The Abyss Stares Back - 15
Ophelia drifted on the banks of her unconsciousness, the land of perception nudging at her heels and fingertips. And with it came the pain.
She scrunched up her face as she forced her muscles to move, inch by inch, feeling stiff and sore. Her mind was awashed with a muddling agony that emanated from the back of her head. Her fingers found there way there instinctively, detecting the swollen and broken skin where she had been struck.
Struck?
Realization surged through her body like an electric shock. She had been attacked! She shot up and found herself sitting in a lounge chair, old and decrepit. The living room she found herself in looked alien to her, until she noticed heavily damaged paintings she recognized. On them were portraits of her cousins, aunt and uncle. One painting bore the stern visage of Edilon Vandermeer, his steely gaze staring down at her with pride and judgement. Next to it was a portrait Sarah Vandermeer, once Sarah Rothchild before she married. She was painted with that familiar sad smile and light blue eyes. And next to her were duel portraits of their daughters, Ophelia’s cousins, Marlene and Cecile. One capturing them at eight years old, the other at sixteen. On both of them Marlene had been scratched and damaged beyond recognition.
“You’re awake.” A ragged voice spoke and Ophelia turned to find a figuring haunched over a table on the other end of the room, silhouetted by fire light,
Her sight was still hazy so she had a hard time adjusting to the lighting.
“Who are you? What have you done with my family?!” asked Ophelia, fearing the answer.
The figure twisted to look back at her, its eyes gleaming in the darkness. The orange light the struggled to illuminate the room suddenly pulsed as a distant boom reverberated through the room.
Confused Ophelia rubbed her eyes to see better. But she found no fireplace. Instead she found a fleshy growth covering the far wall of the living room, its membrane thick and veiny, with orange light emanating from behind it.
The figure stood to its full height and twitched. Ophelia now saw a dismembered body scattered over the table and the figure’s hands dripped with blood. One hand still gripped a knife. The figure was wearing rags and had short and matted hair and what looked like a crown of jagged branches. All too late did Ophelia realize that those were horns.
“Do you not recognize me, cousin? Do you not recognize your Marlene?!”
The words chilled Ophelia to the bone.
“So what do we do now?” asked Hitch, pointing at the unconscious inspector on the ground.
Inspector Eldon poked his head above the pipes they had been hiding behind to look over the yard. His keen eyes could see some movement, they weren’t alone. But he could also see light trickling through the covered windows of the worker shed. Surely the charm had to be in there.
He looked down at the still smiling figure that lay dead on the ground. They looked just like a normal human company guard, but he had attacked them with such a horrific smile and said such horrible things. He had never encountered a criminal like that. It didn’t take a great detective to piece together the evidence presented. He only hoped he wasn’t being manipulated by magic.
“We go to the shed. The charm must be in there.” Replied Eldon.
“Us? Together? Alone with no blackguard with us?” Hitch hissed in fear.
Eldon raised his weapon. “It’s the only way. Now come on. You wanted to help your city, right? This is how we do it.”
Hitch grumbled but followed the imperial inspector as they skulked through the depot yard.
Light began to brighten the early morning sky, though the rays of the sun were still far away. The night still held tight to its domain as a blackguard stumbled into the front yard of the Vandermeer estate.
“Marlene?” Ophelia muttered. “How…how did you…”
“I found my true calling after all.” Said the figure, its blood stained teeth and luminous eyes grinning at her from the darkness.
“You once wrote me that you wanted to become an arcanist, like me.”
The figure nodded before turning back to the disassembled corpse resting on the table. It reached into the cadaver’s chest and continued its ghastly work.
“I did. I studied the arcane and its history. I studied the sigils and words of power but the channeling of magic, the channeling of aether didn’t come easy to me. But in my studies I learned many, many things.”
As the figure spoke, keeping its gaze on the corpse, Ophelia reached for her blade only to find her scabbard was empty of any weapon. The fear that already gripped her tighten its hold on her heart.
“I studied lost arts and the history of Okuza’s cycle of destruction, survival and reclamation. And in my pursuits I took a liking to demonology. Did you know demons have their own kind of magic?”
The figure partially turned its head and Ophelia could see its eyes peering at her. She had to placate it, for now, until she figured out what to do.
“I-I-I heard. I read that, somewhere. It isn’t so much that they have their own kind of magic, they were spawned from a different kind of magic.”
