After being pulled to Erika’s spirit realm, Isemberd were surrounded by darkness. Even with his eyes opened, everything was pitch black, as if he was waiting a moment until his spirit, locked outside his body due to a spell, started to make sense of its surroundings. Soon, in between one blink of an eye and the next, his house in the woods disappeared. Everything were void, leaving only him with his glowing staff in his hands.
The spirit’s voice echoed from afar:
“Neoria’s Butcher is not as smart as they say…” said the apparition.
Suddenly, a flickering image of a floor started forming under the mage, the void made matter around him. The space turned into a big hall with no visible walls nor ceiling, with an unfamiliar floor of gray tiles. There were a clear trail of blood and mud that faded away into darkness.
The spirit’s voice sounded again, from every direction but none in particular:
“Are you going to leave your friend to deal with my traps and curses? I might have left a few more tricks…”
The mage levitated his staff by his side and stretched his arms. His fingers formed his usual Matter sign, and he then extended his invisible force. It was like he was stumbling in the dark with his hands. Feeling his surroundings, until catching something that reacted, which he promptly grabbed really hard and pulled to himself. Soon, the spirit was being dragged to him, screaming curses and kicking around. He could see the translucent being on top of Erika’s features. An old, tattered man with small black eyes.
The mage lunged forward to meet the monster responsible for haunting him. He stopped near it and kept the spirit floating, with its arms stretched.
“Careful to not hurt the little girl…”
“Shut up!” the mage replied. “Alard will manage.”
“Will he?”
“You’re already defeated.” Isemberd retorted, looking deep into the black eyes of the old man. “But your point wasn’t winning, it was just to keep me on my toes.”
The old being rolled his eyes.
“What a cold lad. If I hadn’t peeked deep into this putrid heart of yours, I would swear you’re not even human anymore…”
The mage joined both hands in claw shape, as if trying really hard to rip something apart, and started pulling them away from each other. Trembling as if he was trying to tear apart a thick rope, the resistance he was having soon started to weaken, as the spirit growled in agony, until it snapped, and then he saw Erika’s spirit fading from there.
“Oh, please, you just ruined the fun!” the haunting spirit complained.
Now he could see the spirit properly. The old decrepit man was an uncanny being to look at, and his black eyes evoked a deep terror within him, a mysterious visceral feeling. His fingernails were long and broken, his clothes were tattered cloth and animal skin, sometimes with fur, sometimes without it. Whenever he spoke, his teeth were visible, all of them warped fangs.
“Yes.” Isemberd replied. “Hope you die out of boredom a thousand times.”
“Impossible! Your memories from the war are amazing, little boy.” the being said, opening a wide grin, showing a few putrid or broken teeth. “Specially those agitated ones. Oh, if I could pull the strings on your body, I could turn you into such a great legend and a tavern story every bard would sing about for decades to come.”
He sometimes twitched, trying to move his long limbs, to no avail. Isemberd closed his eyes. He only had to keep the spirit immobilized until Alard and the Lady of the Forest took care of his spell, then soon he would be back into his body. He only had to stay quiet and resolute. Every time the spirit talked, the mage’s whole body crawled with a frustrating fear.
“Do you think I will disappear if you aren’t seeing me? Pity. You know, the girl was having some very terrible experiences.” A small pause. “I’m doing my absolute best to make sure when she wakes up, your face is a nightmare memory for her.” added the haunting spirit.
“You are very good at bluffing.” The mage retorted, eyes closed.
He pulled the spirit closer and opened his eyes, that glowed like fire for a moment.
“I should really just incinerate anything and everything about you right now.”
“Try it!” The spirit’s smile were nightmare inducing.
The mage gritted his teeth in a frustrated grimace. There were no means for a mortal to destroy a spirit, at least none that Isemberd, or any other of his mage acquaintances knew. One could only lock them away, at places, objects, or even other people, like Isemberd were doing.
“Only a fool would try to destroy you.” he grunted.
“Well, well, but you are a fool!”
They glared at each other for a long moment.
“But that is all just empty threats, like the ones your old hag master used to make to feel a little more in charge. I saw you being spanked until puking yourself so many times I have no more respect for that cold gaze of yours.” The spirit kept talking.
“When was the last time you saw a mirror?” Isemberd retorted.
The spirit tilted his head a little, showing his forked tongue, like a snake.
“In my time, you would be revered as a prince!”
He laughed a few times, contorting a little. His fingers twitched, as if he were trying to grab something.
“Since we’re here, what about a little… you know, self reflection? You have been such a good man lately, I don’t like that…”
Isemberd saw that now there were more people around him in the wide void invaded by the spirit. Waves of blueish and purple energy started glowing out of the spirit, that clearly didn’t need the magic signs with his hands to use his own spells. The illusory beings surrounded Isemberd and when he looked at them, they stopped being blurry and turned into people he knew. They started reenacting some of his memories, from both mistakes and things he was forced to do, in a past he would consider as dark as the spirit’s eyes.
“If I had an apple for each poor soul like this one that you killed…”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” The mage said.
“Oh it does matter, imagine what the little birdie would feel if he knew…”
“It does not matter!” Isemberd raised his voice by accident.
