The Wielder of Death Magic

Forced on her knees, the sound broke Nicola’s sleep. “-Are you okay?” he asked, barely able to keep the vision clear. Darkness snuffed the room, a shadow or cloud, something unseen but tangible choked moonlight. Her visage, visible in only the partialness of waning outside light twisted and turned, and her eyes widened to a shriek. Unseen to Nicola but present to her – demons rose from the floor, dropped from the ceiling, and hovered by the window – the colors painted in grayscale – Nicola’s figure vanished. An unbeatable force gripped and pulled – she screamed her chin across the splintered wooden floor – wind or what was felt turned over the dressing gown. She gathered her breath, soon to realize her elbows on the floor and body in prostration – a whisper said, ‘-sufferance.’ She choked – the curse marked its prey, she screamed and cried – fighting for her life. Nicola stared blankly, unknown to her current state, “-stop playing,” he rolled his eyes and went back to sleep. She screamed atop her lungs, begging for mercy and salvation, but nothing – claws dug into her skin, scratch marks went down her sides, blood and sweat dropped, and color in the eyes faded.

‘Don’t faint,’ said another whisper, the fading consciousness returned – this time, she found herself facing the ceiling with legs spread. Wretched demons plagued her vision, they laughed and toyed, paying no heed – after all, no matter the pain or resistance – to the world, Eia simply laid on her back.

Daybreak shimmered, she sat upright, ‘-a weird dream...’ such was the thought until ‘-scratch marks...’

“Go take a bath,” said an uninterested yawn, “-you smell.”

“Nicola?” she called to a resounding no, he slammed the door – heavy footsteps carried deeper along the corridor. ‘-What’s happening?’

Days were hard – no money nor supplies to go around, Nicola found it hard to make ends meet. The last resort came after they pawned much of their belongings – jewelry and the likes. Nights were harder. Nicola slept soundly, as for Eia, her painful days had just begun. Demons of all kinds plagued her room, scratching and pulling – tied and gagged – there laid no limits to the sexual depravities they mustered. After she’d suffered enough, demons took pleasure in torture, no scars on the body – her mind began to crack, the brief line between thought and reality phased, perpetual agony.

.....

Port Smith loomed over the horizon; a traveling merchant accepted the duo on conditions he’d spend the night with the lady. Nicola’s macabre personality worsened, he nonchalantly accepted, seeing Eia for her title and way of retribution. The carriage stopped at one of the inns, where – husband and wife got into a fight, a secluded room thundered, “-Stop!” he cried

“WHY SHOULD I, ALL YOU DO IS COMPLAIN!”

“I DON’T!” *smack,* she hit her head against the table and fell, tears of blood dropped.

“Don’t ever argue, I own you, you’re nothing more than a waste of air and space,” the door clanged, where outside the merchant waited patiently. Nicola exhaled and narrowed, “-she’s inside, I don’t promise complacency. If you die, it’s not my fault.” On those words alone, the older gentleman tipped his hat and entered, “-before you continue, here’s a word of warning, she’s plague-ridden.” Those words alone halted the man’s rush of blood, “-plague-ridden?” he stopped himself, “-well, it was only a trip, I don’t need to risk my life.” Nicola left, uninterested in the outcome. Wind and cold made waves, unprepared for the weather had his body trembled. The walk eventually arrived at a local lord’s manor – a refuge for plague victims, “-excuse me,” he rose a hand to one of the attendants.

The soldier, hands full with a heavy carton, stopped, “-Nicola,” he sighed, “-outhouse, go to the outhouse.” Confused as to why the soldiers beheld his appearance with much animosity, Nicola panted his way to a warmer outhouse. There, Brigadier General Erano rose a brow, shook his head, and laid a report on his desk, “-Nicola Vonhem Hart. Traitor to the crown,” he clicked his tongue, “-his majesty sent news of the pilgrim of repentance. Sad to say, you failed the test. Did thee think anyone would allow traitors on their wagon?” he reached into a drawer and pulled a news article, “-here,” details of the trial, Eia and Nicola’s betrayal, immoral acts, and greed were written in bold. A transcript of their audience, precisely the part where the king graciously offered the duo a chance at forgiveness, painted a clear image. “-Stooping so low as to sell Eia’s body for a simple trip. How shameful. Orders are orders,” he exhaled, “-the capital, head to the capital and confess thy sins. The pope will decide thy fate before the lord.”

“The merchant?”

“-Was a soldier,” returned Esvalo, “-a simple test to check your integrity. Turns out, there was naught to expect. If only you’d have found another way – Eia would have been given this,” he rose a flask, “-medicine,” both hands hit the table, “-GET OUT MY OFFICE!” guards kicked him outside – knocking his head onto a rock, “-leave town immediately,” loomed the general’s imposing shadow. Shamed, Nicola grudgingly returned to the inn to an array of moans and cries. He rushed and pushed the door to see a nurse tending Eia’s wounds. The merchant, dressed in a military outfit, side-glanced, “-so much for integrity.”

