17. Intruder

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He tore across the ice-glazed forest like a frenzied beast. His heart pounded in his ears, a deafening war drum that spurred him onward, even as his muscles burned with exertion. He gave no thought to rest, to gather his senses or bearing. He was driven by a primal need, an insatiable lust for blood. Something within these woods was calling to him.

His prey.

The world seemed to constrict before him, converging into a shaded tunnel that guided him towards the inevitable. He passed by countless tree-women who paid him no mind, and he gave them none in turn. He did not even wonder at the flashes of crimson in his periphery — his own body, undergone some macabre transformation, alight with blistering rage. Only the urge to kill dominated his thoughts, and so he ran.

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In the midst of a small clearing divided by a writhing, poison-tainted stream, he spotted his quarry. He barely registered the robed figure's familiarity, blinded as he was by murderous fervor. The madman slunk from the undergrowth with both swords drawn, making no effort to mask his approach. The Sentinel turned and glared at him, ice-blue eyes reflecting a simmering rage beneath his bronze faceplate.

"You," Brother Edson seethed, all trace of geniality banished from his tone. "You deceived me. I thought you a pilgrim, but no... No, you are naught but an assassin! You were supposed to join the others in holy unison, and you killed them. You slew the Cardinals, you ungrateful wretch!"

His copper-coated wheel sprang open, whirling and crackling with electric fury. "I swear by my duty as a Sentinel, I will avenge my masters!" With that, he charged, and the adversary rushed to meet him head-on.

They collided with a literal bang. The dark spirit ran straight into the revolving wheel, foolishly throwing caution to the wind, and the force of the blow sent him sprawling. As quickly as he had fallen, however, he was back on his feet. The twin blades scraped together with a metallic shriek, enshrouding their contorted edges in deep-blue flames. Edson eyed the Darklight guardedly, aware of its danger, but did not back down. The wheel snapped together, and they clashed again.

The spirit slid beneath the heaving contraption, slicing his opponent's leg as he passed. He struck twice more, gouging through grey robes, then took a heavy blow to the side. He staggered as Brother Edson swung again, and rolled back to avoid the crushing weapon. The Sentinel chased him relentlessly, slamming the wheel down with both arms, spraying up snow with each crash. Despite his immense strength, however, the wheel was cumbersome, its attacks predictable. The red phantom slipped between them and lashed out nimbly, letting the poison build with every cut.

Edson hastily drew his gold chime. There was a ringing as electricity burst from his raised fist, and he hurled a bolt of lightning at the enemy. The spirit was caught off-guard, but dove aside at the last instant. The lance screeched past and connected with a solitary tree-woman, who wailed as her trunk exploded into splinters. The shade rushed forward as a second bolt crackled into existence. Edson curled his arm back, and the spirit nimbly rolled towards him.

To his surprise, the Sentinel did not throw the radiant spear, but slammed it straight down at his feet. The phantom tumbled directly into the static discharge, and was caught with the full force of the deadly miracle. He stumbled back, clothes and skin smoldering, struggling to regain his composure.

As he retreated, Edson reached into his pocket and shoved a clump of purple moss beneath his helm. The dark spirit was enraged; he had not expected his opponent to be so prepared. He quickly switched out his sword for the catalyst, but Edson dropped to one knee, chime singing. A circle of light surrounded him, curing his injuries, even while the phantom launched a sonic blast from his cane.

As soon as the miracle was complete, the Sentinel braced his wheel against a leather-bound shoulder, absorbing most of the invisible projectile. He leapt to his feet and charged, keeping himself shielded behind the broad disc. He barreled straight through a second sound bolt, then thrust the wheel forward as it snapped open and spun with sparking ferocity. It missed the crimson shade by a finger's width, but instantly came down again, smashing into the earth between his feet. The spirit scrambled away as the wheel bore down mercilessly, intent on crushing him beneath its girth.

"Blasphemer!" Edson roared as he hammered away. "Heretic! How dare you taint our sacred lands with your lies and deceit!" He slammed the wheel with each condemnation, causing the earth to shiver under its weight. "Who are you to question our faith? The Cardinals sacrificed everything for insolent heathens like you! Everything! And this is how you repay their kindness!?"

