Rise of the Dark, Part III

Despite even the pain, Cothrael suddenly remembered everything with utter clarity. The battle. Mamipyr, ablaze with holy light. A minor, almost trivial pain harrying him from where a lucky strike had taken one of his eyes. Around them, a flurry of other, lesser struggles. With a flash of its crystalline blade, Mamipyr's sword disappearing into his chest. Immediate, molten rage at this defeat. The sizzling pop as his last desperate energy bolt buries itself into Mamipyr's skull. Their bodies tumbling down a steep incline, limbs entwined, almost like lovers' embrace. Death.

"I…I am dead…" he managed to croak.

From around him, he heard a chuckle. He glanced around. The sound seemed to lack a source. Moreover, this (He wanted to describe it as a room, but he could see no walls to any side of him nor any ceiling above him.) place seemed to stretch forever, with no pillars or other hint of habitation within sight. He glimpsed a slight flurry of motion ahead of him. Somehow, the shadows were coalescing in a shape but Cothrael could not determine where they would focus. Without his being aware, suddenly there was a man standing before him. He caught the vaguest impression of swirling navy robes, an odd assortment of hanging metal decorations, and a long walking stick before the man's eyes all but demanded his attention.

If black could be said to glow, that's what this man's eyes did. They were uniformly the color of the void that Cothrael had been entombed in. To what depths those eyes could see Cothrael could not begin to guess, but he was almost certain that the man was seeing Cothrael on many more levels than Cothrael was seeing him. For some reason, he also had the impression that the man never needed to blink. Before, he could react, the dread apparition spoke. [ Continue ]

Written by Michael D. Wisebaker aka Chyn/Assh