Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.
***Phew this was a quick update! I hope it's good enough for you all. I can't remember where I heard the saying "all that glitters is not gold" but I thought it sounded right for the story. Anyway, enjoy!
Resurrecting the Shadow of Memories
A Shadow of Destiny Fanfic
"All that glitters is not gold."
It was once a common, though unspoken practice of humankind to summon beings into the world. Beings that have one purpose. To serve unconditionally the one who calls them. That is the purpose of my kind. The djinn. Centuries, even millennia ago, certainly before any records you could find today, we thrived in a world that used us for our abilities, and guarded us like precious gems, fearing that another would take us for himself.
It requires skill and spiritual strength to create a being such as myself. We must be called into being, and thereafter we are bound into whatever our 'master' sees fit. In my case, it was the stone. Whether it was coincidence or fate that it happened to be the Philosopher's Stone itself that I was bound to for eternity I don't know. Or maybe that was created with me, and has always been a part of me.
My creator saw too it that, when I was created, I was sufficiently weak so as to pose little physical threat to him. As for magic, he bound me in a pentagram, and told me that one false move on my part would result in my return to the black hell from where I had been summoned. Being newly created, it may seem strange that I knew and understood what he said to me. But that is part of what I was. Instinct allowed me to understand him, and I knew from the beginning that I must not anger this one who called himself my master.
While I knew and understood spoken words, I did not understand fully the situation in which I had been placed. I have not always been a cold, superior demon. When I was young I was as childlike as my face appears to you. Innocent, naive, I was almost utterly dependent on my master in the beginning, who told me that he had summoned me to work magic for him.
"Magic?" I asked him. I knew the word, but I did not understand how I was to use this magic he claimed I possessed.
"You are a djinn," he said, his voice loud and commanding in my ears. "A fire based demon. You know what magics you possess. Think on it. You know these things. They are a part of you."
I still did not understand. But I was taken aback by his words. "Demon?" I repeated softly.
He laughed at my obvious shock. "Yes. That's what you are. And you're /my/ demon. You do as I command. And I alone, do you understand?"
I couldn't speak for confusion. Baffled thoughts prevented speech. And so I simply nodded. He seemed pleased by my submissive response. When I finally found my voice it was shaking.
"What do I do?"
Again he laughed at my childish question. "You do as I tell you. When I tell you to fetch me something, you do so in an instant. When I ask for you to reveal the mysteries of the world to me, you shall speak until your throat breaks if you must. I own you. You are my possession."
"A possession?"
"Yes. A slave for myself alone. You are my creation."
"You created me?"
"That I did," he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the power that he would wield with my aid. "You are mine. I formed you as you are. The body you possess is sufficient, and you shall remain this way forever."
Body?
I blinked in confusion and then for the first time I realised that I could see. To see required eyes. I could speak, which I knew required a mouth. Looking down, I found a body that I had not even noticed until that moment. And, supposedly, it was not mine. It belonged to this man before me. He owned me. Mind, body and soul. I was not my own being. I was just a thing. /His/ thing. But he expressed knowledge of what I was, and I felt somehow that there was little I could do other than agree to serve him. What else was there for me?
But I would be useless to him until I learned what magic I possessed. It soon became clear to me that he had created me to be weak in body not only so that he had the advantage over me physically, but also because it somehow increased my magical prowess and my intelligence. My mind accelerated rapidly and my powers astonished and pleased my master greatly. I displayed magics that even he had not thought of.
"You'll be far more useful than I imagined," he told me one night. "I could rule the world with you, little demon."
I had no desire to escape from him to begin with. I was protected under his roof, guarded from a world that he said would destroy me if they learned of my existence. Or worse use me for their own ends. He told me that he did not use me. I was repaying a great debt to him by serving him, for he had given me life. And he was helping me discover my abilities. I had no cause to be ungrateful.
And yet he had not given me life. Not really. I did not realise this to begin with, but I was soon to find out.
I learned very early that I possessed some healing abilities. My strength did not lie in this area, but I was able to cure certain ailments. This required a basic knowledge of the human body, and my master was very willing to bring in a human body to examine with me. Anything to enhance my knowledge. Anything to expand my powers. I felt that the sight of that young man, lying on the stone table, with his blood concealing around my feet and soaking my master's robes, should have sickened me. But I felt a strange detachment. Strange because I believed I was similar to this man, who had once been alive like I was now, or so I believed. Looking back, I viewed this man's body as if it belonged to a lab rat. I was learning, and that justified the methods with which I accumulated my knowledge. I was numb to it.
