Christopher Kellen - Elegy

It staggered backwards, its mouth hanging open, exposing a deep black throat and ragged yellow teeth. The cobalt fire leapt down the demon’s throat as it left that entryway open and exposed, devouring the beast from the inside out. It collapsed to the ground as the manna fire ate at it from within, its face still frozen in what appeared to D’Arden to be a silent mask of agony.

One down, still a dozen to go.

His head was beginning to ring from the impossibly loud buzzing sound that surrounded them. He forced his brain to stay focused on the task, trying to focus on the sound of blood in his ears to drown out some of the outside sounds, but to little avail. His only choice, then, was to strike quickly in hopes that he could destroy the demons before the buzzing disrupted his thinking too much.

Immediately he struck outward again, and another of the demons – which had apparently in no way anticipated an attack at that moment – was caught by the edge of his manna blade. It was just deep enough to leave a long red slit across its throat below its disgusting visage, and the manna flames ignited in the same second, burrowing inward, seeking the corruption that lay within. The demon stumbled away from him, screaming in the same silent agony that he imagined would have been much louder, if he could have heard it at all.

His attacks became a dance of sorts, a series of flowing movements with the most deadly intent. He struck and they parried, and he moved to strike again or to strike another. Each of his movements flowed perfectly into the next, and though the buzzing in his ears was almost deafening him, he began to imagine that he heard a rhythm in the sound that he used to time his movements. Cut, step, strike… the pattern of movements took him back to his fencing days at the Arbiter’s Tower in the clean warm air, in those golden days of youth that are always remembered fondly. He struck down demon after demon, the blue flames igniting eagerly at each successful stroke, consuming the demons from head to toe in a matter of seconds.

As suddenly as it had started, the noise ceased.

His head continued to ring. The sudden silence was almost more deafening than the noise itself. He turned to find Elisa, down on one knee and holding her sword almost desperately before her, shaking her head to try and clear it of the ringing that remained behind.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and his voice sounded strange as it echoed in the stone chamber.

She nodded slowly, and then climbed back to her feet. Bright red blood showed on her tunic from where a demon had cut her across the arm, but she showed no other obvious injury. Acolytes always wore white, so that injuries could be more easily spotted. The manna would not start to heal her wounds automatically for several years yet – in the meantime, she would have to rely on her body’s natural healing ability.

“What was that awful sound?” she asked.

He gave a half-shrug and shook his head. “I have no idea. That’s the nature of this place, though… it will do whatever it can, whatever it has to, so that it can win the fight. Whoever – or whatever – is the master of this place does not control these happenings any more than you or I can. These are creations of the corrupted manna, spun from whole cloth in order to drive out the purity that’s crossed its gates.”

“What might be next?” she asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

“I don’t know,” was all he could answer.

The doorway that led back to the room of perfect darkness was visible, and there was another doorway directly across from them that led into yet another unknowable chamber. Anything could lie beyond that threshold – even the certainty of their own deaths – and yet he was compelled to travel onward, to discover what had brought this place so deeply into corruption, and to drive it out.

He glanced at his young student, who returned his gaze bravely. “Are you ready?”

“Will I ever be ready to take that step?” she asked rhetorically.

“I’ll let you know if I ever get there,” he said grimly.

Together, they stepped across the next threshold.

Flames surrounded them. D’Arden could feel their heat, blinding him and searing his flesh. He heard Elisa cry out beside him. The fire had not been there only seconds ago, but now it was all too real. He could feel his skin as it blackened and burst where the flames touched him. He gave a shout of agony as well that echoed in the chamber above the sound of the roaring flames.

He got a glimpse, ahead of them, of a doorway that seemed impossibly far away. The floor was made of hot coals and embers, and fire flared all around them on every side. The heat was so intense that he felt as though he might simply die on the spot. Sweat poured from every part of his body and yet it was immediately evaporated. There was no way to survive.

This was the end.

D’Arden clenched his hand down on the sharp edges of his manna blade. Blood surged forth from the wound, and he cried out yet again. The pain from the wound in his hand, however, made the flames in the room flicker slightly. He felt cooler, and the azure fire of the manna blade danced around him. His flesh no longer felt as though it were being seared. He could still see the flames, but they seemed more distant somehow.

“Elisa!” he cried out. “Let pain be your guide!”

He heard her sob to his right, and he turned to look. She had collapsed to the ground, and though he could now see that she was suffering no real injury, she truly believed that she was. The illusion here was very strong. She had given up screaming now, and was only barely whimpering.

She was not strong enough for this.

He knelt down beside her as the flames continued to retreat for him, their heat dissipating rapidly. D’Arden took hold of her hand and sliced his blade along it, drawing a thin line of red forth. She yelped, a pitiful sound of the dying caused yet more pain, but he could see that the heat was beginning to fade for her as well.

Slowly, she sat up at last. There was a haunted look in her eyes that reminded him of the night they had first met, which seemed far longer ago than it was. “Is this the kind of thing you deal with every day?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “I haven’t encountered this much corruption in many years.”

“When was the last time?” she asked.

“Mount Tzoggoth,” he replied immediately, offering a hand to help her up.

She accepted it and rose to her feet, a bit unsteady but otherwise looking unharmed. She gripped the handle of her manna blade as though it were her only lifeline, and perhaps in a way it was. She was still not fully attuned to the blade, and it would take a few years of training before she would completely understand its power, but for now her simple prowess with the sword would be enough.

They approached the next doorway. As D’Arden looked through it, he saw only what seemed to be an endless procession of doorways attached to square stone rooms. They appeared to go infinitely into each other, vanishing eventually into the darkness. He shook his head. He did not know how long that they would last with these trials. Eventually, an illusion would fool himself or his student completely, and they would be lost forever inside the bowels of this ancient fortress.

Laughter echoed through the stone halls, its source unseen but the sound unmistakable. It was not maniacal laughter, not the laugh of the truly mad, but instead the cold, calculated sound of a mastermind who was enjoying the results of his plan too well.

“Are you enjoying my maze, little ones?” a voice asked.

The Arbiter’s head snapped around as he searched for the source of the voice. It sounded all too familiar, and the words sunk deep into him and filled him with a dread that was entirely unspeakable, a feeling that could not be put into words. His knees felt weak, and sweat began to bead on his forehead.