Moving into a little darker realm with our favorite scarlet companion and its Chosen with this one. Expect far ranging repercussions.
As always ...PLEASE REVIEW!
Night Games
Act One
Cloak huddled on the cold tile floor of the dark hospital hallway, pressed against the closed door separating it from its Chosen. It paid no heed to darker crimson stains marring its scarlet, the drying blood of its Master.
Ignored the slashes in it's own fabric, where the assassins' unknown weapon had torn thru, harming its Chosen.
Harming Cloak, but that didn't matter.
The Woman, whom it had heard called Doctor Christine Palmer, had banished it out here. It complied, because Stephen trusted her.
Had told it to trust her.
It had carried him here, barely conscious, wrapped in its folds like a swaddled child. And now, it waited, miserably, unable to make out what any of the muffled voices on the other side of the door were saying.
It didn't hear Stephen's voice, and that, in itself, was nearly unendurable.
Outside the windows, the night was black, the thick dark of a new moon, accented by the rumble of thunder.
When it heard the low hiss of a gateway being opened, it snapped upright, scanning the darkest shadows of the hallway, but couldn't see anything.
The voice that came from the semidarkness was sibilant, enthralling, as it taunted,
'Locked out, in the hallway. Cast out, like a dog that's failed to defend it's master.'
A chilling, soft laugh.
'What further use could he possibly have for you?' the voice sneered, and a form coalesced from the shadows. A wave of cold rolled across the floor as he took a step toward Cloak, who shivered, fear. It immediately recognized this as the assassin who had attacked its Chosen, back at the Sanctum.
It had never, in its centuries of existence, encountered a being such as this.
Even though every thread tingled with the urge to retreat, it was clearly determined to hold its ground, denying access to the room where it's Chosen was.
The owner of the voice was tall, his clothes ebon, his hair and skin, blacker than coal. His eyes glittered, cold blue steel. A cloak, almost like smoke, floated from his shoulders.
'I must say. Your Master is in line to become very troublesome.'
His voice, velvet smooth. An accent, English clearly not his native tongue. A small puff congealed in the air with each word, as if his exhalation were colder than his surroundings.
'It would be rather nice to look forward to a few decades without the interference of a Sorcerer Supreme.'
Silver fangs glittered behind a cruel grin, a mock sigh, a shrug,
'So, he needs to go.'
Cloak crouched, prepared to spring into action, as the creature sized it up.
'Still, you are in the way,' he pouted, eyes slanting a threatening look toward the closed door.
Cloaks' collar snapped up, fury, and it jerked up from the floor, flew to attack.
Cloak was lightning fast.
But, so was the assassin.
His hand yanked something from within the folds of his cloak, held it between him and Cloaks' assault.
Too late, Cloak realized what he revealed in his grip.
It tried to stop, to dodge, anything to get away, but it was useless.
The black orb held by the assassin opened, a gaping maw of midnight wind, sucked Cloak in, then snapped shut.
Cloak vanished, as if it had never existed.
The assassin chuckled, pleased, eyed the baseball sized object in satisfaction.
Suddenly, the door opened, spilling bright blue light like a beacon into the hallway.
With a frustrated snarl, the assassin spun back, evaporated into the black gateway he had opened, closed it behind.
A second later, Doctor Christine Palmer leaned out, face twisted in confusion as she called, hesitantly,
'Ah, hello? Stephens'….cloak?'
She took a step out, looking up and down the empty hallway. Ran a hand thru her hair, groaned,
'Perfect. Just….perfect.'