But I was not numb to the horror that came from the realisation that, unlike other men, I had no heart. My master showed me the young man's heart, red and dripping, and then placed his hand over his chest, telling me to do the same and feel how a heart would beat inside a living man. When I felt nothing I told him so, and he placed his hand over my chest to see if this was the case. He laughed when he also felt nothing.
"So you don't have a heart, little djinn. Perhaps you are not truly alive then."
I was panicking. "You gave me life. You said you gave me life."
"Perhaps only an imitation of life is what I gave you. You pretend to live, but you're just an empty shell with a spirit inside. No heart. So you can't have anything else in there either."
"But you made me like other men," I was sobbing now in my confusion and distress. "You made me real."
"Hah! Things like you aren't real."
"That is a lie!" I screamed at him, feeling the strain in my throat as I did so.
When his hand caught me across the face, I heard the crack that might be heard from breaking a plate. I was grabbed by the arm and smacked again, a sound rap on the side of the head. There were more cracking sounds and when the master's grip on me relaxed I felt like I was going to fall to pieces.
My body, or the shell that was my body, was riddled with cracks like a vase that had been dropped but had not quite smashed. Looking at my arm there was a red glow rising between the cracks, trying to break through and leak away. I felt as though I were beginning to drift away.
I was picked up bodily and the master placed me in the huge pentagram. There was a gentleness to him now, but only because he now feared he would break me. Inside the pentagram, my life's essence was held in place, and my fractured body was forced to make a long and painful recovery. But my mind was even slower to recover. I was still unable to accept that I was not like other men, and that I was just an empty shell. Was I nothing more than a husk, brought to life by some spirit that did not belong on this earth?
"Do not force me to strike at you again, little djinn," the master said to me when I seemed in a fit enough state of mind. "You will not escape from my service that easily I assure you."
"This body..." I choked out.
"Is not a human body," he said. "It is the shell for your spirit. You're like a little doll, brought to life. Nothing more than that."
"But my spirit," I begged. "Is that not human? Something like human?"
"I very much doubt that," he sneered at me. "But that doesn't matter. You'll learn to live with it." And then laughing at the cruel irony of his words he left me alone again.
I was now able to understand my coolness when dealing with that human corpse. I felt no sympathy; no connection to that lifeless body because there was nothing that connected me to it. I was something different to them. I wasn't human. I was an imitation of life.
When my master returned, he gave me my name, so that I would not forget what was. A name that was a cruel reminder that I would never be like other men.
Homunculus; a little manikin. Something that was only an imitation of reality.
I was hurt and bitter because of what I was. A jealousy rose inside me as I began to realise the benefits that would come from being human. I was sent on many errands by my master, who always wished me to find some ancient item, and I always returned without fail. But when I was once asked to bring back a set of books from an ancient land, I almost destroyed myself in my efforts.
I had never been asked to carry anything that would have been considered particularly heavy. A handful of precious jewels, perhaps some ancient scrolls. But when I lifted these books I was not ready for the sudden feeling of exhaustion. I could perform the most powerful of spells and not feel tired in the least, but these simple books defeated me.
I understood now that not only did I have to be careful not to break the shell of my body, I was also unable to use it in any way similar to a human. I was far too weak and fragile for any kind of physical work. This angered my master, who now saw the error in his making my body so weak.
"Damn you to hell," he shouted at me when I told him simply that I could not physically bring him what he wanted. "Damn you and your weak, pathetic body!"
I replied with what was the beginning of the personality you see now.
"You are the one in error, master, for making me this way."
He was astonished and outraged by my insolence, but possibly the reality of what I had said angered him the most. He punished me severely for that display. Not with physical abuse of course. My body would have disintegrated had he been foolish enough to beat me. No. His torture was far worse, using magic to send tides of pain though me, which were intended to break my soul and not my body. I had shown that I was not the obedient, unquestioning servant he had wanted, and he was determined to make me just that.
"I will not have this insolence, Homunculus," he raged at me when it was finally over and I lay on the floor, spiritually exhausted from his magic. "You do not answer back to me. Ever. Do you understand me?"
I struggled to my feet, raising myself up to look him briefly in the eye, and then lower my head in submission. "I understand, master."
