T Lain - Return of the Damned

Above the chair, bolted to the suspended seesaw, was another metal strap—the same construction as the ones meant to hold a person’s arms and legs into the chair. The opposite side of the balanced structure held a leather basket—woven in the shape of a spider’s web—full of large stones. That end rested on the ground.

The four men spread out, looking at this odd device.

“What in the nine planes of Hell is that?” blurted Whitman.

Clemf shook his head.

“Beats me,” replied Regdar.

Tasca stepped up to it, tilting his head to the side. “That, my good and excellent friends, is something I hoped I would never see in my lifetime.” The elf circled around the huge machine. “My father used to tell me tales of a tribe of dark elves, drow, who would capture young wood elves who didn’t obey their parents. Each time he told the story, he changed it a little bit. Sometimes the dark elves would eat the bad little children, other times they would simply enslave them.” Tasca finished his circle around the grisly creation. “Once, when I was getting a little older, and I’d gotten into more serious trouble, he told me that the drow would come that night and take me away. He claimed they would torture me, and he even went so far as to explain this very machine to me.”

The other three men stood silently, listening.

“It’s called the Spider’s Bite.” He turned and walked to the chair. “The intended victim is strapped in, and the boom is lowered so the restraint can be put around his neck.” The elf stepped up onto the seat of the chair. Reaching up, he tugged on the metal collar bolted to the end of the boom. “Once it’s secure, the torturer puts rocks in the basket.” He stepped down and began walking out of the room. “There is a point,” he continued, “when the disks in the spine begin separating and the bones pull away from the ribs they attach to. Much past that point, and a man’s head will be torn right off his shoulders, sometimes with the spine still attached.”

The other three followed him out of the torture chamber.

“Your father told you about this machine—as a child?” asked Regdar.

Tasca continued down the hall, simply nodding his head.

“Your father was a bastard,” said the big fighter.

Tasca continued nodding.

The band of fighters made their way down the rest of the passage. At the end they found a final door, much like the last they’d entered, but this one was in much better shape. Though the wood was old and the metal tarnished, the hinges weren’t rusted, and the dirt on the floor had been disturbed recently.

“This must be the place,” said Regdar.

The others agreed, and they took up the same positions as last time. On Regdar’s nod, Clemf and Whitman peeled open the door. A warm glow filled the passageway and a light wind blew dust into the air.

Regdar stood with his back against the wall, the torch flickering in his hand. He looked out at Tasca, his bow trained on the opening. The elf’s eyes shifted back and forth, searching, then they settled on something inside the chamber, and they grew to twice their size.

That was all the big fighter needed to see.

Tasca let his arrow fly, and Regdar spun around the corner, following the projectile.

One step inside the door, he stopped and looked up. The torso, arms, and head of a huge, muscular man floated in the air before him. Where the man’s legs should have been, a mass of dust and air whipped around in a swirling storm. The creature glared down at Regdar, its beady eyes set deep within its bald skull. It crossed its arms, setting its elbow on the hilt of a tremendous falchion. Tasca’s arrow rested on the floor.

“You must be Regdar,” said the floating half-man in a booming voice.

A heavy wind blew through the room, and Regdar’s torch flickered feebly. He dropped it and gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands.

“And you must be an efreeti,” replied the big fighter.

The swirling creature nodded, the long hairs of its beard whipping about its head.

Clemf and Whitman took up positions on either side of Regdar.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to grant us three wishes,” said Regdar.

“No,” replied the efreeti with a smile, “but I admire your spirit.”

The efreeti raised its hand, its fingers almost touching the ceiling. A huge ball of flame erupted in its palm, further illuminating the room that was already brightly lit simply by the fiery creature’s presence.

Tasca sighted down his bow, taking aim at the outsider.

“This is bad,” said Regdar.

Tasca released his arrow. The projectile struck the efreeti in the shoulder, and the large outsider roared. Its brow furrowed, and the flame flickered in its hand.

Tasca reached for another arrow.

You’ll pay for that, elf . The efreeti’s voice boomed through Tasca’s head.

The flame in the floating creature’s hand raged again, never having fully gone out, and the efreeti hurled the glowing glob at Tasca.

Regdar, Whitman, and Clemf all ducked as the flaming orb surged over their heads. The magical fire impacted the sturdy wooden door, splashing into a puddle of flame and dripping down onto the floor.

Clemf ended up in a heap on the ground, his hair singed. The big, tattooed human clattered around on the stone as he tried to regain his feet.

Regdar was the first to recover his wits, and he charged in, his greatsword held high. Slicing the blade down in a smooth, natural arc, Regdar leaned into the charging strike. His enchanted weapon glowed brightly as it struck the efreeti’s hide. Arcane marks of power glittered as the blade bit deep into fiery flesh.

Whitman tumbled into the fray, dodging behind the large creature and taking up a position opposite Regdar. He wheeled with his hammer, crashing the head of his weapon into the outsider’s flank. The dwarven metal sparked as it connected, growing red-hot against the fiery creature’s flesh.

The efreeti grumbled, and its lip curled in a sneer. Tasca trained an arrow on its chest, adjusted for the magical wind, and let fly. The projectile impacted the outsider squarely in the shoulder, but the efreeti didn’t even flinch. Instead it spun to face the dwarf behind it. As it turned, Tasca could see the shaft of his arrow burst into flames.

The magical fire in the efreeti’s palm suddenly went out, and the creature began uttering something in a language Tasca didn’t recognize. With a final, booming syllable, the towering monster clapped its hands together, and the floor before it erupted in flame. The fire filled one side of the room from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.

A sudden jolt ran up Tasca’s spine. “Whitman!”

The wall of flame had appeared directly on top of where the stubborn dwarf had been standing.

The efreeti spun back around, a smug look on its face.

Clemf managed to get back to his feet and charge. His blade connected with the creature’s wrist and skipped along its arm, finally sinking into the upper part of the efreeti’s shoulder. An oozing, pitchlike substance seeped out of the wound. When Clemf withdrew his weapon, the goo ignited, sticking to his blade. The tattooed human stood before the efreeti, flaming sword in hand, breathing hard from the heavy strike.

Regdar, with his back turned to Tasca, lifted his greatsword for an overhead hack. The efreeti pulled a falchion from the swirling clouds below its waist and with a quick stroke, deflected Regdar’s blow. Regdar shifted, and stepped forward in an unbalanced lunge. His sword struck the hilt of the outsider’s blade, but its momentum slid the weapon up and in, jamming the sharp point into the monster’s gut.

The creature let out a terrific roar and pulled its hand to its stomach. The swirling maelstrom that supported the monster’s naked chest, arms, and head stopped spinning. The breeze in the room came to an end, and the efreeti’s legs appeared. Looking down at the wound Regdar had inflicted, the outsider laughed. It removed its hand from the inconsequential scratch and gripped its falchion with both hands.