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Authors: Michael Watson
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half the time a daemon that knew your name was stronger than
one that did not. In the other half it made no difference. Her mind raced to
remember anything that might be useful, but came up blank. She knew to be
afraid. That much was easy.
The daemon moved toward her with an unnerving,
sensual grace. It did not walk so much as glide across the floor. As it came
closer an overpowering scent churned her stomach, vile and sweet, the rot of an
unkempt slaughterhouse masked by lavender. The sun’s warmth washed over her as
she back peddled into a pool of light from above. Somehow, she found the nerve
to stand her ground.
How much of the stories are true?
Xivo reached out a hand as if to stroke Tyrissa’s
cheek. It began to smolder as it crossed into the sunlight. The daemon drew
back, but looked unconcerned. It tilted its head to one side and regarded her
with narrowed eyes, as if reassessing a piece of meat at the market.
“Clever indeed. I am so happy that you arrived,
child. The boredom of being bound here was becoming unbearable. I wish to make
a simple deal with you. Then I’ll let you leave with your fragile
all-too-mortal life.”
“No.” The answer is always no. Never agree to a
daemon’s requests. She wanted to run, but Xivo’s unearthly stare kept frozen in
place. Nor did she want to leave the apparent safety of the sunlight.
“Come now, don’t be difficult. You are weak, you
are nothing,” it waved a hand at Tsellien’s body. “That one, she was strong,
beyond corruption, and,” it growled, “victorious, after a fashion. Her
companions were less so, weak points in the armor. Not so… blessed. ”
“No,” she said again. This time it was a meek whisper,
that of a field mouse protesting against the will of a falcon. The daemon
ignored her and continued.
“All I need is a donation of human blood. Our
magick of blood and souls is complicated, you wouldn’t understand the details.
I would need a considerable amount, to be sure, but you appear sturdy in body
and should live through the process. Do this and I shall let you leave.
Once you have the strength to walk, that is. What do you say?”
In a single motion, Tyrissa raised her staff and
spun in a tight arc, smashing one end into the side of the daemon’s head with
as much force as she could muster. A sickening snap echoed in the great hall
and the daemon fell to the floor with its neck bent at a freakish angle. Not
waiting to see if it was dead, Tyrissa turned and ran into the long streak of
sunlight that led to the entrance. It said that it was bound here, if she could
make it out of the chamber…
A roiling patch of shadow flashed along the
ground beside her. It overtook her and stopped between the end of the streak of
sunlight and the broken grand doorway. Tyrissa stopped at the end of the sunlit
channel and watched in horror as Xivo reformed, rising from the patch of shadow
like a melting wax statue in reverse. When fully rebuilt it appeared slightly smaller.
One clawed hand massaged its neck as it walked towards her, seductive and
lethal. Tyrissa glanced down at the pool of sunlight and stepped into the very
center, staff held up in defense, quivering in her hands.
“I see I must take what I want,” the daemon’s
all-surrounding voices said.
“Come on then, monster,” she said, her trembling
voice betraying away any feigned confidence.
“Child, I have all the time in the netherworld,”
its head tilted upward at the afternoon sunlight pouring through the roof. “I
can wait until nightfall.”
A cloud passed over the sun. Xivo grinned.
“Or that.”
The daemon’s body thinned to a near-skeletal
state and its right hand bulged, contorting and reshaping itself. In a blink,
foot-long talons burst from the fingertips its hand. Xivo leapt forward with
shocking speed, talons whistling through the air. Tyrissa took a step back and
managed to deflect the blow but the weight behind it sent her stumbling
backward. The daemon’s thin
one that did not. In the other half it made no difference. Her mind raced to
remember anything that might be useful, but came up blank. She knew to be
afraid. That much was easy.
The daemon moved toward her with an unnerving,
sensual grace. It did not walk so much as glide across the floor. As it came
closer an overpowering scent churned her stomach, vile and sweet, the rot of an
unkempt slaughterhouse masked by lavender. The sun’s warmth washed over her as
she back peddled into a pool of light from above. Somehow, she found the nerve
to stand her ground.
How much of the stories are true?
Xivo reached out a hand as if to stroke Tyrissa’s
cheek. It began to smolder as it crossed into the sunlight. The daemon drew
back, but looked unconcerned. It tilted its head to one side and regarded her
with narrowed eyes, as if reassessing a piece of meat at the market.
“Clever indeed. I am so happy that you arrived,
child. The boredom of being bound here was becoming unbearable. I wish to make
a simple deal with you. Then I’ll let you leave with your fragile
all-too-mortal life.”
“No.” The answer is always no. Never agree to a
daemon’s requests. She wanted to run, but Xivo’s unearthly stare kept frozen in
place. Nor did she want to leave the apparent safety of the sunlight.
“Come now, don’t be difficult. You are weak, you
are nothing,” it waved a hand at Tsellien’s body. “That one, she was strong,
beyond corruption, and,” it growled, “victorious, after a fashion. Her
companions were less so, weak points in the armor. Not so… blessed. ”
“No,” she said again. This time it was a meek whisper,
that of a field mouse protesting against the will of a falcon. The daemon
ignored her and continued.
“All I need is a donation of human blood. Our
magick of blood and souls is complicated, you wouldn’t understand the details.
I would need a considerable amount, to be sure, but you appear sturdy in body
and should live through the process. Do this and I shall let you leave.
Once you have the strength to walk, that is. What do you say?”
In a single motion, Tyrissa raised her staff and
spun in a tight arc, smashing one end into the side of the daemon’s head with
as much force as she could muster. A sickening snap echoed in the great hall
and the daemon fell to the floor with its neck bent at a freakish angle. Not
waiting to see if it was dead, Tyrissa turned and ran into the long streak of
sunlight that led to the entrance. It said that it was bound here, if she could
make it out of the chamber…
A roiling patch of shadow flashed along the
ground beside her. It overtook her and stopped between the end of the streak of
sunlight and the broken grand doorway. Tyrissa stopped at the end of the sunlit
channel and watched in horror as Xivo reformed, rising from the patch of shadow
like a melting wax statue in reverse. When fully rebuilt it appeared slightly smaller.
One clawed hand massaged its neck as it walked towards her, seductive and
lethal. Tyrissa glanced down at the pool of sunlight and stepped into the very
center, staff held up in defense, quivering in her hands.
“I see I must take what I want,” the daemon’s
all-surrounding voices said.
“Come on then, monster,” she said, her trembling
voice betraying away any feigned confidence.
“Child, I have all the time in the netherworld,”
its head tilted upward at the afternoon sunlight pouring through the roof. “I
can wait until nightfall.”
A cloud passed over the sun. Xivo grinned.
“Or that.”
The daemon’s body thinned to a near-skeletal
state and its right hand bulged, contorting and reshaping itself. In a blink,
foot-long talons burst from the fingertips its hand. Xivo leapt forward with
shocking speed, talons whistling through the air. Tyrissa took a step back and
managed to deflect the blow but the weight behind it sent her stumbling
backward. The daemon’s thin
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