Satisfied with my answer, I was left to myself again. Trapped in a magic circle, escape was impossible, so I could only stand and think, occasionally trying some new form of magic to amuse myself. I had allowed him to believe that was his obedient little slave, but he had made my soul very strong to accommodate the large amount of magic I possessed, and my spirit was not easily broken. I was not born a physical fighter, but my spiritual strength was more than a match for his. I knew deep inside that this gross miscalculation on his part might aid me in winning my freedom.
I had only recently begun to see my place as a slave with disgust and contempt. After all, I had power beyond any human conception. Even my master had no idea of my boundless potential. I would never be able to explore my gifts while still in the chains of slavery. I would have to gain my freedom by other means.
And my master was, beyond any doubt, a tyrant. Far from being the ideal person to handle a fragile being such as myself, he was also incapable of managing the power I had. Too much power is a very bad thing, and though he was gaining in riches and knowledge, the number of enemies and those who wanted what he had was also accumulating.
I saw no reason to warn him of impending danger that threatened his life. If he was too much of a fool to notice it then he probably deserved death. But I soon understood the reasons for his uncaring attitude towards his rivals.
It was perhaps a year after I had first been created, and I had been permitted to sit in his cellar alone, though bound within a magic circle, in which I practised my abilities. I had discovered that, with very little conversation, I was able to project my mind over great distances. My magic was still bound in place, so while I could witness events that happened many miles away, I was unable to have any influence. Everyday I was required to report my latest skills to my master. He would record them in a large book, and then use them in whatever way he saw fit.
This book was a mystery to me, and held my interest as nothing else did. For I knew that it must contain all the knowledge of what I was. I had once asked to look at it, and been severely punished for it. My master was very much opposed to me acquiring any knowledge as to what I was. And so my interest grew even more.
That night, I decided to project my mind to see if, perhaps, I would find my master writing in this almanac. I did not know whether he would somehow sense my presence nearby, but I was willing to face the harshest punishment in order to see even one page of that book.
I saw him at his writing desk. He was poring over old manuscripts, ones that /I/ had been sent to fetch. Every so often he would take up his feathered pen and write something in a large book, which I recognised instantly. I allowed myself to drift closer, and back in the cellar, my body trembled in anticipation.
I never had the chance to read a word. The door to my master's chamber was flung open and a younger man, well built and wild-eyed, stood there, breathing hard. I recognised him, but did not recall his name. He was an old acquaintance of my masters, but envy had made him into a plotting back- stabber, who now seemed ready to fulfil some long-awaited ambition. I could see the desire for power in his eyes, along with a terrible bloodlust that I had never seen in the eyes of a mortal.
Shock and fear sent my mind whirling back to my body and in the cellar I scrambled frantically to my feet and began to release every destructive form of magic I could think of to break the seal that bound me in place.
I was not, of course, afraid for my master's safety because of any sense of loyalty. I had simply been told many times that I would be sent back to hell if my master died. This was obviously a bluff to prevent me from trying anything on my master, but I was young and unaware of the 'deal' that takes place between a djinn and its master. I was not prepared to take any chances.
Frantic with worry that I would soon be sent back to hell, I continued this assault on the barrier around me. Only my master was able to free me from this prison, and I do not understand why he did not call for my help as soon as that man had entered his room. Perhaps he thought he could handle such a problem himself. All I know is that it was a full five minutes before I was summoned to him, and I found myself standing in front of him like some kind of defensive shield, facing the deranged man.
My fragile appearance amused him, and he laughed at my master and me.
"You think that little thing will protect you from me? You're not the only one with magic, you know."
"This little /thing/ as you call him," my master growled behind me, "is my slave. A demon slave."
This, surprisingly, only provoked another laugh. "Oh yes. I had heard the rumours. I came for your money and possessions but with a thing like him by my side... I will accomplish what you never could. But I'll kill you first..."
"You will not touch him," I snarled at him.
"Ooh, aren't you a fiery one," he mocked me. "And so devoted too."
"I will not allow you to kill him," I said menacingly. "I will not be sent back to hell."
He sudden pause that descended made me realise that something must have been wrong with what I had just said. But I couldn't understand what. The strange man seemed prepared to enlighten me.
"Ooh, so you didn't tell the little djinn the terms of your contract then? You're a sly one aren't you? Sly, devious, old bastard!"
"Silence!" I heard the master's shout, but the quaver in his voice was unmistakable, and I was not about to do anything without an explanation.
