Don Bassingthwaite - The Eye of the Chained God

Belen’s stomach clenched. After the chaos of that terrible night in Fallcrest when plague demons had entered the town and the bodystealer had possessed her, Roghar and the others had been her friends and mentors. They understood what she had been through. Understood her anger.

She’d never spoken the thought aloud, but she knew they hadn’t needed to bring her along on their journey. They could have found the volcano and Vestapalk’s lair on their own. But they had brought her. They’d given her a target for her anger. If she’d had to stay in Fallcrest, she might have gone mad.

“We have to help them,” she said, staring at the battles below. “There must be something we can do!”

“We’ve got our own problems now,” said Quarhaun from behind her. “Vestapalk’s assassins have come for us.”

Belen turned as three shadowy figures came gliding out of the broken passage. So tall they had to bend to pass through the tunnel, they were wispy and insubstantial-looking, with long, narrow hands and fingers that continuously stroked the air. Their eyes flashed with the Voidharrow and crystals pulsed in their thin, nearly transparent chests.

Cariss took a step back and raised her warpicks. “What are those?”

“The stuff of nightmares,” said Quarhaun. “Don’t let them touch you.” He flicked the black blade of his sword and a crackling blast of dark energy flew at the first one out of the tunnel.

Faster than Belen would have thought possible, the creature slipped aside. The blast hissed harmlessly past. Quarhaun cursed through clenched teeth and tried again, this time making a circling gesture with his free hand. Shadows writhed around the creature’s head and it hesitated in its advance-but just for a moment. It seemed to Belen that the thing actually smiled at whatever magic the drow warlock had attempted to use against it.

Then it darted in at Quarhaun and he abandoned magic for sword play. The other two demons flitted past them. Long arms stretched out and shadowy fingers raked the air. Belen ducked away, trying to keep her back to the cave wall. Two sides of the broken passage lay open to long drops, and enough debris littered the ground to make footing treacherous. She didn’t want to avoid the demon only to fall victim to her own clumsiness. The demon clawed at her again. She dodged a second time, then responded with a slash from her sword.

The thing’s wispy, hazy form made it even more difficult to hit than its speed alone. She thought she struck at its side, but the demon twisted and her sword whisked almost right through it. Almost but not quite. She felt the blade slice into flesh. The nightmare demon pulled back, an oozing shallow wound lending solidity to its torso, and circled her warily. The wound didn’t slow it down at all.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cariss struggling against another demon. The cramped quarters hampered the shifter’s whirling style of fighting and the demon was able to avoid her warpicks with little effort. Her back precariously close to the edge of the passage, Cariss snarled and tried to catch her opponent between the points of her warpicks with a great sweeping attack.

The demon ducked, twisted, and came up behind her. Its long fingers closed almost tenderly on her head. Cariss’s eyes went wide, then she screamed in terror. “Cariss!” Belen shouted.

“Ignore her!’ Quarhaun commanded. “Focus on your own battle!” His sword play was keeping his demon at bay but the creature wasn’t reacting to his attempts to draw it off balance. He lunged.

The demon turned. Before Quarhaun could recover, it had reached out and laid its hand alongside his face. The drow stiffened. He didn’t cry out, but the sword dropped from his fingers. The demon pressed its other hand against his head. He started to tremble.

And Belen was the only one left. No wonder Vestapalk had only sent three of the things instead of overwhelming numbers. He hadn’t needed to send more. She pressed her back against the wall. The demon facing her drifted closer, but stayed out of range of her slashing sword. It could afford to toy with her. She’d need a solid strike to kill it or drive it off. All it needed to do was touch her and she’d plunge into her worst fears.

At least she already knew what that fear would be. It had haunted her dreams ever since the night of the attack on Fallcrest.

A desperate idea came to her. Belen prayed that it might work. It had to work. Gripping her sword tight, she stamped forward suddenly, as Quarhaun had. Her thrust was low and deliberately wide. The demon didn’t even have to dodge it. Its hands shot out and it seized her by both sides of her face. Its touch was cold.

The Plaguedeep seemed to vanish.

She was back in Fallcrest. The town burned around her. Belen could smell the smoke and feel the heat. She heard the screams of the townspeople, the shouts of the other guards. The taunting shrieks of the attacking plague demons. But she couldn’t move or call back in response. Fear held her fast.

She faced herself. Or rather, she faced the version of herself she saw in her nightmares: Belen possessed by Nu Alin.

Her face was hard and tight. Around her eyes, the skin was broken and cracked like a mask of old, dry leather. Red crystal shot through with streaks of silver and flecks of gold showed through the cracks. As Belen stared at herself, the stuff spread. It filled her eyes entirely. It pushed at her skin from the inside, forming massive boils that grew until they burst to expose decayed flesh and bones like worm-eaten wood.

“You are mine, Belen,” said a rasping voice. The silver-red crystal that was Nu Alin’s substance filled her mouth when she spoke. “Your friends have failed. There’s no one to rescue you this time.”

“You’re dead,” Belen said. She tried to speak with confidence but the words came out a whisper. “Tempest and Albanon destroyed you.”

Nu Alin laughed, forcing her corpse’s face into a grin. “You’re the one who’s dead. I can’t die! I just move on to a new body, wear it out, then move on again.” Nu Alin leaned her body close. “But I think I’ll keep your body longer. I like it.”

“You dried up and turned to dust when Albanon and Tempest forced you out of me.” Belen fought against her fear. This wasn’t really Nu Alin, just a nightmare demon. “You can’t exist without a body to inhabit.”

“Yet you were kind enough to bring me a new one,” said Nu Alin.

His substance bulged out of her corpse’s mouth and groped toward her. Belen remembered how it had felt when the bodystealer had first attacked her, his flowing form forcing its way into her mouth and up her nose. He had reached down her throat and into the cavities of her body, wrapping himself around bones and organs until he was in complete control of her. Terror rose in her again. Nu Alin’s tentacle touched her cheek.

She jerked her head around, the first movement she’d been able to make. Nu Alin hissed in annoyance. “Stop struggling! You’ve already lost. I have destroyed you!”

Belen ground her teeth. “No,” she said. “You didn’t destroy me. You’re the reason we’re here. Because of you, I knew where to find Vestapalk.” She turned her head back to glare at Nu Alin. “We can still win.”

Her sword was still in her hand. She thrust it up into her corpse. Into Nu Alin.

Into the nightmare demon.

Cold hands fell away from Belen’s face. Fallcrest vanished, replaced by the Plaguedeep. Her legs felt like they might collapse. She forced them to stay straight. The nightmare demon’s face was stretched out in shock only a handsbreadth from hers. Belen drew her sword back a bit, wrenched it up to a sharper angle, and thrust it in again.

The nightmare demon jerked and went limp. Its corpse was so light, it was almost weightless. Belen shoved it off her sword and stepped quickly over to the demon clutching Quarhaun. The creature seemed almost as lost in the drow’s fear as Quarhaun himself. It didn’t even look up as she drove her sword down between its shoulders. Quarhaun fell away from it with a gasp to lie panting on the ground. Belen whirled to Cariss.