Erna from the realms of hell, remembered floating silvery shadows, a tall figure in flowing robes collapsing in a heap at the crater's edge and a feeling of personal loss and grief so intense that in his dream he had wept like a lost child.
Danger! Another surge of immediate terror hit him without warning, stopping any attempt of rational thinking, and Damien nearly tripped over his own feet. A faceless threat so terrifying and vile, so nauseating was lurking on him that his soul recoiled from it. Feeling like a walking target all his instincts screamed at Vryce that he had to keep moving in his search for a safe hiding place.
For a short moment the tiny part of his brain that hadn't already drowned in the visceral fear that raged through him like a wildfire struggled to the surface, and Damien wondered why he acted so out of character, running away like a scared rabbit instead of fighting to his death, but the coherent thought triggered a wave of dizziness so intense he had to lean to a wall for support.
Panting for dear life Damien tried to catch his breath. His blurred vision clearing a bit he realized that the miserable shacks had apparently given way to more spacious buildings, the dwellings of the affluent citizens of Jaggonath. Maybe one of the elegant premises would provide him with the dearly needed shelter from the unknown escapee from the pits of hell that was haunting him, a secure haven to rest his body and recover his wits.
Vryce wiped the sweat from his face and scanned his surroundings. The wall who had served to hold him upright belonged to a dignified villa, not pretentiously painted like so many of its neighbours, but evidently old and valuable. No nameplate decorated the front door, and the windows were dark. Damien sighed with relief. An uninhabited house was exactly what he needed: bringing harm to innocent people by his mere presence would be anathema to everything he believed in.
'There are no innocents'. The statement floated through his mind, gentle like a baby's breath in spite of its appalling message, and Damien shivered. He remembered the voice so clearly, smooth and silky, but underlined with deadly malevolence. A male voice, of that he was sure, but try as he might he could remember neither the face nor the name of its cruel owner, and when Vryce tried to force the memory he was struck by another wave of that indescribable dizziness that made him sway on his feet.
Gasping Damien leaned to the wall again, blinking like an owl. As a healer he recognized the first signs of a threatening physical collapse, and he realized that he had to make a choice quickly. Although quite proficient in both man-to-man and man-to-faeborn combat battling a nasty high-order demon or even one of the numerous thugs who roamed the streets at night was out of the question in his current condition, not to mention facing a whole horde of either of them.
Vryce pondered his options. He could still try to escape, maybe hide in a church, on holy ground, but he felt inexplicably drawn to this deserted mansion that promised him safety. His conscious mind overwhelmed by a compelling lure that seemed somehow familiar Damien pushed the massive alteroak door open, not even wondering why it hadn't been locked in the first place.
Silence and darkness greeted him, and Damien groped his way blindly while his eyes tried to adjust. When he was finally able to recognize at least part of his surroundings the former priest stiffened and bit back a heartfelt curse. To his dismay the villa evidently wasn't uninhabited at all, the long corridor leading to a spacious study, tastefully furnished with a mixture of exquisite antiques and stylish modern furniture, but literally overflowing with books. Huge volumes bent the shelves that lined the walls in abundance, and stacks of books and notes crowded the big numahogany table.
Evidently he had invaded the home of a scholar who devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge, a thought that struck a chord inside Damien. In spite of his disorientation he still harboured a dim memory that once he had known the true embodiment of that overwhelming hunger for enlightenment, had admired that fierce craving in spite of his fervent dislike of the man's corruption, but again there was no face to accompany the memory, just a seductive, inhuman whisper. 'I sold my soul for knowledge'.
Damien shuddered involuntarily, his skin crawling. The voice had sounded so real, so frighteningly familiar, but during his extensive travels in the service of the Church he had never stayed long enough at one and the same place to make friends, and most certainly none of his comrades in the Order of the Golden Flame had told him he had sold his soul to the Forces of Evil, for whatever purpose. Nothing that abysmal had happened in the Order's history since the lamentable fall of the Prophet more than nine hundred years ago. Maybe he was simply going crazy, losing his ability to divide between reality and illusion, but yet…
Another wave of mind blowing horror struck the former priest, and his knees buckled. When Damien was able to reopen his eyes at last he found himself on the floor, whimpering like a frightened child and unable to stand up. Pull yourself together and get moving, Vryce, he admonished himself and started to crawl towards an inconspicuous door next to the study's entrance that revealed some uneven steps leading to the basement. Laboriously Damien managed to drag himself back to his feet and started his descend into darkness.