"What contract?" I asked incredulously.
The man grinned, showing dirty brown teeth at me. "Ever wonder what you got out of being his servant?"
"I thought-"
"That's enough," said my master desperately tried to cut me off, sensing his control slipping, knowing I would be capable of destroying him if I knew the truth. "Not another word! Either of you!"
I did not respond. I stared at the man who could tell me what I received from serving my master. He could see my question in my eyes and grinned again.
"You get his soul. He gives up his soul to you when he dies. And you get your freedom."
"Liar!" my master was screaming now. "He lies, Homunculus. If I die, you return to hell. He wants to trick you."
"You let your master die and you're free. There's nothing that can kill things like you. You're indestructible."
Now it was my turn to laugh. "Do not think that I'm easily fooled. I am not indestructible. Do you see this body? One fall and my soul will leak away and I will die. Do not lie!"
"It's no lie," he replied calmly. "If you break, then your essence is bound to oblivion."
"And how is that different from being bound within a magic circle?" I asked.
"You can be freed. If someone performs the right spells, you can be summoned again, give your new master what he wants and then take his soul when he dies. It's one big circle. But you don't die. Never die."
"How can I be summoned again?"
He shrugged. "It'll all be in that book of his," he pointed to my master, who had gone pale with fear now. "The spell may be simple, but it requires the object that you were bound to at your creation."
"And what was I bound to?" this was asked of my master, who fell back, shaking his head. "Tell me," I said threateningly.
"You're mine," he insisted suddenly, trying to regain composure and control. "You serve me. You owe me your existence. You owe me your life."
I looked at him, and suddenly saw how weak he was, like all the other humans I had encountered. He was weak, because he could be broken. His soul could be broken, but mine couldn't, and I finally understood that I was superior to him. His intimidation of me had been a farce. A lie. He was just another weak mortal. He had a few advantages maybe, but in the end, he was nothing.
I smiled at him and in his panic he must have misinterpreted it, for he said, "You won't kill me."
And odd feeling came over me, and a sound issued from me that never had before. A chuckle, which reverberated in my ears, and chilled the hearts of the two mortal men around me. I chuckled at him, feeling my power over him and savouring it just a little before I responded.
"Oh I won't kill you, /master/" I sneered at him. "You aren't worth the effort. But I may get some pleasure from watching your death and then claiming your soul." And with that, watching the horror on his face every moment, I stepped to one side, so that I no longer stood between my master and the strange man. I was no longer a defence. I had given my master over to the enemy, and was prepared to watch the result of my wilful betrayal with cruel amusement.
"No! No wai-"
He had no time to say anything more, before a sharp, knife, as cruel and merciless as my indifference, was flung from the opposite side of the room to imbed itself in my master's chest. I felt, as I watch his last struggles for life, as much as I had felt for the corpse that he had once brought in to me. Absolutely nothing. He stared up at me and I stared back dreamily. "You never gave me life. But you gave me what I need to exist, and I don't need you anymore". A smile played on my lips as I reached down and drew the knife out of his chest. Dark blood dripped from the blade and in the cold steel I could see the reflection of my blood-red eyes and I had never felt happier that I was not human.
"And now..."
The voice reminded me of the other human still present in the room. I did not turn towards him but tilted the knife to watch him in the blade.
"Now, my little demon, it is time for you to learn real power."
I rested my head on one side. "And who are you to presume to teach me such a thing?" I smiled as a drop of blood slide over his image on the steel.
"I am your-"
He was halted when he saw me let go of the knife which now remained suspended in mid-air, held there by my telekinetic power. It was probably more the fact that the point of the knife was aimed at him that robbed him of speech.
"I don't think so," I said simply, and I didn't even turn around to see the knife fly back in the direction it had only recently travelled from, to register the exact same killing blow on its owner. "You will never be my master. No mortal is my master, and none ever will be again. I thank you, for freeing me from lies and deceit, but I need you for nothing else now."
I heard his gasping breathes behind me, and smiled contentedly when they finally ceased. There was nothing now that would ever claim ownership of me. I would take my creator's book with me, destroy it if I saw fit, and rid the world of any knowledge of my existence. Anything that learnt of me would not live long enough to tell what they knew. I could create a realm for myself, where I would be safe from any harm. I would drink all the knowledge the world would offer from my new home. I would be alone. I would be safe.
But most importantly... I would be free.