The figure grinned before turning back to its unholy work.
“Yesss, that’s right. I took a liking to it, its runes and symbols and their meaning. I became immersed in my studies, sharing my research with like-minded individuals around town. The professor at the academy was far too closed off to engage in further discussions but I found eager seekers of truth through our family holdings.”
“Addleworth Limited.” Said Ophelia.
“Yesss.”
“I knew I had heard that name somewhere.” Ophelia continued. “It was one of the businesses Edilon had invested in.”
“That’s right. And as majority shareholders in the company I was able to come and go as I pleased. I found two individuals who were eager to discuss demonology with me; the Chair of the company, Wilbur Addleworth and one of the secretaries…”
“Ingrid Butler.” Muttered Ophelia.
The figure pulled something out of the corpse, then turned and chuckled.
“Oh you have been busy. Slowly stumbling along to me.”
The figure pulled the piece of viscera apart and began assembling something next to the cadaver.
“Wilbur was a true believer. He sought to communicate with the demons, believing we would gain rewards from them. Ingrid was curious but the further we looked the more scared she became. Eventually she wanted nothing more to do with it and left our little band of inquest. Wilbur, however, had been fascinated with demonology for years and had acquired little trinkets that we then used in a bit of a ritual to contact whatever lay beyond the walls of Pentaghast.”
“Marlene…no…”
The figure paused its work for a moment to look up at the wall, “We failed, of course. We had no idea of what we were doing. So of course we failed…or so I thought. But soon I began to hear it.”
“The whispers.”
The figure turned and grinned. “Yesss, the whispers. Always at the periphery of your consciousness, but always there. Gnawing at you. Wearing you down. I began to fray at the edges. It was only a matter of time.”
It now stepped away from the table, holding in its hand something wet and glistening.
“Cecile was the first to die and a couple of days later mother and father returned from their trip and I killed them too. We had no servants so that was alright. But the voices commanded me to take them apart and to take their bones and innards to make…this…”
The figure stretched out its hand to show a newly made charm.
“Wilbur refused to be corrupted, he had a stronger mind I supposed. So I killed him too.”
“And then you hid one of those charms in the Butler’s apartment or did Ingrid eventually come to see things your way?” asked Ophelia.
The figure smiled. “Oh she had no idea. But she came to see things our way eventually. Though I believe her daughter was the first to sense that anything was wrong. I think I heard someone say they sent her away. I’ll have to visit her before this is over. I don’t like loose ends.”
Ophelia studied the twisted figure that stood before her, wearing the face and clothes of her cousin. But something was not right.
“And now you are a willing servant to some lowly demon of Pentaghast?” asked Ophelia. “Doing their bidding like some common slave?”
Her words were pointed, her tone was quietly aggressive, she had a theory and she wanted to test it. Despite the danger.
“I do no one’s bidding. I enact the plan.”
“Who’s plan? Your plan? This is all your design, Marlene?”
The figure leaned forward and she could see its deranged eyes now clear as day. There was a light shining within its pupils. Its face was scarred and twisted, black horns had pushed their way through the skin to form a crown. The mimicry was unsettling but she had seen this before, to a lesser extent.
“You have no idea what you speak to, child.”
The figure grinned and Ophelia cocked an eyebrow.
“At what point did you stop being my cousin Marlene and became this twisted thing.
The figure’s grin widened to an impossible extent.
“The moment she slashed her sister’s throat. From that point on her body became my property.”
“And you are?” Ophelia asked, grinding her teeth.
“Just a schemer.”
There was a sudden flash as Ophelia barked out a word of power. The glistening, bloodied charm in the figure’s hand exploded and the figure stumbled back.
Ophelia wasted no time and ran towards a set of open double doors, relying on her memory she knew they led to a hallways and a staircase leading up. She hoped she could find a window to jump through in order to escape. If this figure was what she suspected it to be, she had no chance of fighting it.
And so she ran.
The dark figure stared at the lacerations on its hands where the charm had exploded. Another setback. It’s eyes caught Ophelia’s shape disappear through the double doors and a primal, malicious hatred engulfed it.
It would relish this chase.
The door to the depot shed flung open and Hitch stumbled in. “Hurry!” he exclaimed as Inspector Eldon rushed in after him and shut the door.
The half giant man placed himself up against door as the sounds of shouts, impacts and scratches rained on it.
