She could see it clearly with the corner of her eye, the shadow that had been following her for two days now. Ever trembling, like the flickering flame of a candle. An almost amorphous ink-like smudge onto the tapestry of reality, something which was not meant to exist, or be seen.
It was unwise to venture beyond the veil a fourth night. Her mind had not recovered. She was haunted. Still, the apprentice hastened her pace.
Below blackened and ashen canopies she walked, as the hostile trees of the Ghostlands reached towards the sky with their blade-like branches almost like they possessed the profound desire to tear the heavens. Withered grass was crushed beneath the weight of her boots, turning into a damp puddle of leaf and mud. And yet there were times she could not feel it, not only due to ache of her head. How could one feel so disconnected from their form? Away from the pyromancer's company, or the inquisitive eyes of the shadowblade, caution over her body's control had been surrendered to instincts, basic and innate since one's first years on the world. How to breathe, how to walk, how to move, she did not need to think of those things. Yet her body felt light, as if it did not exist. Like she was no different than the feather weaved within her hair.
It was foolish to pursue that goal. A night's rest would suffice. Just one night. Practice was not worth it, understanding could never be. But Celysiel's steps did not pause.
At least those tendrils she could feel. Slender and cold, like flesh made liquid, they were easily registered as Krator wrapped them around her. Around her waist, her arms, her neck, the locket. The creature seemed almost blind in its primordial form, those small slits of white nearly lost below the bulging tumours poking out of its body. It wriggled against her, setting what one would hesitate to call a head were it not for its wide maw on her shoulder at the very side from which the shadow wandering amdist the trees was stalking. They could both detect it, as they could both sense its coming.
"Sun, I-" The tremble of her fingers was neither associated to terror, nor anticipation. It was beyond her control, beyond emotion. Still, they found the elementium dagger strapped at her belt with ease, drawing slowly. She did not know how to hold it like those who would fight with it - not that it mattered. It twisted on her palm, until the bottom of the hilt was facing upwards, the blade pointed at the back. The grip became tighter, but the weapon was not ready to be used yet.
And so, the plea to the Sun was discarded. Its rays would never touch this place, nor could it save those that had denied its grace. Krator's appendage's squeezed her, oozing amethyst smoke. Celysiel closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It was not long until her digits mimicked the creature. It was not difficult for shadow to be beckoned, not in a place like this. In truth, it was cast over the forests touched by undeath like a vile nebulous mass. The anguish, the sorrow. A keen ear, not in physical sense, but trained in powers beyond the body's limits, could perhaps hear them: the cries, the wailing, the whispers. They were abhorent, foul, wrong. And yet a wielder of shadow had to drink in it all. For such was the power that obeyed their call.
When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed all too different. No, her eyes could not see between the veil, but her senses followed the flow. The pull, the echo of it that she had memorized. It was almost everywhere, yet the abyss called from far beyond, where her destination lay. What if threads of the Void's essence slithered between the fabric of reality, finding the slits, ushering and releasing? The chance of a stronger gate lay ahead.
Do not go. Stay. Another night. Delay it. Another night. Not there. Not at the heart of all the pain.
Continue practicing she had been told.
Celysiel kept walking.
Until eventually the trunks of trees white as bone thinned, as if honouring the scorched path of corruption cutting the Ghostlands -if not the entire Kingdom- in two. It was not the squishing of grass which was softly heard beneath the apprentices boots now, but the crunching of fragmented skulls. Motes of the dark powered coating her fists rushed ahead; it seemed to fade near the Dead Scar, when in truth it merely slipped through the holes between plains. In the entirety of Quel'thalas, what area would serve better for such training?
Enveloped by Krator's tentacle as well as Celysiel's pale hand, the dagger rose over the slight gap of the atmosphere. Yet the girl did not move for a moment. Her eyes studied her surroundings in search of her pursuer, but the shadow could not be found. That this bode well for her was a thought never to cross her mind. Still, her resolve did not waver. It had to be done.
The dagger cut sharply, violently. As the opening wider, it resonated a wrongness that no ordinary portal ever found. If the arcane bent the fabric of reality, the young elf was now abusing it. The Void's power leaked through the rift, was if trying to widen it from within, push the limits and broaden what was being done. The all-consuming power only found aid from the lone woman. Now beyond, there was only the abyssal black. Chaos leaking in a world of order.
Celysiel lowered the weapon.
And just then, a tentacle emerged from the rift, pulling her within.