*** To be continued...
***Phew this was a quick update! I hope it's good enough for you all. I can't remember where I heard the saying "all that glitters is not gold" but I thought it sounded right for the story. Anyway, enjoy!
Resurrecting the Shadow of Memories
A Shadow of Destiny Fanfic
"All that glitters is not gold."
It was once a common, though unspoken practice of humankind to summon beings into the world. Beings that have one purpose. To serve unconditionally the one who calls them. That is the purpose of my kind. The djinn. Centuries, even millennia ago, certainly before any records you could find today, we thrived in a world that used us for our abilities, and guarded us like precious gems, fearing that another would take us for himself.
It requires skill and spiritual strength to create a being such as myself. We must be called into being, and thereafter we are bound into whatever our 'master' sees fit. In my case, it was the stone. Whether it was coincidence or fate that it happened to be the Philosopher's Stone itself that I was bound to for eternity I don't know. Or maybe that was created with me, and has always been a part of me.
My creator saw too it that, when I was created, I was sufficiently weak so as to pose little physical threat to him. As for magic, he bound me in a pentagram, and told me that one false move on my part would result in my return to the black hell from where I had been summoned. Being newly created, it may seem strange that I knew and understood what he said to me. But that is part of what I was. Instinct allowed me to understand him, and I knew from the beginning that I must not anger this one who called himself my master.
While I knew and understood spoken words, I did not understand fully the situation in which I had been placed. I have not always been a cold, superior demon. When I was young I was as childlike as my face appears to you. Innocent, naive, I was almost utterly dependent on my master in the beginning, who told me that he had summoned me to work magic for him.
"Magic?" I asked him. I knew the word, but I did not understand how I was to use this magic he claimed I possessed.
"You are a djinn," he said, his voice loud and commanding in my ears. "A fire based demon. You know what magics you possess. Think on it. You know these things. They are a part of you."
I still did not understand. But I was taken aback by his words. "Demon?" I repeated softly.
He laughed at my obvious shock. "Yes. That's what you are. And you're /my/ demon. You do as I command. And I alone, do you understand?"
I couldn't speak for confusion. Baffled thoughts prevented speech. And so I simply nodded. He seemed pleased by my submissive response. When I finally found my voice it was shaking.
"What do I do?"
Again he laughed at my childish question. "You do as I tell you. When I tell you to fetch me something, you do so in an instant. When I ask for you to reveal the mysteries of the world to me, you shall speak until your throat breaks if you must. I own you. You are my possession."
"A possession?"
"Yes. A slave for myself alone. You are my creation."
"You created me?"
"That I did," he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the power that he would wield with my aid. "You are mine. I formed you as you are. The body you possess is sufficient, and you shall remain this way forever."
Body?
I blinked in confusion and then for the first time I realised that I could see. To see required eyes. I could speak, which I knew required a mouth. Looking down, I found a body that I had not even noticed until that moment. And, supposedly, it was not mine. It belonged to this man before me. He owned me. Mind, body and soul. I was not my own being. I was just a thing. /His/ thing. But he expressed knowledge of what I was, and I felt somehow that there was little I could do other than agree to serve him. What else was there for me?
But I would be useless to him until I learned what magic I possessed. It soon became clear to me that he had created me to be weak in body not only so that he had the advantage over me physically, but also because it somehow increased my magical prowess and my intelligence. My mind accelerated rapidly and my powers astonished and pleased my master greatly. I displayed magics that even he had not thought of.
"You'll be far more useful than I imagined," he told me one night. "I could rule the world with you, little demon."
I had no desire to escape from him to begin with. I was protected under his roof, guarded from a world that he said would destroy me if they learned of my existence. Or worse use me for their own ends. He told me that he did not use me. I was repaying a great debt to him by serving him, for he had given me life. And he was helping me discover my abilities. I had no cause to be ungrateful.
And yet he had not given me life. Not really. I did not realise this to begin with, but I was soon to find out.
I learned very early that I possessed some healing abilities. My strength did not lie in this area, but I was able to cure certain ailments. This required a basic knowledge of the human body, and my master was very willing to bring in a human body to examine with me. Anything to enhance my knowledge. Anything to expand my powers. I felt that the sight of that young man, lying on the stone table, with his blood concealing around my feet and soaking my master's robes, should have sickened me. But I felt a strange detachment. Strange because I believed I was similar to this man, who had once been alive like I was now, or so I believed. Looking back, I viewed this man's body as if it belonged to a lab rat. I was learning, and that justified the methods with which I accumulated my knowledge. I was numb to it.