The phantom rolled to his feet, but the wheel swung upward, catching him with its copper-plated rim. His jawbone shattered as he toppled over, teeth scattering across the snow. The world spiraled out of control, treetops and chromatic clouds whirling together in a dizzying dance. He urged his body to rise, to keep fighting, but it would not respond. He could barely make out the Sentinel towering over him, and the dark shape that approached from behind.

"You took everything from me," Edson continued to rave. "All my devotion, for nothing. Now I will take everything from you." He hoisted the wheel high above his head. "May you rot in the Bottomless Pit, you—"

Without warning, a crimson blade burst through his sternum. The Sentinel's blue eyes went wide in shock as the wheel toppled from his grasp. He touched the blade tentatively with shaking fingers, as if to confirm it was truly there, then the sword retreated with a sharp tug. The warrior collapsed onto his back, blood blossoming through his robes.

Another red spirit stood over him, glaring down murderously at their victim. They let their blade fall with finality through the man's throat. Edson gave a pathetic gurgle, then went still, and the killer turned their malevolent gaze to the other phantom.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of his maddened mind, he vaguely recalled this figure — the pointed hat, the split-tailed coat, the spiked shield, and the wide, black-bladed greatsword. Between tightly wrapped bandanas, her sunken eyes stared back without a hint of recognition. She pulled the sword free with a spurt of blood, and the fallen madman waited for her to finish him off as well.

Instead, the phantom sheathed her blade, then knelt beside the Sentinel's corpse. She unceremoniously shoved her fingers deep into his skull, and with a wet pop, tore out one of his eyes, stalk and all. She held it gently in a gloved hand, inspecting it carefully, then turned without a second glance and disappeared into the mist.

As he lay there, vision still reeling, the entire world seemed to quiver, as if someone had struck a silent gong right next to his head. He realized that everything was not just spinning, but also fading away into nothingness. A panic gripped his heart; he had come here for a purpose, one that was not yet fulfilled. He needed to kill, but that was only a means to an end. He desperately needed something, and he was not even sure what that something was.

No. He knew exactly what he needed. As the world wavered, and darkness seeped from the corners of his sight, he clawed frantically at the dead man's face.

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The Lucid One bolted upright, gasping for breath, shivering in the cold. He felt as if he had been drowning, and only now resurfaced for air. He blinked rapidly as those vivd, terrible visions slithered back to the void from whence they crawled, and the light of the lantern welcomed him once more. The floating shimmer within its glass panes was like an anchor, reassuring him that this was the real world. The snow still drifted lazily from the vibrant sky; the inert, frigid bodies of the dead still swarmed about the mound. Nothing here had changed, but what of that other place? What of the other him?

No — that could not have been him. He had been granted no agency, no choice, no way to influence his actions during that phantasmal experience. It was like watching through another's eyes, a voiceless passenger, except that he had felt everything that 'other' felt. Even now, he could still recall the overwhelming desire to kill, and it was sickening. He may have despised Brother Edson for what he did to Serise, and he had no qualms over the Sentinel's untimely death. That was not what disturbed him. He had taken many lives, but never with such sadistic delight.

There was only one way to be sure. He hastily reached into his robes, and to his relief, found both of his flasks were refilled, proof that he must have fallen asleep. So what if he could not remember returning to the shrine? It would not be the first time his memory failed him. His recollection was as hazy as the fog that blanketed the land, his sense of time obscured by these transient shifts between realms. At least he could believe that those actions were not of his doing, but rather a manifestation of something beyond mortal understanding.

Then, he felt the pulpous object in his other hand. Hesitantly, he uncurled his fingers, forcing himself to look upon what he already knew would be there.

In his bloodstained palm, an ice-blue eye stared back without expression.

He shivered violently, and this time, it was not from the cold.

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The man wandered through the forest in a daze, no longer certain of his course. Everything looked the same, an endless mirror of itself. The ivory trees stretched on forever into the roiling mist; the ground heaved over countless corpses like a frozen sea of death. Frayed war-banners and saltire-tipped poles protruded from the dirt, serving as grave markers, or perhaps a warning. No matter which direction he chose, it was all the same.

