…Slithery cold coils strapped him further.
Not up, down, or either side, but something deeper, Nathan felt himself squeezing between. Darkness everywhere, all black. He believed he'd never know light again, and she whispered in ancient elvish.
What doest thou desire most, ye' who would walketh hand by hand with the dead?
Low thunder, cackles like a flying fire, so far above him, yet right beside him, her voice carried.
Thy soul is corrupt, filth, and unclean. Who dost thou shameth most in thine union with the undead, soulless bastards?
Quarrath was in his soul.
It frightened him.
Tears welled where his belly should've been, his heart pounded between his ears, burning frigid stabs scalded his eyes, where all his skin used to be.
Speak damn ye'! Thou hath offended the Lord of Darkness! Thy transgressions are against the Eight Lords! What good cometh from lying in the bed of rot, damned souls to never know peace?
Please, let me go, Nathan wished every one of the Eight Lords could hear.
There was no saving him, and he'd never know light again. Larosa, father, his kingdom, gods and country gone, his honor stripped.
You will answer to me!
The sun shined over a black horizon.
In tight wind tunnel he spurt out, plopping onto a velvet black carpet. He was naked, shivering, soaked in chilling sweat.
It was all white, his vision coming back to him, then he saw the pillars. A throne was before him, The First Sword sitting with crossed legs. At her side was the dark priest, a paladin of the Lords, whispering into his lady's ear.
Quarrath rose from her throne. "Stand, heretic."
He hardly had the strength to breath.
All around him vibrated black orbs, three pointed stars within them. It was a room which seemed to be endless, and above were black carvings with glints of white light. It was a tale of time, from the beginning before all things, until the end when the End of All Wars would commence.
"I said," Quarrath raged, his body ripping into the air, "rise!"
Over fifty meters up he hovered.
He fell, then inches from the ground he halted. She had her fingers round him, an invisible hand of power, magic beyond comprehension even the wisest Archive masters wouldn't have solved.
She let him drop, then he dragged himself up.
"Interesting toy," she said, inspecting his scabbard. "Quite a blade for a peasant form the valley."
It was all he had left.
He limped forward, then stopped as she stared at him.
She made her way down, removing her cloak. She was fair, so fair he couldn't look away, no matter how much Larosa appeared in his mind. A head taller than him, she laid a hand on his chest.
"Poor child," she whispered, such a gentle voice. "You were seduced, so easily by that cruel god."
"The fallen lord?" he stuttered, trying to keep himself up. "I serve only the eight."
She put an arm around him, pulling him in tight.
He wept.
Embarrassed, ashamed, but most of all, exhausted, he wept in her arms. A warm gentle palm caressed his back, chains rattling.
"It's alright, dear child," she hissed, fangs scraping his neck. "You will serve the true lord now!"
Twin daggers plunged into his throat, so it felt.
It wasn't sharp, but draining.
He gasped, letting out a breath of air he didn't know he needed to get out, something suppressed within him. She was in his soul again, and his muscles stiffened like ice. Blood ran down his neck, to his belly and dripped onto the carpet.
She held him up, strapping a chain to his neck.
"Wait," he wheezed, sword hand trembling.
"Be silent," she whispered, turning around. "With me."
She dragged him up to the throne.
Once beside it, a tall mound of marble, ridden with old inscriptions and star metal, he fell to his knees.
The priest dropped his sword by him.
He grasped the hilt, but it stung.
While he shook his scorching hand, Quarrath said, "You'll not want to be touching that. Not ever."
"Father," he panted, touching hilt again. "Father!"
She yanked the chain, pulling him towards her. "Whom do you serve?"
He couldn't spit if he wanted to.
There was nothing inside him, eyes dry, veins pale, and his ribs were showing. So much from just one bite, he wondered what more she could've done.
Scorches scathed his throat, the chain heating as Quarrath's eyes ignited.
"I said," she snarled, hair raising behind her, "whom do you ser-."
Winds gusted.
Doors were open, all the palace taking a breath into the throne room. She handed off the chain to the priest, who tugged Nathan several times before kicking him in the face. While donning her hood, Quarrath whispered, old incantations.