But I was not numb to the horror that came from the realisation that, unlike other men, I had no heart. My master showed me the young man's heart, red and dripping, and then placed his hand over his chest, telling me to do the same and feel how a heart would beat inside a living man. When I felt nothing I told him so, and he placed his hand over my chest to see if this was the case. He laughed when he also felt nothing.
"So you don't have a heart, little djinn. Perhaps you are not truly alive then."
I was panicking. "You gave me life. You said you gave me life."
"Perhaps only an imitation of life is what I gave you. You pretend to live, but you're just an empty shell with a spirit inside. No heart. So you can't have anything else in there either."
"But you made me like other men," I was sobbing now in my confusion and distress. "You made me real."
"Hah! Things like you aren't real."
"That is a lie!" I screamed at him, feeling the strain in my throat as I did so.
When his hand caught me across the face, I heard the crack that might be heard from breaking a plate. I was grabbed by the arm and smacked again, a sound rap on the side of the head. There were more cracking sounds and when the master's grip on me relaxed I felt like I was going to fall to pieces.
My body, or the shell that was my body, was riddled with cracks like a vase that had been dropped but had not quite smashed. Looking at my arm there was a red glow rising between the cracks, trying to break through and leak away. I felt as though I were beginning to drift away.
I was picked up bodily and the master placed me in the huge pentagram. There was a gentleness to him now, but only because he now feared he would break me. Inside the pentagram, my life's essence was held in place, and my fractured body was forced to make a long and painful recovery. But my mind was even slower to recover. I was still unable to accept that I was not like other men, and that I was just an empty shell. Was I nothing more than a husk, brought to life by some spirit that did not belong on this earth?
"Do not force me to strike at you again, little djinn," the master said to me when I seemed in a fit enough state of mind. "You will not escape from my service that easily I assure you."
"This body..." I choked out.
"Is not a human body," he said. "It is the shell for your spirit. You're like a little doll, brought to life. Nothing more than that."
"But my spirit," I begged. "Is that not human? Something like human?"
"I very much doubt that," he sneered at me. "But that doesn't matter. You'll learn to live with it." And then laughing at the cruel irony of his words he left me alone again.
I was now able to understand my coolness when dealing with that human corpse. I felt no sympathy; no connection to that lifeless body because there was nothing that connected me to it. I was something different to them. I wasn't human. I was an imitation of life.
When my master returned, he gave me my name, so that I would not forget what was. A name that was a cruel reminder that I would never be like other men.
Homunculus; a little manikin. Something that was only an imitation of reality.
I was hurt and bitter because of what I was. A jealousy rose inside me as I began to realise the benefits that would come from being human. I was sent on many errands by my master, who always wished me to find some ancient item, and I always returned without fail. But when I was once asked to bring back a set of books from an ancient land, I almost destroyed myself in my efforts.
I had never been asked to carry anything that would have been considered particularly heavy. A handful of precious jewels, perhaps some ancient scrolls. But when I lifted these books I was not ready for the sudden feeling of exhaustion. I could perform the most powerful of spells and not feel tired in the least, but these simple books defeated me.
I understood now that not only did I have to be careful not to break the shell of my body, I was also unable to use it in any way similar to a human. I was far too weak and fragile for any kind of physical work. This angered my master, who now saw the error in his making my body so weak.
"Damn you to hell," he shouted at me when I told him simply that I could not physically bring him what he wanted. "Damn you and your weak, pathetic body!"
I replied with what was the beginning of the personality you see now.
"You are the one in error, master, for making me this way."
He was astonished and outraged by my insolence, but possibly the reality of what I had said angered him the most. He punished me severely for that display. Not with physical abuse of course. My body would have disintegrated had he been foolish enough to beat me. No. His torture was far worse, using magic to send tides of pain though me, which were intended to break my soul and not my body. I had shown that I was not the obedient, unquestioning servant he had wanted, and he was determined to make me just that.
"I will not have this insolence, Homunculus," he raged at me when it was finally over and I lay on the floor, spiritually exhausted from his magic. "You do not answer back to me. Ever. Do you understand me?"
I struggled to my feet, raising myself up to look him briefly in the eye, and then lower my head in submission. "I understand, master."