The evil spirit smiled.
“Look at you, you filthy little monster.” He growled, showing his teeth. “I will make sure to remember all of those faces for you. All of them! The innocent, the fool, even the evil ones. You know you killed some very nasty people…”
He stopped and the illusions expanded, more and more people that Isemberd knew, from past and present, in a big crowd of imagery of people.
“This little war of yours was very fun to me.” The spirit’s voice diminished a little, turning deep and beast-like and his usual aggressive humor giving place to cold hatred: “It reignited my desire to completely vanish mortals from the land, one at a time.”
Isemberd were now having difficulty breathing, and he couldn’t tell if his panic were real or yet just another illusion.
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“Do you remember how the little noble knights were quick to pull blades against you, right? We are birds of a feather, that mortals hate. You will never have a place to call home, as soon as they see how much power you have at your fingertips, their eyes will always change.”
“The time for mages like yourself are gone.” Isemberd whispered. “You’re an old evil antique that some fools unearthed. I have no reason to pay any mind to your nonsense!”
“And how fool were they!” He yelled “Young maidens mutilated to kill mages, potions, and medicine to warp animal and man, mutant monsters that born and died suffering through pure hell without knowing why…”
He left out a growl, like a big predator ready to pounce, and the surrounding air got pushed away, creating a powerful gust of wind. Isemberd had to fight fiercely against the wave of irrational terror that invaded him.
“Mutants like the owls bred for war, fool maidens like miss Morgan and tortured monsters such as yourself!” the illusory people around him started echoing his words.
“And it’s all your fault!” Isemberd replied.
“I just offered the gullible men a little nudge towards the direction they wanted to go!”
“And now you’ll be locked inside that book for the rest of eternity if it is up to me!” Isemberd yelled back.
Another gust of wind came from the spirit, that started kicking and trying to free himself again from the mage’s invisible force.
“Someday I will free myself from your stupid magic and I will cause such destruction in such immense scale that you mortals will remember what it is to fear the dark again!”
He showed his teeth and his face started morphing into Isemberd’s, without the glasses, same forked tongue and monstrous teeth as the evil spirit.
“And it will be your face the mortals will have in their nightmares, little boy!”
His voice were uneasy, turning back and forth from bestial noises to normal while he threw his angry tantrum, drool dripping from the corner of his big mouth and a bone-chilling hate in his eyes.
Isemberd blinked and suddenly, the spirit’s face were that of the old druid once more, but now he seemed way bigger than him. His hands were now infant and small, just like Isemberd remember them when he was younger. Another illusion. His eyes were burning, and his glasses fell, breaking against the gray floor. He felt hunger, enough for his legs to falter and for him to fall on his knees. Still, the hand that kept the spirit trapped was raised, the Matter sign firm against the evil being.
The fake imagery around him started pointing, yelling at him, throwing objects at him. Powerful illusions that affected his mind and his spirit.
“Look at him! So small!” The evil druid’s voice were deafening, “You were so cute when young, before that bitch turned you into a killer and clawed your face in half.”
“Shut up!” the little boy’s voice were painfully familiar. “You’re wrong!”
The being crackled a cruel laughter.
“You remember me, the little owl! Is that why you take such good care of him, you dirty assassin? Because you don’t want him to turn out like yourself? Because you see yourself in it?”
The ethereal being roared and laughed at the same time, two conflicting sounds coming out of its angry open mouth. All the time it contorted and moved trying to free itself. It kept talking:
“Who knows, I could give him a few nightmares too. Or maybe that smart little girl? The noble I will properly take care off, I’m going to bite off his fingers one by one.”
Isemberd started coughing, barely able to breath. The memories started flooding around him, from the torture, his training, the other Octahedron mages, the battles and specially people he saw go and that flood was beating him.
“That other little fool lad you’re helping, well, maybe I could do something more interesting with him! When was the last time you saw a werewolf eat its own family?”
Isemberd closed his hands, freeing the spirit. The druid landed on the floor with its eyes wide opened, baffled. Its surprise was such that he lost control of his illusions, and they all disappeared. The mage in front of him was still a little boy with crying gray eyes.
“Have you gone mad!?” He leaned over him, standing with the help of his hands like some kind of monster-ape. He stretched one of his hands to grab the boy “You must have…”
Isemberd yelled in anger with that the illusion of his childish body shattered in a fire explosion. His staff came flying to him in a burst of flames, pushing the spirit away. Fire started surrounding him then it disappeared, absorbed by his skin, eyes, and mouth. The mage raised his hands and grabbed the air, once again using his invisible force to attack the spirit. He violently pushed it around like a doll.
He pulled the monster to himself, grabbing its head by the hair and striking it against the floor, in a sudden burst of anger and despair, while the spirit contorted and laughed at him. The staff stood near him, sometimes releasing little sparks of lightning to fuel the mage’s magic.
“Keep going, butcher!” the old druid provoked, with his wounds healing between the blink of an eye and within the very next moment.
Isemberd had finally snapped. He couldn’t talk, he only wanted to lash out screaming in a mix of wrath and pain.