The walls felt to be caving in, the air was thick, fate may as well have been woven in her fingertips, and he knew without a single doubt; this was a god.
She whispered, hissed, and offered the intruders one last chance.
At the sight of the Warlord, his brother, and the Embers, he snapped.
"Kill this demon scum!" He shouted.
The priest yanked him down, the walls shook, and the battle happened all at once.
Arrows landed within the priest, who hissed, turning to shadow. Nathan recovered his sword, ignoring his stinging palms. Even if his skin peeled off, he wasn't letting go. Dany sprinted up to him, fire and steel whirling in all directions, then led him on.
All fire, smoke, blood, and screams, he cried out to the Warlord.
"Hurry!" Dany demanded, snatching him up like a child.
So much fire, but he knew it was over.
No steel hisses, nor a roar from the Warlord. Allison's blood splattered a pillar, he knew it was hers based on the hanging limbs, and the Lady growled like thunder.
"Stop them!" Quarrath demanded, the palace crumbling apart.
Shadows took them on all sides.
Dany darted, fast as a race horse, shuffling from wall to wall, evading heavy black stone from above. His hilt hand throbbed, but it didn't peel his skin as he believed it would. Once she reached the nearest doorway, leading to pitch black halls, he felt a sudden rush.
"I can run," he urged, leaping from her arms.
"What?" Dany asked, puzzled as well as in shock. "Come one, hurry!"
His muscles swelled back, what little they were in the first place.
Into the tunnel, the last bit of light fading, he caught glimpse of his skin returning to its fair color. His hair felt softer, but firm, he didn't breath so hard keeping pace with Dany, and, he was thirsty.
They were so far from the palace, the collapse was a faint thunder.
Dany lit a lantern, leading them on.
"Arthur and William should be close," she said, tears welling in her eyes.
He reached out to touch her, but pulled himself back.
"i…I understand," he hissed.
She turned to him, then her eyes widened.
"Nathan! You're-."
"I'm fine!" He insisted, looking away from her.
Deep whispers howled, the priest taunting them as the shadows twisted.
"Of course you are! Ye' are grateful, to be one with the true Lord. Darkness is your ally, brother…"
"I'm not your brother!" Nathan shouted, fangs protruding from hi jaws. "I am the firstborne son of Nordwell…fireborne kingsguard….I…"
Dany took him into her arms.
She hurried through the tunnels, darkness cursing and growling, what sounded to be jaws gnashing apart bone. He was so thirsty, and Dany's heartbeat like a drum. So much blood running through her, she could spare a drop.
Mouth open, he shivered, so thirsty it was aching his belly.
Light shined, and his head rang. Dany fumbled him around, but secured her grip, the light making him groan. He trembled as the shadows retreated, and William greeted them, walls illuminated for dozens of meters both ways.
The young priest gasped, backing away. "He's been bitten!"
"Can you help him?" Dany asked, tears rolling down her face. "Allison and our brother are dead, we have to get out of here!"
Arthur put a hand on her shoulder, taking Nathan from her. "We make for the village, where the Archive apprentice is."
Dany nodded, wiping her eyes.
The priest growled, red sparks like thunder shining within the tunnels.
"You have defiled the Lady of the Sword! The atonement of thy felonies shall commence!"
They ran, Nathan trying to fight the ringing in his head, but it was no use.
William's presence alone was like an endless heavy hand on all sides himself, and Quarrath's bite stung more every passing minute. He wheezed, trying to swallow any saliva he could muster.
He was so thirsty.
"Hold on Nathan," Arthur said, spinning shadows closing in on them.
"Rhea rebukes all darkness, by command of the eight!" William demanded, eyes ablaze, star cross raised.
Wails echoed, stabbing Nathan's ears.
Light shined like a star, yet it was freezing.
He felt his skin to be tightening, he no longer thirsted, chills took his spine, and he believed he'd never know warmth again.
The others shouted, trying to keep him awake.
A slow current ran between his fingers, and he could smell fresh baked pies for the valley's summer festival.
Then he saw the most beautiful hazel eyes in the kingdom, watching over him.