interlude I: darkest shadows
It was a place of ruin. Where hallways of marble and archways of gold once stood gleaming erect, only dull gray stone remained.
They resided in the very center of it all, rigid upon two great thrones as though they were part of the stone walls that surrounded them. What little light in the room glinted off the jewels on their fingers, the intricate gold embroidery on their luxuriant robes, and the stones in their foreheads. They seemed to notice little, their bright eyes fixated on the man groveling on his knees before them.
"Tell us again, mortal, why we should spare you." A small smile belied the vicious intent in the man's voice.
"Why we shouldn't allow our servants to rip you to shreds." The woman was almost purring as she drank in the man's fear.
"I-I-p-please—please don't kill me! Please!" The man could only whimper, his fear so terrible that coherent thought was beyond his reach. He hardly dared look at them, hands clasped trembling in front of him as his face remained glued to the floor.
The woman sighed; the amusement in her eyes vanished. She gestured, and the man burst into flames. His screams echoed in the empty hall.
"I despise when they beg. We should not have killed the last one. His answers were interesting."
The man sneered. "His reasons were insufficient and unworthy."
"But still, he thought them at an impressive rate."
They watched until the flame dwindled into nothing, leaving no sign that anyone had been there.
"Well my love, shall we go hunting again?"
This time, the woman did purr. "Yesss."
They disappeared.
Silence descended in the dusty hall, and then, a brief rustle. A man emerged from the darkness, just beside the dais the thrones rested upon. He paused momentarily, staring at the spot where many humans had already perished. Nay a one had ever given a satisfactory answer. He doubted any ever would. He continued on.
His footsteps echoed through the dark halls. On its fringes, in the very darkest shadows, the youma lurked restlessly. Their murmurs and hisses did not seem to concern him. Nor did it seem that he had a destination in mind, for he often paused, his eyes searching, roaming, before he would apparently choose a path at random.
At last he stood before a set of doors. His hand rose. He brushed the ancient oak lightly, his fingers tracing the intricate and now faded inlays. It was no different from any other door he had passed, if a little more intact; yet it seemed his destination. His hand dropped to the rusted handle. He pushed the doors open, and frowned. He pushed with more force, exerting his will upon the door. It did not move. A silent snarl appeared on his lips.
He lifted his hand, letting it hover close to the wood. Darkness darker than the darkest shadows gathered in his hand, compacting into a ball. He released his power and it impacted the wood. The handles melted, the granite walls on either side curved slightly inwards, but nary a thing shattered. His face clouded in raged, and what light around him began to visibly bend.
Then, just as suddenly he staggered, his hands gripping his chest as though in agony. What power about him dissipated. After a moment, he stood, breathing heavily. He stalked away without looking at the door again.