Clawing... tearing... and fading... (Finished)

A seemingly normal breeze rustled both the leaves and the coppery hair of the young paladin, however, what is normal to most--even the most normal or simplest of things-- can be an omen of ill tidings for Cillian. Perhaps it was the brisk cold of the air, which sent a chill down his spine, or the noise the crunchy leaves made as they came in contact with one another; either way, it caused his skin to crawl. He tried his best to shrug it off, surely it was nothing. It was just a breeze, after all.



He had been given a contract; a site to investigate and purge. Supposedly there had been strange noises coming from the location, and the squatters had adverse reactions to something inside. The local guard refused to probe the situation. Why waste their time in such a place, especially if it is cursed? They don’t get paid enough for that kind of work--at least not in this neighborhood of Old Town.



Cillian stood there in the street just outside the suspected building. It was not inherently unlike the other buildings along the street; stone base, timber, and sloppily applied mortar. The shingles that remained on the roof were worn, and nearly about to fall off, and several areas of the roof had fallen in. Vines and other weeds claimed one face of the rectangular building and most of the windows were boarded up, the glass having long since been broken and removed. Subtle rays of flickering light forced their way through the cracks of the boards on some of the windows. This was not unusual, candle light from squatters most likely. They need a place to live and even the threat of being haunted wasn’t enough to drive some away. They wouldn’t bother him.



The door to the decrepit structure was already ajar, busted open by the local guard no doubt--before they decided it wasn’t wholly worth their time. Cillian raised a foot to make his way across the cobbled street, but he was cut off by a group of urchin children as they ran by. Their giggles and shrieks had only just now reached his ears. He turned to watch the group of little humans run by, but was suddenly thumped in the thigh--one had bumped into him.



His features warmed and he offered a smile to the small child who had carelessly ran into him; a little girl. Her features were round, and youthful. Large hazel eyes stared back up at him--topped with a small pile of shortly trimmed brown hair. Fringe locks stuck up in every which way and she merely stared at him, perhaps he had frightened her. He found himself staring too--she seemed so... innocent, his heart had melted a bit. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and should have been looking where he was going, but before he could open his mouth she had ran off--back to chasing her friends. As the group ran off the girl would look back a few times at Cillian before disappearing into the alleyway.



He shook his head and continued on towards the door. Once inside he caught a whiff of the musky, foul-smelling air. A mixture of mildew, old rotting wood, and various organic scents--it was not one he was fond of. A squatter had sat at the bottom of the stairs, ragged and worn, but otherwise cognisant Cillian inquired about the disturbances. The squatter merely raised a cut and bruised hand, pointing up the stairs.


He said nothing, and handed the lowly individual a few coins. Each stair made a creak and crack with each step he took. He had grown a bit more cautious now, moving a bit slower, unsure of what he might find. He went room by room, checking each one carefully. Most were empty filled with little more than trash and broken furniture; nothing of value for what he was currently investigating. That is until he reached the last room on the left. A certain strangeness about it made him uneasy. Slowly he put his hand to the doorknob, and gave it a squeeze and a turn. The hinges of the door made little noise as he slowly moved it open, and when he finally set his eyes upon the room he released a small sigh. Nothing. Nothing save for a table with a broken leg, a small chair, and a mirror.



His momentary relief at the seemingly empty room faded quickly as he took his first steps in. His eyes naturally fixated on the mirror as it was so… out of place in this room. It was a mirror of intricate design. Enough sunlight made it through the window for him to get a decent look. A large three panel mirror; its border was expertly crafted, along the base and sides it appeared to be a tree. Bark and roots, even some leaves decorated the sides, and the at the top it morphed into three raven heads. One for each panel, they were of the utmost in craftsmanship, down the each individual feather.



Something pulled him towards this mirror. Of course as he walked closer to it he was mimicked by three copies of himself also coming closer and closer. He moved until his face was mere inches away from the reflective surface, he studied the image he saw. Sure it was his fair face, but there was more… slowly he reached his hand up holding in front of the mirror he paused. He considered whether this was the wise approach--surely this was the epicenter of the disturbance? The air was thick of it--oppressive even--a certain energy in the room.



Before he could debate it any further it felt as though something had nudged his arm just enough to lightly tap a finger against the surface of the mirror.



The instant his finger touched the mirror--that very instant, everything went black… silent.



And then he saw it. He saw it and heard it. He felt it.



Clawing… tearing… and fading…



… it had come to him now that this had always been there... Or at least it has been for some time; dancing and swirling around the fringes of his mind… but now it came full force…



...the voices the maddening voices! They drifted and teased him, pulling him in and out. What was a whisper in one ear, flowed and turned to a guttural scream in the other… all of this layered on top of one another. Voices which sounded familiar, voices which were new, loud, soft, sweet, harsh--it had sounded like a hundred voices were speaking to him at once. It was relentless... unforgiving as it tore at the fraying pieces of his sanity...



… if one were to look at him now they would see helpless… simple… the scared peasant that he was. All color had left his fair complection. Sweat had long since began to bead at the top of his head, droplets running down his nose, and the side of his face. He sat there on the ground, heaving, moaning, whimpering.