The crossing beyond the veil was sudden. The yelp that escaped her lips was lost upon the world where the wailing of tormented spirits echoed louder. Instead of instinctively strengthening, the clutch of Krator's tendrils around her loosened, until it could be felt no more. The last thing she thought she saw before the locket's prisoner was separated from her was the sprouting of wings, vaguely shaped and ill-looking.
The tentacle which had grabbed her eventually released her, harshly tossing her to the ground. Though she could feel the rolling of her form, there was a distinct absence of physical pain, the disconnection from flesh clearer now. First there was nothingness, as if she she had been blinded. Slowly did it start to fade, figures shaped into the darkness as if painted by a lighter brush. The Ghostlands were unchanged, yet the scenery trembled behind the veil of everstretching shadow. Her own body oozed the energy from every part of it, even the clothing.
She had been tossed at the very edge of the Dead Scar, which was no longer empty; ever bound by their suffering, spirits hovered above the scattered remains on which bodies had long ago melted. Wailing. Crying. Screaming. Even the voice of a banshee would have been kinder compared to their cacophony. And somehow still, the twisted souls caused no concern in comparison to what stood before the apprentice.
A mere shadow no more, the hulking monstrosity rose above the young elf like an abomination. Inky at places, fleshy at others, it possessed eyes that leaked all over its form, never standing in one place as if they were floating into liquid. A melting maw of razor teeth was located at its bottom half, supported by thin, leg-like appendages. Tentacles sprouted from several parts of its body. The front, the sides, the back, some supporting its weight if it even possessed any, others flailing about. It was larger than her, stronger than her.
And to make matters worse, it was standing between her and the rift, one she had no hope to ever reach again.
The creature slithered towards her, the most accurate way one could describe its step. And then one of its eyes turned, travelling from its side onto its back. Targeting the one source of light within this hopeless world. One of its tentacles reached towards the rift, as if about to cross it.
"No!" Despite the scream, Celysiel's voice was hollow in this plain, a whisper from another part of reality. Perhaps the monster would not have cared for it had a bolt of the Void's essence not aimed at one of its eyes. It did not unleash a single sound as it was struck, though all eyes were turned at her for once more.
Krator's body rose above the being. Even with wings, her protector had not managed to shed its primordial form entirely. It hardly represented the proud, yet monstrous eagle she was used to seeing. Slightly larger now, as if feasting from the realm's power, it prepared to dive. Salvation would come. But salvation was not the risk of a mistake.
Leave. The apprentice's echo was one of steel. Close the rift. Do not let it escape this place.
There was no hesitation from the shadowfiend, as there would have been none from a warrior's hand in the midst of battle. Krator's form was lost for once more; she could not see it with her own eyes, but her companion was bathing in the physical world's light. Until that light was forever extinguished.
She could almost feel Krator's figure roaming nearby, beyond the veil that separated them as the monstrosity's tentacle found her yet again, wrapped around her weightless body. It lifted her, only to harshly expel her against the ground without ever letting go. Pain. It was introduced as something deeper than that of flesh, a weight upon her mind. Repeated as the hulk performed her torture one more time.
When a strike was aimed against the fleshy creation holding her with the aid of her dagger, nothing but her fist performed it. The dagger was absent, perhaps lost when she had been tossed. Without it, she could not escape, for she did not know how to open rifts without it yet. Without it, she was lost.
Her phantasmal body was slammed against the ground again. And a fourth time. At the fifth, Celysiel shot her hand towards her captor, drinking from her own pain. A torrent of deep shadows aimed at the numerous eyes staring at her. They did not blink. The vindictive power found each and every one of them, causing them to close, if only for a moment. At least the desired effect was achieved. Recoiling, the fleshy beast dropped her on the ground, no longer restraining her.
This landing at least brought no pain, though her spirits was aching from the earlier suffering. Even so, she stumbled, turning at the opponent. Clawed, her fingers oozed dark power for once more, which was wrapped around the monster. Let the roles be reversed, if only for a moment. The amorphous tethers pulled the creation of the shadow realm downwards, binding it in place. They would not hold it for long.
Her eyes anxiously wandered on the ground, covered by the black representation of weeds, in search of the dagger. There. It had been tossed not too far, close to the feet of the monstrosity. As the creature flailed in an attempt to release itself, Celysiel dived in close, fingers reuniting with the hilt. She fell for once more, but managed to rise just in time.
And then she ran.
It was a crazed sprint, yet hardly had she managed to reach the ghosts of the canopies when the snapping of the bindings was heard from the back. A blood-curdling cry followed. Celysiel closed her eyes. She could not outrun that thing, let alone stop to form another rift.
