Daily Writing Challenge: Day 6 - Negative/Relic
Black, inky tendrils whipped forth from the widening bursts of skin from Kinowin's hand as he screamed something unimaginable at the woman meant to be his sister. His one eye blazed with green light as the other dead seemed desperate to catch up with it's still living sibling. The face was written like poor poetry as it tried to recite a soliloquy of the brother and sister's troubled lives. A song of one alive thinking the other was dead. One dead thinking the other alive.
Time and space were locked in a cold war as the pair of them had always been. The amount of time it finally took to bring them to this point was lengthened by the absence of presence.
Oplisca was already dancing back from the whipping monstrosity that was her brother, the young and healthy body was chosen wisely as it felt barely a catch of breath at this time from the wild attacks. One would imagine the duelist's eyes to narrow and the mouth to pull back in a snarl or some taunting gesture at their opponent but she nothing like in stories of bravados in Booty Bay. She knew her place and purpose, this was not where she was meant to die. This body was another matter though as the tendrils whipped to smash into the former table between them sending splinters, cutlery, and the 'wine' flying about the his former quiet carnage of murder.
The black blood was flowing freely from Kino as was it was want to do, the vessel it had chosen in the cultist was willing but it was still just a flesh vessel. There were limits of how much it could manifest in this plane of existence at a time, but it was willing to give everything and anything to it's gate. Let them pick up the pieces later. For now it would indulge the rage that bled from his heart and revel in his agony of choice.
Flinging his blood wrapped arm about the tendrils would swat away anything that came to collide with it's host, splinters decorating and swallowed by the ink as it tasted reality. Kinowin was happy to oblige as he pointed at the husk of Oplisca and screamed again in that insane language of the astral sea. The blood responded in kind, roiling forth like a tidal wave to strike with the speed of several spears each tendril gathering into a point to stab at the body of Fayle.
Each point took to the Arathi would like a pecker's beak, driving with multiple sharp strikes to tear into the floorboards and wall with deadly tearing force. Oplisca's calm clarity was becoming harder to maintain as she danced to the side feeling the whipping needles slice closer to face then wanted and fast enough to tear into her gown as easily as her soft flesh. The point had slid through the white material with ease and tore into the left breast of the body, the pain was dull to her as most any feeling was when she had took over. A dire blessing as one could easily forget wounds as easily as take them. Her hand shooting up to grasp at the slice and staunch the bleeding as crimson began to blossom along the newly ruined rag.
It was warm beneath her fingers and palm. It felt as interesting as it felt concerning.
Oplisca knew she was no match physically for the creature before her, who's taste of first blood was now only helping to drive it madder as it's mouth widened and stretched. Already she could see the fringes of the same ink beginning to leak out of it's throat and stain the mouth as it struggled to expunge all it could as much as it drank in the air. A pool was slowly forming under the ruined frame of the one eyes elf as it gabbled on in it's monstrous tongue, the teeth munching into the flesh as it spoke so quickly.
There was no victory here. At least not alone. And they were never alone.
Violet eyes would push past the horror to focus on the twisted corpse of the healer on the floor. Arathi seemed to have a need for over-exaggerated aesthetics to match their zealous nature to the Light. The woman was no exception as she saw the red and golden trimmed mail about the robes, thankfully the heavy wrap around of her head had cut off the vomit of blood that would have followed her death. Oplisca didn't know why she thought of that as she looked back up to Kino who was now reaching up to tear at his other arm. There was a pang of something at the thought of how she might be much more like him than she thought. Was it fear?
Shame.
Short thoughts were likely to become a quick death now as the tendrils of black loosened again from their places in the wall to draw back and thrash to gather for another concerted strike at her. Kino was already biting down hard at the flesh of his uncut arm, tearing at the weakening skin to issue out more of the substance that had been trapped within. The want was to have it ooze forth in a thought exit but all it did was splash out in a forceful rage of hunger as it splashed across wood to gather beneath what had once been a man.
Oplisca tore away her gaze and looked back to the corpse before releasing her wound to rush at the body. Fayle had been a soldier. A warrior. Though Oplisca would never tap into the brightness that blinded the sheep, she could use the muscle and toughness that had been forged into this chosen.
Diving amongst the thrashing tendrils, her arms would raise to shield her face as she skipped about in hopes of avoiding becoming impaled on some mad horror that was climbing it's way to this plane. Her drive and faith proved fruitful in her impulsive strategy as the tendrils found purchase in only minor wounds to the exterior of Fayle. There was warmth blossoming from all of them and the white had long since gone scarlet as she leapt forward to land upon the corpse of the old healer.
The wind blew out of her hard and fast as she lay on top of her, face buried in the gray hair as she felt the whips strike her back causing new splits to reopen old scars with fresh. Dull as ever was the pain but the warmth still grew. Gritting her teeth out of animal habit, Oplisca would plant the husk's feet and push forward to roll the body over atop of her. A shield of holy flesh and holy mail. Now there was only one last thing to do.
She screamed.
Loud and long was her shriek was it bounced from wall to wall in a wail of unending agony to match the insane rage of her brother. All the negative energy in the room and stored deep in the belly from the torturous taking of Fayle let loose in that banshee's tone. Glass may well have cracked at such a storm of emotion from the emotionless, perhaps even stone if the gates had truly been broken to release what had been stolen. As her throat began to chafe and rip from within she let the scream slowly grind out into a whisper of sorrow as she closed her violet eyes, waiting to see if a new process would be needed.
She could hear the whipping of the blood. She could hear the slow plodding steps of the monster. She could hear the gibbering madness of the black speech.
She could hear footsteps. She could hear cries. She heard the door open.
"By the Light," cried an old man's voice, followed by gasps of others.
"Ser Astrin what do we do!?"
There was the sound of steel being drawn.
"For the Emperor! For the Light!"
Oplisca sighed and for once in a long time, smiled.
@daily-writing-challenge