Satisfied with my answer, I was left to myself again. Trapped in a magic circle, escape was impossible, so I could only stand and think, occasionally trying some new form of magic to amuse myself. I had allowed him to believe that was his obedient little slave, but he had made my soul very strong to accommodate the large amount of magic I possessed, and my spirit was not easily broken. I was not born a physical fighter, but my spiritual strength was more than a match for his. I knew deep inside that this gross miscalculation on his part might aid me in winning my freedom.
I had only recently begun to see my place as a slave with disgust and contempt. After all, I had power beyond any human conception. Even my master had no idea of my boundless potential. I would never be able to explore my gifts while still in the chains of slavery. I would have to gain my freedom by other means.
And my master was, beyond any doubt, a tyrant. Far from being the ideal person to handle a fragile being such as myself, he was also incapable of managing the power I had. Too much power is a very bad thing, and though he was gaining in riches and knowledge, the number of enemies and those who wanted what he had was also accumulating.
I saw no reason to warn him of impending danger that threatened his life. If he was too much of a fool to notice it then he probably deserved death. But I soon understood the reasons for his uncaring attitude towards his rivals.
It was perhaps a year after I had first been created, and I had been permitted to sit in his cellar alone, though bound within a magic circle, in which I practised my abilities. I had discovered that, with very little conversation, I was able to project my mind over great distances. My magic was still bound in place, so while I could witness events that happened many miles away, I was unable to have any influence. Everyday I was required to report my latest skills to my master. He would record them in a large book, and then use them in whatever way he saw fit.
This book was a mystery to me, and held my interest as nothing else did. For I knew that it must contain all the knowledge of what I was. I had once asked to look at it, and been severely punished for it. My master was very much opposed to me acquiring any knowledge as to what I was. And so my interest grew even more.
That night, I decided to project my mind to see if, perhaps, I would find my master writing in this almanac. I did not know whether he would somehow sense my presence nearby, but I was willing to face the harshest punishment in order to see even one page of that book.
I saw him at his writing desk. He was poring over old manuscripts, ones that /I/ had been sent to fetch. Every so often he would take up his feathered pen and write something in a large book, which I recognised instantly. I allowed myself to drift closer, and back in the cellar, my body trembled in anticipation.
I never had the chance to read a word. The door to my master's chamber was flung open and a younger man, well built and wild-eyed, stood there, breathing hard. I recognised him, but did not recall his name. He was an old acquaintance of my masters, but envy had made him into a plotting back- stabber, who now seemed ready to fulfil some long-awaited ambition. I could see the desire for power in his eyes, along with a terrible bloodlust that I had never seen in the eyes of a mortal.
Shock and fear sent my mind whirling back to my body and in the cellar I scrambled frantically to my feet and began to release every destructive form of magic I could think of to break the seal that bound me in place.
I was not, of course, afraid for my master's safety because of any sense of loyalty. I had simply been told many times that I would be sent back to hell if my master died. This was obviously a bluff to prevent me from trying anything on my master, but I was young and unaware of the 'deal' that takes place between a djinn and its master. I was not prepared to take any chances.
Frantic with worry that I would soon be sent back to hell, I continued this assault on the barrier around me. Only my master was able to free me from this prison, and I do not understand why he did not call for my help as soon as that man had entered his room. Perhaps he thought he could handle such a problem himself. All I know is that it was a full five minutes before I was summoned to him, and I found myself standing in front of him like some kind of defensive shield, facing the deranged man.
My fragile appearance amused him, and he laughed at my master and me.
"You think that little thing will protect you from me? You're not the only one with magic, you know."
"This little /thing/ as you call him," my master growled behind me, "is my slave. A demon slave."
This, surprisingly, only provoked another laugh. "Oh yes. I had heard the rumours. I came for your money and possessions but with a thing like him by my side... I will accomplish what you never could. But I'll kill you first..."
"You will not touch him," I snarled at him.
"Ooh, aren't you a fiery one," he mocked me. "And so devoted too."
"I will not allow you to kill him," I said menacingly. "I will not be sent back to hell."
He sudden pause that descended made me realise that something must have been wrong with what I had just said. But I couldn't understand what. The strange man seemed prepared to enlighten me.
"Ooh, so you didn't tell the little djinn the terms of your contract then? You're a sly one aren't you? Sly, devious, old bastard!"
"Silence!" I heard the master's shout, but the quaver in his voice was unmistakable, and I was not about to do anything without an explanation.