“Quick, look for one of those…” but the inspector’s voice faltered.
The shed was sectioned off into two areas. Their immediate space was a small cafeteria where workers could eat their lunch. With tables turned and chairs flung about, the whole area was splattered with blood and at the center of the floor lay a poor soul that had clearly been stripped for parts, recently. The other area, sectioned off by a wall and an open door, was an office for the site’s manager. And there they could see a grinning figure rushing through the open door with hands out.
“Hitch!” the inspector called out but was cut off by the loud bangs of three gunshots.
In such an enclosed space their ears rang from the shots fired, but luckily Hitch had struck true and the figure lay twitching on the floor.
“Good job.” Said Eldon as he rubbed his ears.
“It pays to know how to defend yourself, inspector.” Said Hitch as he walked to a cabinet in the cafeteria.
“We need to find the charm. It has to be in here somewhere.”
Hitch picked up a key from one of the cabinets and tossed it to Eldon. “Lock the door.”
And the half giant did just that. The cries and impacts of the afflicted continued to assault the door but with the lock in place they would be kept at bay, unless it was broken down.
Hitch quickly limped through the cafeteria and into the office to scan its walls and furniture. The infestation he had seen under the utilities building in Tollstock was noticeable, grotesque and had covered an entire wall. And much to his dismay, he saw no sign of any such growth here. The desk had been heavily damaged and was covered in blood where someone had been attacked. But he saw no pulsating flesh and he didn’t feel that strange sensation as if his brain was askew.
“It’s not here!” Hitch called out.
“Then look harder!”
“I am looking pretty fucking hard!”
Inspector Eldon’s hulking form emerged through the open door way, reloading his revolver and his eyes quickly scanning the office.
“Oh…I guess it’s not here.”
“You think?!” Hitch spat out.
“There has to be some indication of where it is. It has to be here, right?”
Hitch shrugged. “What if it isn’t? What if we’re just in the wrong place?”
Eldon quietly poured through the evidence and with each thread he pulled on the more confident he was that they were in the right place. “No, it has to be here. Otherwise those poor souls, those possessed thralls would not be here. Right?”
Hitch nodded slowly. “I suppose it could just be hidden somewhere else in this depot. But where? It can’t be anywhere obvious, right? It needs time to grow!”
Eldon nodded. “It does, so they’d need to hide it somewhere, and if it is to be a portal it can’t be somewhere like under the shed, that wouldn’t make any sense. So somewhere accessible but hidden.”
The two stood there, pondering for a moment as the shouts and wails of the thralls outside bombarded the shed. The impacts on the front door were beginning to crack it. They were running out of time.
“There!” Hitch said, pointing at a small map of the depot that hung on the wall. “This is where they keep the explosives for construction.”
Eldon looked at the map, not fully understanding. “Alright, why there? Seems dangerous.”
“Yes, explosives are dangerous. Which is why they bury a container to keep them enclosed in. A perfect place to have an infestation slowly grow right under everyone’s noses. Especially if the explosives have been moved to…” and he pointed to a recently drawn addition to the depot, “…to another container. Their newest edition by the looks of it.”
Eldon shrugged, “Might as well give it a shot.”
Behind them the door cracked and splinters flew out into the cafeteria.
“But first we need to get out of here.” Said Eldon.
Hitch pointed to a hatch in the ceiling of the shed.
“You’re gonna need me to give you a boost, aren’t you?”
Hitch grinned, “You wouldn’t leave a man with a bad leg to die, would you Inspector?”
Ophelia rushed up the stairs and through the halls of her family. Without her weapon and spellbook she had little recourse for actions. Most spells required material components to be cast and without her spellbook she had a limited number of spells she could rely on, namely her Arcane Blast and Shield.
The portraits of her Vandermeer ancestors stared down at her as she stumbled down the halls of the second floor, her dress flowing behind her every step.
“There’s nowhere to run!” the raspy voice of her captor rang out behind her. The figure was ascending the stairs and would see her very soon.
This hallway would dead-end soon and there were only bedrooms to duck into. No viable options. Though as she ran past a display case she had an idea. Turning on her heel and peering into the display case she found an inkling of hope. In years past her uncle Eldon Vandermeer had proudly displayed an ancient leather armor worn by his great-great grandfather during the Flotheim rebellions. And a piece of leather offered her yet another spell she could access.