“Left to fester, she’d be faced with an infection,” cried an attending physician, “-for love said the report,” the man all but confessed his disbelief and disappointment, “-guess an oil stain can’t ever be cleaned from a white cloth.” They exited the room save the soldier, “-pack your bags,” he ordered, “-and leave town. Orders from the general.”

Duo solemnly walked a parade of shame – guests of the inn watched as they arrived at the ground floor with lowered heads and left the establishment. All along the streets stood disappointed looks from the townsfolk, “-traitor,” whispered some, “-scum,” said others. All and all, it was the worse day for anyone. Amidst an overarching blizzard – Nicola and Eia eventually arrived at an abandoned log cabin settled a few kilometers from the capital. Worsening weather made movement difficult – no fire wood nor adequate source of fire, both glared at one another, seething rage and murderous folly.

“I regret meeting you,” fired Eia.

“Likewise,” answered Nicola, “-if only I was smart enough to have charmed another woman.”

“I wish I’d have taken the right path and adhered to my mother’s wishes. My life would have been so much better than this. You’re the worse thing to ever happen to me – because of you, I lost my title, my status, my reputation, and my child.”

“Oh, shut up, conniving bitch. You’re much an accomplice in the rebellion as I am. After all, didn’t someone always say the throne is rightfully theirs. Why did I bother coming to rescue a worthless whore. I wish the king spared no mercy – I wish he’d publicly hang you.”

The night passed and day rose, and the weather settled. Eia and Nicola rose from a rough intimate night, “-I hate you,” she spat.

“I hate you too,” he returned, throwing on their outfit and setting for the capital. A step within the beautifully crafted townscape changed their moods entirely – stone, limestone, gorgeously carved wood, stone bricked walkways, and the gem, a cathedral worthy of the gods. Tall and home to colored windows – it was breathtaking, nothing could compare to said architectural marvel. It took a few minutes to arrive, and when they did, the scale but amplified. Devotees prayed, and warm and friendly nuns approached, “-Lord Nicola and lady Eia, please come this way.”

They entered a massive prayer hall, with golden statues, and ornate stained glass dressed in various patterns. The peaceful openness sent tremors down Eia’s hand and body, ‘-I’m not welcomed here,’ she gulped, looking around to be overwhelmed by the size. From a hallowed archway came the head of Kreston, Duke Carrigan the II. He held a holy book and stood towering before the duo, “-welcome to the Krestonian cathedral,” he smiled, the eyes squinting through frameless square glasses. “-I heard much, and I know why you’re here,” he explained slowly, “-Nicola, doth thee wish to atone?”

He rose a defiant gaze, “-no. I’m here only to save my wife, not be entranced by religious talk.”

“My, such attitude for one who threw himself at the church of Leon for reinforcement,” focus turned to Eia, “-nuns, grab her,’ he ordered, “-you see, Nicola and Eia, I’m not only the pope, I’m the duke of Kreston. Like the words of gods resounds through my people, my word and voice as ruler also resounds, albeit in a more fearsome way,” they walked towards the altar, dressed in gold, precious metals, and gems. A mysterious figure caught Nicola’s eye, a lady bearing dark-brown hair, a seductive smile, and a beauty mark near her lips, her nose upwards was covered in dark vail, akin to ladies dressed in remembrance of the fallen. The church swapped into an oblique office – religious robe turned formal suit and tie, “-now,” he sat, “-king Igna has given full authority on thy punishment. Nicola, to atone for thy sin and affronts, many of which are written here,” he mentioned a report, “-you will be sent to work the graveyard and clean the catacombs. You will be afforded basic necessities, aside from those duties – you shall join the church as an Emissary, taking the vows of celibacy. Only repentance and sincerity shall improve thy life. Take how long it’s needed – more affronts and the dungeon shall be thy last resting place,” without a chance at rebuttal, armed guards took away the man.

“You,” he grinned, “-a worshipper of the dark god, tis time for proper cleansing. The nuns shall attendant to thy physical needs. Tonight, we perform the rite of Trian.” Day turned to night in a snap – Nicola’s punishment began in the sewer – as for Eia, dressed white – her restrained had her lay upon a stone slab. Pope stood at a distance; a circle of sisters stood around each holding hands. Deeper in the shadow waited for the same peculiar lady. Words of faith thundered – her vision blurred, demons manifested in full, they dug their claws into her stomach, clawed out her organs, and danced. The horrific sight had many on the verge of puking, they couldn’t bear to look. Culmination resulted in her eyes turning bloodshot red, she screamed and cursed, and ire threw burn mark – she shunned the world, all who did her wrong – she cried, the weeping lady returned. *Thud,* silence, her eyes faded, tiny hands clawed from Eia’s torn belly, a little girl with black hair, red eyes, and three marks running down her collarbone, “-overworld,” she said calmly, pushing her tiny body over the deceased, “-who dares summon me?”

“I did,” the circle broke, and the mysterious lass ambled, “-welcome, Sathanas, my dear daughter.”