Suddenly, black vines erupted from the ground, entangling around him and throwing him away. The levitated, absorbed them and then made them burst in flames. His staff came flying again, destroying part of the growing forest of black plants that started forming there. Still laughing, the spirit punched the floor a few time, its wounds disappearing again.
“You shouldn’t have released me, little butcher.”
More and more giant vines started growing. Dark figures of animals started coming from the floor and a few started flying around them. Soon, they were inside a giant dark jungle, the reign of the evil druid in the middle of his court of black animals.
“Isn’t it ironic that you’re stuck with me? Every thing you touch burns to ash like a real demon of fiery hatred.”, said the evil druid.
“Enough!” The mage warned, joining his hands into the weird knot that was the Spirit sign.
The apparition pointed a bony finger at him.
“You will never be this good man with people around you see! You’re a hypocrite as dark as myself, destined to die alone like that stupid friend of yours! Do you remember what became of him? Your people call him the Great Hero of Neoria today!”
Isemberd stopped. The druid smiled.
The mage squinted for a moment, and then his eyes started glowing in a bright orange. The monstrous spirit continued talking:
“The only virtuous one of all of that band of misfits that gave his life to stop the stupid war over MY power! Your luck at that night will not strike again! There are no other mages with you, brat, you’re all on your own!”
No response.
Isemberd separated his hands, undoing the spell he was about to unleash. Spheres of fire started forming around him. Six little globes of pure heat were now orbiting the furious mage. His staff fell to the ground, void of all its usual glow and drained of all the magic that was stored in it.
“What a great healer you are! You just want to cauterize everything!”
“Why didn’t you kill me that night?” Isemberd asked.
The druid hesitated and made a pig sound, a spiteful laugh.
“Well, I ask that myself sometimes too. The other mages were way more interesting and easy to possess or haunt…”
Vines lashed around the mage but got incinerated by the spheres of fire before getting too close to him.
“The fool that released me by accident had such good ideas. Maybe I should have possessed you and killed all the others.”
Before Isemberd could start a battle to the death against an immortal monster, a pair of gentle cold hands held his face from behind, in a weird embrace. A figure appeared by his side, holding one of his hands.
“Stop.” she said, her voice sounding along with a whole forest worth of leaves ruffled by the wind. “We won, my knight.”
The forest’s spirit had the form of a maiden with lightly green skin, eyes completely blue, long ears. She was wearing a long and beautiful white dress. It was simple, and it went well with the long vines of gold that grew around her hands and feet. Her hair was the same color of autumn leaves and were long and wavy. With her free hand, she raised Isemberd’s glasses, putting them over his eyes for him.
At one gesture of her, the entire dark jungle dissipated in a moment, as if it was never there in the first place. The old druid roared in anger, his body contorting and transforming, growing until he had a good four meters tall, long thick arms and a deformed monstrous face. He looked like a warped and giant version of a gorilla.
“Someday, Isemberd the Butcher will be so tired he will sleep properly for one night! And when you come back to your sense, I will be ripping off the owl’s wings using your hands, and then I will destroy everything you love before devouring you!”
“Don’t mind him” the groove’s spirit said, her voice echoing around them. It was clear who was the powerful being there at the moment. “Isemberd, give me your hand, please?”
He hesitated. The lady of the groove grabbed his hand by force. A powerful wind started around her, the wailing of it muffling all the spirit’s angry cursing.
“I will continue to haunt you, butcher!” the druid yelled, “Mark my words!”
Between a blink of an eye and the next, the spell was undone.
The mage breathed in, deeply. He was sitting on the floor, with his body in pain, his head aching from the strike he took. His staff was nearby. Erika was unconscious over him. Isemberd gently pushed her out of his way and sat properly, grabbing the leather pouch that were anchoring the evil spirit back into the world of the living.
His trembling hands untied the little string that kept it shut. Isemberd then absorbed a dark magical essence that started pouring out of Erika’s half opened eye, sucking it like he did before with smoke and fire. The sign with both hands were now that of the Spirit Constellation, the magic school of the ethereal realm. He started turning his hands upside down. The dark magic that surrounded Erika before were now around him.
Like a pyre of black flames.
Isemberd stood up, numb, dizzy, feeling the spirit fight inside him, way stronger than before. Soon, all that strength started to die down until it was back at its normal.
The mage stumbled all the way up to the attic to rescue his friend, that did in fact fell into a trap from the evil druid. He had a lot of trouble to carry Alard back down and to put him into one of the vacant rooms. After that, he did the same with Erika, leaving her over his own bed.
When he was done, he sat down at the first step of his stairs. Cold hands held his, while he closed his eyes, breathing and counting up a lot of times, feeling sick and feverish. He heard:
“You didn’t need to threaten me…”
He gulped and replied with difficulty in the spirit realm:
“I’m sorry.”
The spirit caressed his head.
“You’re nothing like him.”
It was the last thing the forest lady said before the mage’s home reverted to normal and all the spiritual influence it had was gone. Now, Isemberd was alone again, with the vile spirit’s voice yelling in his ears, and it’s weight back at his shoulders.
The magic nightmare that threatened to take place in Otterwesh was over.