This whitewashed monotony made the sudden appearance of a cobblestone path a welcomed surprise. The Lucid One was startled when his boot struck the flat rock, its sharp tap sounding alien after the constant crunching of dirt and snow. As he followed the road, a massive structure loomed from the fog. It was an archway, intricately detailed, seemingly carved from a single block of stone. A mesh of vines swathed its segmented columns, ribbed interior, and sculptures of dancing figures. Maidens and squires paraded around woodland critters, their bare limbs entangled in unnatural positions, faces frozen in a state of eternal jubilation.

At the apex of the arch was a wheel with seven spokes. It was badly cracked and damaged, with only two of the rods unblemished. The engravings were hard to see through the mist, but he could make out faint images of winged females and flowers intertwining along the rim. In the central hub, a woman appeared to be emerging beside a wave, with her hair becoming its foamy crest in turn.

It was hauntingly beautiful, yet unnerving. The four-spoked wheel was the holy symbol of Nos, and this was undoubtedly some bastardization of it, a mockery of His omnipotence. Even so, it gave the Lucid One some small comfort to know he must be nearing his goal — the Shrine of Samaras.

Sure enough, as he stepped beyond the threshold into a crumbling courtyard, the fog parted to reveal a monumental temple. Dozens of rounded spires soared into the darkened sky, each one comprised of smaller clusters, culminating into a single pinnacle that pierced the clouds above. A plethora of carvings decorated each and every surface, too many to even comprehend. Just like the archway, the entire structure blended seamlessly together, an inconceivable achievement of architecture.

The entrance was a square vestibule, its domed roof supported by squat, sturdy pillars, with an expansive staircase flanked by twin statues of some chimeric creature. These four-winged beasts stared down into the courtyard from blocky plinths, serving as steadfast gatekeepers. They gripped the corners of their platforms with clawed fingers, and their chiseled faces were a horrendous hybrid of hominine and feline. Vegetation crept up and over their bodies, as if binding them to their posts.

While the Lucid One marveled at this breathtaking view, something tickled the back of his mind. He tore his gaze away from the shrine and peered cautiously about the courtyard. Slowly, he realized that the mist had not really parted so much as retreated, falling back to form a solid wall around the perimeter of the plaza. With reserved determination, he drew his swords, preparing for the battle he knew was to come.

Still, the courtyard remained empty. The man circled defensively, keeping an eye on every direction in case something should leap through the fog walls, but nothing ever did. Without lowering his guard, he began to make his way towards the stairs, and only then did he see movement.

From behind one of the statues, a black-scaled serpent rose languidly. It flicked its purple tongue at the trespasser in a creeping hiss, weaving side to side as it studied him with ebon eyes. The Lucid One stared back fearlessly, unintimidated by a mere snake, and raised his blades in warning. He tensed as the serpent opened its fanged maw, coiling back to strike, but to his surprise, it sunk its teeth into the statue's hind leg.

Instantly, the eyes of the stone beast flashed a brilliant sapphire. Its skin fractured and flaked as it lurched to life, stretching itself up on lethargic limbs, jaw cracking and yawning with a strained howl. The man stepped back anxiously as its snake-tail bit again, spurring the monstrous being into motion. Then, another serpent appeared by the second statue, and it too nipped at the beast's back.

The Lucid One hastily retreated as the twin guardians leapt from their plinths and crashed to the ground. One of them stumbled as it fell, landing clumsily on its side, and its serpentine tail struck once more in reprimand. While the beast struggled to its feet, its companion lumbered at the intruder with an earthshaking roar.

He should have known. The Shrine of Samaras would not admit him without a fight.

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Appendix

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Eye of Spite — A bloodshot eye ripped from its socket. The children of Samaras covet these treasures, and present them in offering to their Divine Mother. Only they can say what use she finds for them.

Heal — A novice miracle. Restores a small amount of health to the caster. These tales of divinity have been retold throughout the ages, but are always revised with each iteration. As long as one believes wholeheartedly in their truth, their blessings remain strong.

Lightning Stake — A powerful miracle of the Radiant Legion. Strikes with a stake of lightning. This tale was often evoked as a last defense against the Nephel, whose deadly embrace has claimed countless brave souls.

Brother Edson: deviantart (dankbouls87/art/Brother-Edson-776445789)