Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

“Sef, look into the celestial, he’s right there.”

He looked and cursed, “By the gods, what’s happening to him?”

I took a hesitant step forward, to where – in my perception’s view of two worlds – his soul lay. That glowing sphere of life, the seed of his being, seemed to be right before me, yet all I could see was a pile of dirty rags. I stopped in the dim light, finally recognising the robe we’d bought. It lay there tattered, twisted, and heavily stained. I reached down and drew it back to unveil his bloodied remains.

Sef hissed, “The bastards!”

Poor Marco, he lay there twisted and torn with meat spilling through his shredded clothes. He was dead.

Baruna gasped, “Oh, Marco!”

Sef said, “But his soul, it’s as if he lives?”

Baruna began to cry.

I slid into the celestial to try and connect with him. “Marco?”

He was waiting for me. “Oh, Juvela!” he sounded desperate.

“Marco! What have they done to you?”

“Juvela, I’m trying to hold on, but I can’t for much longer!”

“What happened?”

“They came, cultists, I didn’t see them approach, but they attacked…” his voice broke, trailing off in a mix of anguish and disbelief.

“Marco?”

“…they killed me!”

“Oh, Marco…”

“Wait Juvela, I don’t have long.”

And I could see what he meant: It was taking an immense effort for him to hold out against his soul’s urge to rush back to his god.

…to rush back to me.

The realisation distracted me, stirring my deep hunger.

I could feed again!

He said, “They taunted me, saying that they were going to take them away.”

“Both Pedro and Maria?”

“Yes, and others, including the Lord and Lady.” His soul began to shiver.

“Was there any clue as to where they were going?”

“Nothing for certain. I tried to connect with Maria, but I couldn’t, – and then… then the cultists started to… to…”

“Marco?”

“…to cut at me.”

I shivered. “It’s alright Marco, you’ve done well to hold on.”

My hunger was growing…

Soon!

“I wish I could’ve done more. I wish I could’ve stopped them or got word to you. I tried, but I mustn’t have been strong enough.”

“Marco, it’s alright. When did it happen?”

“Not long after sunset. They teased me, saying the ritual was set for daybreak.”

I would’ve been unconscious when he’d tried to send his message.

He moaned with pain.

And the thought of him dying made me shudder. I could let his soul return to me on its natural path, coming home to roost, from where one day it would be reborn, or I could snatch it up to feed upon, absorb the power, and deny him his future.

I tried to calm myself: He trusted me. He’d have his time of peace, and when ready, his rebirth. “Marco, it’s alright. You’ve done well and I’m grateful. You can rest now.”

“Wait; the cultists became frenzied when they attacked, and I could see things as if they were thoughts spilling from their minds. There were visions of them rallying at Market Square. I think they needed to take it, that they’d been ordered to.”

That made some sense, for where else should the sanctity ritual be completed but at Ossard’s heart and seat of power?

After all, Lady Death had been there…

And with that thought my hunger grew, beginning to give me deep quaking cramps. So pained, I became impatient. “Thank you Marco, but you can rest now, please.”

I sensed him relax.

He said, “It’s been a joy.”

I almost snapped at him, wanting him to let go and end my agony. I restrained myself. “Rest, Marco, please.”

And then he let go.

I knew that I should let his soul rest, it was my intention, but my hunger roused so painfully that I worried I’d not be able to resist.

His soul began to break into a glowing trail of soul-stuff, finally free to begin its race home.

Its race home to me…

I braced myself. This would be a different sensation, part of a natural cycle, as he was one of my own. I doubted it’d feel as intense as soul-feeding, but nonetheless my hunger for it and the power it would give me saw me oblivious to all else.

And then, just as I thought I had myself under control, my dark hunger bucked. It cut through me strong and vicious, each extra moment drawing me further into its agony.

I yearned to feed, to end the pain – and to take the high it would give.

And what was left of his soul flared and rushed for me.

I tensed and waited, bracing myself.

I should let him rest, but I needed to feed…

I needed the power…

I needed…

Then, just before he reached me, something blue and spectral passed between us in the void. It flared with new power, crying out in triumph before circling away.

It had taken Marco!

I cried out in anguish.

I needed that soul!

I turned my perception to search for the thief.

And there she was; my grandmother.

The dark pits of her eyes lay cold, but somehow smug upon her pallid face, and about her floated hundreds of skulls in her macabre halo.

Back in the real world, I slumped into the filth of the alley while crying out. Sef and Baruna both reached for me, thinking I’d been overcome by my mourning for Marco’s passing.

I realised then how much I’d already come under Death’s sway. I had to stop it, to resist the addiction – while I still could.

If I could…

I also had to break the bond between my grandmother and me.

Steadying myself, and aided by Sef and Baruna, I rose out of the alley’s dirt, muck, and Marco’s blood.

A cool chuckle then sounded from the shadows.

Sef’s hand tensed on my shoulder, for we both knew who stalked us. “Easy, Juvela.”

Tears ran down my face to fall into Marco’s ruin. I was disgusted with myself: Marco had died serving me and suffered afterwards, and all I’d been able to think of was gorging on his soul as if I was at a banquet. He deserved more than that; at the very least respect, love, and my own service. I vowed to save him, not just from my failure, but also from my grandmother.

If being a god meant I received people’s faith, surely I had to give something in return. My disgust at myself saw my need to feed fade, yet the hunger remained, but was no longer so urgent.

A voice again drifted from the darkness, cool and smooth, “The hunt isn’t over. You may have beaten Mortigi’s lady, but we’re many and still coming to claim you!”

Damn them and this plague of madness!

Angered, I growled, “Don’t bother, I’ll come to you.” And I stepped over Marco’s body and deeper into the lane. “I’m coming, and I hope you, your fellows, and your filth-eating god are ready!”

And all about me the darkness opened with surprised eyes. Some of them gasped, others hissed, the lead calling, “How dare you!”

“You won’t believe how much I dare!” And I offered my hands as power surged through them to flare as though a dozen suns had risen in the alleyway.

The cultists screamed as they ran, half-blinded and dazed. One of them stood frozen in terror, his eyes melting to leak from their sockets while the skin on his face reddened to peel as his clothes smouldered.

I hurled the light from my palms, it flaring as it flew. It split as it chased them, each blazing ball finding dark robes to burn through and flesh to quench them.

And then I was done.

“Juvela?” It was Sef.

I lowered my hands and what remained of the hot light died away.

“Juvela, such power, where has it come from?”

I nearly laughed, but this was no time for mirth. Still, I wasn’t going to admit that my newfound strength came from feeding on the soul of Lady Death. Instead, I said, “I must get to my family.”