The figure emerged from the staircase and Ophelia could see its eyes glowing red in the darkness.
“There is nowhere for you to run, cousin,” it hissed at her.
“I’m not your cousin, demon!” Ophelia exclaimed as she smashed her hand through the glass, cutting it as she did. But she managed to grab a piece of the armor, traced a glyph in the air with her free hand and loudly commanded a word of power. And in the blink of an eye, she had vanished.
The figure grinned. “An illusion, huh? You think you can escape with such paltry tricks? I am trickery incarnate.” The figure carefully stepped down the hallway, holding its jagged, bloody knife out to the side. “Come out and play, sweetheart. I’ve taken a liking to the taste of Vandermeer blood. And you have so many loved ones to spare, don’t you?”
A scent caught its nose and the figure halted. Its unholy eyes scanned the hallway until it found something of substance. A minuscule trail of blood droplets, leading from the broken display case to an empty area right next to it.
A malicious smile curled impossibly wide on the figure as it tightened its grip on the knife. A disembodied voice called out a word of power and an arc of blue energy shot out, followed by the reappearance of Ophelia standing right where the droplets had ended. The blood still trickling from her cut hand.
The arcane blast hit the figure in the face, tearing the skin of its cheek and breaking the bone beneath. But the figure barely flinched and instead rushed forward, one hand reaching for her neck the other plunging the knife towards her abdomen. Ophelia reacted and called another word of power, casting a shield to deflect the knife away from her. Luck was on her side and the knife was knocked out of the figure’s hand, but to counteract that luck the figure’s other hand now wrapped around her throat.
As the figure tightened its grip, crushing her windpipe, she felt it lift her up without effort and then slam her into the wall, knocking what little air she had left out of her.
“You all think yourselves so smart and so cunning but the mortal mind, when placed in stressful situations, will always make the wrong decisions.”
Ophelia clawed at the figure’s hand, her fingernails cutting through the flesh that once belonged to her cousin. But the figure only grinned. She could feel the life slowly getting choked out of her. Her vision began to blur and her face began to swell. In all her years of imagining how she might die, never did she envision this. Choked to death by a demon wearing her cousin’s skin. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe this was the better way to go. Maybe she could just let go. She was almost all out of aether anyway. What else could she do?
There was a flash of something and suddenly the pressure on her throat was alleviate. Ophelia collapsed to the floor as stale air rushed into her lungs without a conscious thought. She coughed and hitched but she was alive.
“Get up.” A familiar voice commanded.
She looked up to find Sloan standing over her with a blood drenched blade in hand. The figure now stood about fifteen meters down the hallway but as far as Ophelia could tell the figure hadn’t been injured, at all. It was then that it dawned on her. The blood on the blade belonged to Sloan. She was preparing to use the blood magic of her trade.
“Well, well, well. Took you long enough but here you are. I’ve been looking forward to this meeting, blackguard,” the figure hissed.
“Get up,” Sloan repeated to Ophelia without looking away from the demon, and the arcanist obeyed.
She pushed herself up, steadying her stance against the dented wall. She tried to speak but her words only emerged in a cough.
“I’ve got this, Ophelia. This is what I do.”
If her suspicions were correct, then this was far more than just a regular demon as they had faced before. But she wasn’t going to argue with the blackguard. In fact, she saw an opportunity in the command. And so, without debate, Ophelia began running for the stairs.
The figure cocked its head and grinned. “Well…shall we?”
Sloan focused her will and uttered a word that ignited her blood, covering the blade in a holy light.
“Oh no,” the figure said sarcastically. “I’m terrified.”
Sloan inhaled a deep breath, tightened her grip and then rushed forward. If her strike was true she could end this before it even began. And so she brought she sword back for a plunging attack, but duped out at the last moment and instead swung the blade out and down on her opponent.
There was a splash of blood and the two opponents stumbled past one another. Sloan’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to look at the figure.
“A valiant attempt,” said the figure at slowly turned around, holding Sloan’s torn arm, still wielding the blade.
Sloan looked down at her sword arm to find it ripped at the elbow. She felt adrenaline pulse through her body to stave off the shock. Blood was pouring onto the floorboards.
The figure chuckled and threw her arm behind it, bloody flesh, bone and steel clattering on the floor. “Now…shall we continue?”