"What contract?" I asked incredulously.
The man grinned, showing dirty brown teeth at me. "Ever wonder what you got out of being his servant?"
"I thought-"
"That's enough," said my master desperately tried to cut me off, sensing his control slipping, knowing I would be capable of destroying him if I knew the truth. "Not another word! Either of you!"
I did not respond. I stared at the man who could tell me what I received from serving my master. He could see my question in my eyes and grinned again.
"You get his soul. He gives up his soul to you when he dies. And you get your freedom."
"Liar!" my master was screaming now. "He lies, Homunculus. If I die, you return to hell. He wants to trick you."
"You let your master die and you're free. There's nothing that can kill things like you. You're indestructible."
Now it was my turn to laugh. "Do not think that I'm easily fooled. I am not indestructible. Do you see this body? One fall and my soul will leak away and I will die. Do not lie!"
"It's no lie," he replied calmly. "If you break, then your essence is bound to oblivion."
"And how is that different from being bound within a magic circle?" I asked.
"You can be freed. If someone performs the right spells, you can be summoned again, give your new master what he wants and then take his soul when he dies. It's one big circle. But you don't die. Never die."
"How can I be summoned again?"
He shrugged. "It'll all be in that book of his," he pointed to my master, who had gone pale with fear now. "The spell may be simple, but it requires the object that you were bound to at your creation."
"And what was I bound to?" this was asked of my master, who fell back, shaking his head. "Tell me," I said threateningly.
"You're mine," he insisted suddenly, trying to regain composure and control. "You serve me. You owe me your existence. You owe me your life."
I looked at him, and suddenly saw how weak he was, like all the other humans I had encountered. He was weak, because he could be broken. His soul could be broken, but mine couldn't, and I finally understood that I was superior to him. His intimidation of me had been a farce. A lie. He was just another weak mortal. He had a few advantages maybe, but in the end, he was nothing.
I smiled at him and in his panic he must have misinterpreted it, for he said, "You won't kill me."
And odd feeling came over me, and a sound issued from me that never had before. A chuckle, which reverberated in my ears, and chilled the hearts of the two mortal men around me. I chuckled at him, feeling my power over him and savouring it just a little before I responded.
"Oh I won't kill you, /master/" I sneered at him. "You aren't worth the effort. But I may get some pleasure from watching your death and then claiming your soul." And with that, watching the horror on his face every moment, I stepped to one side, so that I no longer stood between my master and the strange man. I was no longer a defence. I had given my master over to the enemy, and was prepared to watch the result of my wilful betrayal with cruel amusement.
"No! No wai-"
He had no time to say anything more, before a sharp, knife, as cruel and merciless as my indifference, was flung from the opposite side of the room to imbed itself in my master's chest. I felt, as I watch his last struggles for life, as much as I had felt for the corpse that he had once brought in to me. Absolutely nothing. He stared up at me and I stared back dreamily. "You never gave me life. But you gave me what I need to exist, and I don't need you anymore". A smile played on my lips as I reached down and drew the knife out of his chest. Dark blood dripped from the blade and in the cold steel I could see the reflection of my blood-red eyes and I had never felt happier that I was not human.
"And now..."
The voice reminded me of the other human still present in the room. I did not turn towards him but tilted the knife to watch him in the blade.
"Now, my little demon, it is time for you to learn real power."
I rested my head on one side. "And who are you to presume to teach me such a thing?" I smiled as a drop of blood slide over his image on the steel.
"I am your-"
He was halted when he saw me let go of the knife which now remained suspended in mid-air, held there by my telekinetic power. It was probably more the fact that the point of the knife was aimed at him that robbed him of speech.
"I don't think so," I said simply, and I didn't even turn around to see the knife fly back in the direction it had only recently travelled from, to register the exact same killing blow on its owner. "You will never be my master. No mortal is my master, and none ever will be again. I thank you, for freeing me from lies and deceit, but I need you for nothing else now."
I heard his gasping breathes behind me, and smiled contentedly when they finally ceased. There was nothing now that would ever claim ownership of me. I would take my creator's book with me, destroy it if I saw fit, and rid the world of any knowledge of my existence. Anything that learnt of me would not live long enough to tell what they knew. I could create a realm for myself, where I would be safe from any harm. I would drink all the knowledge the world would offer from my new home. I would be alone. I would be safe.
But most importantly... I would be free.
*** To be continued...