Jeff Inlo - Pure Choice

"Linda? Can you hear me?"

She remained silent-still breathing, still alive-but unable to speak.

He watched her for long moments, hoping she would open her eyes and display that joyous emotion he longed for. He called to her again.

"Linda?"

It was Enin who responded after he dispatched the arasaps and then watched the shadowy oval reclaim its empty magic. Ansas had fallen, but the conflict was not quite over. While the wizard knew Ryson faced additional challenges, he willingly offered comfort to his friend.

"Don't worry, Ryson. She'll be fine. The arasaps are gone. There's nothing left of them inside of her, but it will take her a while before she regains consciousness."

Ryson wouldn't remove his gaze from his wife, but he needed to be certain.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. She will need rest, but she will be fine. You saved her."

That simple statement brought joy to Ryson's soul, but only for a moment. He remembered who was responsible for all his hardships, and the anger that he buried to survive the death spell surfaced once more. He swirled around to find the sorcerer. He saw Ansas lying in a heap upon the ground.

He clamped down on the sudden urge for vengeance, but only for a brief moment as he looked up to Dzeb.

"Take care of her."

"That is why I'm here."

Knowing that Linda would be safe, Ryson released the restraint that held him in place. In one quick rush, he dashed past the dark oval that continued to float just above the ground. Somehow, the delver understood the shifting mass had removed all of the sorcerer's magic. He bounded toward Ansas with a shadow of renewed anger covering his own heart. His feet stopped just short of the sorcerer's head. He looked down with contempt upon the prone body of his foe and realized the sorcerer had been injured. He didn't care. He grabbed Ansas roughly by the shirt and lifted him up off the ground.

Ansas groaned in pain. He was empty. His magical energy gone. The fall to the plateau broke several of his bones, and when Ryson twisted him around so they would be face to face, a jolt of unbelievable pain exploded across his body. He almost passed out, but the delver shook him hard. Another stab of pain kept him conscious.

"It's over," the delver growled. "The arasaps are gone and so is your magic. I don't know how I know, but I do. You have nothing left, do you? Do you?!"

Ansas couldn't answer. He just let out a moan.

Ryson grew weary of holding the sorcerer up and flung him to the ground. He remained over Ansas, his fury boiling in his head. He no longer saw a powerful spell caster reveling in the glory of his own self-ascribed godhood. He saw a pathetic insect willing to cause pain and suffering in some deluded quest for twisted perfection.

"What happened to your control of the magic?!" Ryson demanded. "What happened to your pure ebony power?!"

"I don't understand," Ansas mumbled.

"Do you think I care?! Do you remember what you said about my wife? Do you?!"

Ansas wouldn't answer, he couldn't. He was unable to stand, let alone think straight. He was beyond defeated. He was completely broken, his beliefs shattered. The energy that once swelled within him was yanked from his core like so many loose teeth. He was left wounded and powerless, unable to rise and incapable of casting the most insignificant spell. He was defenseless.

He once believed he could rise above all things, that there was no force in the land that could match his understanding of the ebony energy. He was above it all, an individual who broke the shackles of every limitation.

He didn't believe it was possible he could be defeated, but he was. To make the failure even more bitter, he had lost to a pathetic delver and he couldn't understand how.

Ryson did not care about the sorcerer's confusion. Ansas didn't deserve answers, he didn't deserve anything, save for swift retribution.

"I should kill you right now," Ryson snarled, "You deserve to die."

The delver pulled both war blades from the sheaths at his hips. The slightly curved blades were much shorter than the Sword of Decree, but they were also much sharper. With a swift swing, Ryson could remove the sorcerer's head with one strike.

Ansas cowered. Despite the pain erupting from each movement, he covered his head with his arms and tried to push himself away with short thrusts of his legs. He shrieked with each movement, but the threat of the war blades kept him retreating.

It was a laughable attempt. Ryson danced across the ground with barely an effort. He remained in constant striking distance as he considered the best way to end the sorcerer's life. He could slice his throat or pierce his heart. He could even slit open Ansas' belly and watch the sorcerer's organs spill out over the barren ground.

Ryson knew the war blades could kill. He had used them to kill before. He had once decimated an army of shags to protect the algors in the Lacobian Desert. He didn't want to kill those shags, certainly not like he wanted to end Ansas' miserable existence, but he had no real choice.

No choice.

Ryson suddenly remembered arguing with Sy about killing the river rogues. He had said he wouldn't be a part of it because he felt there was a choice. Was that still his line in the sand? That one question held his hands from delivering the death strike. Did he have a choice at that moment? Did he ever have a choice?

Ansas didn't believe in the struggle between good and evil, but Ryson did. He had been placed in so many struggles, stood before so many enemies, but he always tried to hold to decency… and mercy. He thought of the goblins he could have killed, but never did… river rogues and other monsters as well. Then, he thought of the shags he didn't want to kill, but did so anyway. He thought he had to. It was an empty excuse. That thought opened a hole in his soul, a hole he didn't want to expand.

It seemed he had so little control over what happened to him. He didn't ask for Ansas to enter his life, but the sorcerer did so anyway. He didn't want to face river rogues and goblins, but they were thrust at him regardless. Struggling for control against what fate threw at him was futile. The only thing he could really control were the decisions he made, such as the one he faced at that very moment.

He wanted to kill Ansas, to exact revenge for everything the sorcerer had done to him… and to Linda. Ansas deserved to die, but in the light of truth, Ryson knew that the sorcerer was no longer a threat.

With that realization, the delver understood what that moment was about. It wasn't about revenge, or even justice. It wasn't even about what Ansas deserved. It was about what Ryson was willing to do. The delver had his beliefs; beliefs that guided him down every path of his life. If they meant anything, he would have to hold onto them, even when he didn't want to. He wouldn't abandon those beliefs in the face of a hollow sorcerer who believed in nothing more than his own superiority. Ansas' road led to emptiness, but the delver's beliefs, if he held to them, would guide him to much more.

The decision was no longer difficult. Ryson would leave Ansas to his fate and the delver would continue to choose his own path. As he sheathed the war blades and turned away, he felt the hole in his soul being filled, the guilt removed.

As if in response to the delver's decision, the dark oval began to swirl faster. The shadows of its inner core began to shimmer and a ghostly presence stepped from out of the shadowed portal and onto the dark plateau.

Enin recognized the slink ghoul immediately.

"Baannat? What do you have to do with this?"

"Nothing… and everything."

Baannat's form was a mix of the material and immaterial. The slink ghoul did not completely exist on a physical plane. The cat-like features of his face were clear to all those that looked upon him, but they did not take solid form. In a previous battle with Enin and the delver, Baannat had cheated death and created a new realm. The ghoul was the ruler of a damned existence, and he arrived to claim his prize.