Still, she kept running under the creeping sensation of being watched. The almighty will behind the darkness of this plain was always felt like a mere suspicion at first, but now it nearly burnt her mind. They would not be long, she knew. Time was short.
Trees neither snapped, nor trembled behind her as the hulking terror made way through the forest, following its pray. Perhaps Krator was not far away, but little clould be done anymore. The fiend's voice was nearly inaudible, bearing the burden of promises made, soon to be extinguished.
Yet eventually, her steps met an end. Even her ghostly form trembled when the first of the orange eyes opened in her head. Oh, she could see them so clearly now. Nearing, coming. The apprentice breathed in for once more, inhaling the horror of her soul, the anguish of the realm. It manifested into her fists as writhing power; if beyond this plain it only whispered, here it echoed the cries of the maddened calling her to join them. She turned around, only to find the enemy approach, its vile aura warping the foul atmosphere even further. Making it tremble even.
Threads of the power she held were unleashed with a flick of her wrist as it was thrust forward for once more. Again the eyes were aimed and again the mark was found, but this time the creature was prepared. Coated by black smoke, its tentacle shoved her against a tree, the essence coating it seeping inside her. Agony. She screamed, but did not stay idle. The elementium blade pierced through the squishy appendage, surprisingly cutting it with ease. It melted as it became disconnected from its owner, melting on the floor.
The massive beast launched its body against her, the maw opening widely. In spite of her attempt to push herself aside however, Celysiel could not escape something so large with ease. The razor fangs caught her waist, pinning her on the ground. Yet even as the ravenous teeth tore at her, it was not the body that suffered. More than a blur, a black haze clouded her mind as now myriads of orange eyes opened at once, staring down at her core. She could barely see anymore as the pain persisted, the mind and spirit flayed.
Instinctively, the digits of the free hand reached out in search of power. Nebulous and malefic, the monster's essence was the first to find her. Clawed for once more, as if caging it within their grasp, her fingers were pulled backwards, as if attempting to tear at it. Now the hulk let go, screaming for once more. An inky liquid stained the phantasmal palm of the apprentice, but she did not mind it.
She kept tugging, pulling as long as the burning of her mind would allow, while blindly stabbing with the elementium dagger. At times, it found the ground, but others it sank within the large body, amethyst and obsidian smoke rising from the slits. But eventually, there was nothing more to find. Like an animal facing fire brandished against it, the Void's spawn pulled back.
With difficulty, Celysiel pushed herself on her feet. She could make out shapes with difficulty beyond the stare of the eyes targetting her psyche, though the openings between the plains were not of them. Guided by a distant whisper on the other side, she pulled herself behind the tree. The chance of piercing light was not seen until the dagger found it, making the opening wider. Behind her, the enemy still wailed, as part of its essence was held by the apprentice, bent into suffering.
Yet as the rift between realities was growining, the inky liquid coating her palm started to evaporate. Visible wisps of smoke started trailing back to the being of the realm, as its essence was being recalled. Celysiel could no longer hold it. It was not for lack of effort. Combating three things at once, she struggled, until the gentle tugging of something beyond called. It felt like increased gravity, earthy and true. She collapsed towards it, past the rift.
The ability to see remained limited, even if her physical eyes were nothing but healthy. Blindly she rose, blindly her hands obeyed the senses detecting power as she sought the edges of the rift. She felt tendrils upon her free hand, though those she knew well. A familiar voice filled her mind to cover the screaming of the opponent at the other side who made no attempt to pursue for now. The Void's strings were clinging on the girl's fingers as they pulled the fabric of the cosmos to close, mending what had once been torn. Until finally, the link between plains was severed.
Celysiel collapsed unceremoniously, letting the dagger slip away. Both hands were focused on the ground, though even if she could detect of decay rising from it, the breeze was lost upon her. A sense of disconnection from herself remained, as did the memory of the orange eyes clouding her head. She was trembling, at least that much she could tell.
Krator's change into the avian form had been completed now; its tendrils did not come to embrace the one it was bound to. Like a sleepless guardian however, the large bird stood on her shoulder, claws sharp and poking the flesh.
"Is this what it is like?" she whispered, expecting no answer from the fiend, nor did she find any. It was the path of her choosing. Regrets lingered no more.
To be greeted as a part of that darkness, she would first have to suffer in its hands many a time until it bent. To a girl that was a sparrow no more. A will that would one day not be denied.
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