All traces of the experienced exorcist had been torn away, bit by ragged bit. This was fear; aggressive, unknowing, and ruthless. Couldn't it see how it made him weak? Wasn't that enough? No. This was exactly what it wanted--what it fed off of. What sustained it.



The frantic blurry haze of the moment, all of the racing images, horrors, and voices seemed to be consuming every piece of him, but then it ceased… all with a small, gentle voice which had cut through the darkness. Cillian opened his eyes…

It was as if he was lost in a dark, dense forest with no torch, no landmarks, no moon, or stars. A thick mist of unknowing making one completely and utterly lost. Any direction he would choose to run towards wouldn’t make a difference. He wasn’t being hunted… although that would almost have been preferable. At least in that instance there was a degree of certainty--a degree of knowing that sooner or later he would be prey, he would be caught. There was none of that here.



At the same time he felt as though he were locked in somewhere oddly familiar. Like a place that he had been to multiple times. A place he knew a little too well. This didn’t make it any better. This was a place he hated. A prisoner in this oppressive, draining cell.



He felt completely empty, alone, and barren yet at the same time he felt full--like he was bursting at the seams with some negative energy. The out of sync chorus singing in his mind was a strange combination of sweet, alluring sounds, and vicious cacophony. All of these stark and violent contrasts were maddening. Enough to make even the most sound of mind to claw at their own sanity. And Cillian was anything but…



The frantic blurry haze of the moment, all of the racing images, horrors, and voices seemed to be consuming every piece of him, but then it ceased… all with a small, gentle voice which had cut through the darkness. Cillian opened his eyes…



All was quiet aside from his labored breathing. Once his vision had focused he was met by large, innocent, hazel eyes. The urchin girl from the street. Had she followed him? His relief to be broken from the dark spell was quickly shattered as his heart sank in his chest. No--she shouldn’t be here. She was saying something to him in her sweet gentle voice, but he heard none of it. His attention had instead zoned behind her.



There it was--consuming and blotting out the small rays of light which shown through the barred window. It was a horror of swirling hatred and devouring nothingness. A strange tendril of the void. It had little recognizable form one moment then shaped into something fearful the next. Through its dark shifting visage one could scantily tell what this entity had been thinking. It had no face, it made no noise, it merely asserted its presence in the room. But Cillian knew exactly what it had wanted--something which it could use to completely break him. A vessel. This child.



He attempted to reach for the girl--bringing her into his protective grasp, but this terror was faster. It infused itself with her; small blotches of darkness and pain began to materialize on the child. Veins of a horrid purple and black seemed to push and bulge to the surface of her skin. Her innocent eyes faded to orbs of void. The voices came crashing back in his mind, but one spoke the clearest.



… this is your fault, you know, she will pay for your wrongs…



He began to scream an assortment of things in retaliation--none of it mattered. It merely showed how much this fiend was winning. Tears began to well in his eyes as he watched the child contort and twist into unnatural positions; bone, cartilage, sinew, cracking and popping as it warped her. He was growing desperate--he couldn’t let this happen, but he was unprepared for this. She is so fragile and it was so powerful. Any attempt to banish it from her would more than likely kill her… the strain from the ordeal would be too much.



He had to act now--lest the aberration consume her to a point of no return. He dove and grasped her tightly in his arm, and immediately he pressed a hand to her forehead. He began mumbling out prayers of exorcism--he had to rely on those he had memorized--there was no time for him to search his prayer book. None of them were working. The Light had seemed to forsaken them.



He began to frantically scream the pleas and prayers now. He was desperate and going to lose her. It was going to be his fault. His hand pressed more and more firmly on her head as if that was going to make a difference, but he had run out of ideas. It wouldn’t be banished. It had been blocking, or rather more correctly, consuming his calls to the Light.



He had begun to grip his fingers around her head in a way that he could end her. A swift death was more merciful than letting this thing have her. The muscles in his forearm began to tense, he was more so mentally preparing himself for what he was seemingly going to have to do than anything else. His last ditch prayer--a simple prayer he had known since childhood was all he could mutter. It was merely a generic phrase for the confidence to face the day’s challenges. With it a soft glow manifested from under his palm. His plea had been answered.



The light began soft and dim, but it soon grew forth from his hand, streaks of light jetting out from between his fingers. Its warmth and radiance fell over the child’s body, slowly wiping away any of the dark traces which had been consuming her. His relief was present though diminished slightly as the void terror was squelched out; instead of some sense of anger--the entity merely laughed. Each ghostly chuckle whispered from ear to ear. What did it have to laugh at? It was beaten. Pushing past those thoughts of doubt he took in the moment, especially as the girl’s hazel eyes regained their form.



The monstrosity was seemingly gone. The mirror from which it had come from was shattered amongst the ground. The girl had been spared, but the ordeal had caused her to pass out. The oppressive presence was gone from this room…



He had to sit to collect himself for a moment. Allowing for his breathing and nerves to calm. It was time to put this one behind him. A pouch of coin was waiting for him… but only after he dropped this girl off at the orphanage in the Cathedral Square. They would be able to heal and help her better than anyone.

[۞ KAT ۞ AKA Red Viper]

((A wholly powerful story! Impressive imagery!))