Book of Mors: Summoned

Arc: Out of the Ashes

Chapter 18, Part 3: Awakening

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The transparent, protective barrier that surrounded the arena suddenly turned black, followed by terrified screams from within. The shocked spectators stood confused, wondering what was going on as they could no longer see the arena floor or the large cracks running the length of the dome, something that even if they were able to see it, they wouldn't believe it possible.

Verz was still standing, but instead of looking surprised, she just shook her head as she looked at a status plate she had pulled from her sleeve. "Looks like his auras are feeding off each other. Rock, if things get nasty... sit on him."

Without waiting for another word, Rock leapt over the balcony and slammed into the sand floor, Kelora appearing next to him. "Never a peaceful moment with him around is there."

Without responding she walked through the barrier and disappeared, causing Rock to sigh before following her. "Aww, I didn't even get to place a bet."

The crowd initially shocked into silence, exploded in a roar of shouts and arguments, especially from the guests, as they tried to work out what had happened and how much power would be needed to make a magical barrier opaque.

Wild speculation about what was going on inside, each idea more wild and extravagant than the last, rippled across the crowd. The clamour continued to grow as, one by one, the remaining competitors were shown to be eliminated on the arena's display, and the barrier rippled as huntsmen retrieved them.

Little did they know it was the competitors, at least those that had not fainted, that had destroyed their own tokens, and attributed it to a brutal battle, forgetting that the barrier did not block sounds, in their excitement.

Soon only three contestants remained, Mors Letus, Bruce Darkwood and Ryen Neva, though not many people had noticed or even knew who Ryen was but suddenly, the idea that she had helped the demon boy, who when they last saw was losing, and ganging up on last year's champion became all but fact, even for some of the Huntsmen.

Standing in complete darkness, Bruce's panicked breaths echoed outwards as he stared into the glowing red orbs, a faint red mist seeping from them, that were Mor's eyes.

"Wa...What are you?" stammered the terrified Bearkin on the verge of panic, however instead of receiving a reply, the eyes slowly closed before completely vanishing into the darkness.

Like most things, the thought and anticipation of something is often, a multitude worst than the actual trigger, and Mors was playing on this, leaving Bruce's fear addled mind to come up with the worst possible scenarios. All he need to do was provide some triggers and the bearkin would destroy himself.

"What am I?" whispered a haunting voice, from just behind Bruce.

Bruce span, sweeping his heavy weapon in a horizontal arc, hitting nothing, his haste and power invested into the swing, sending him off balance.

"You know, a lot of people ask me that." whispered the voice, it's breath tickling his left ear, causing Bruce to spin and slammed the weapon into the floor.

"None of them like the answer." A dark chuckle resonated from all directions around the bearkin, causing him to flinch, dropping his weapon as he pointlessly took a few steps back.

"Fight with honour," screamed Bruce, his voice breaking into a high pitch. "Show yourself."

With a chilling crack, Bruce topped forward and screamed, his kneecap, hit in its weakest spot, shattering.

"Why?" said Mors, the sound of his voice making it obvious that he was enjoying himself. "It's not like anyone is going to witness your last moments anyway."

Bruce attempted to shift some of the weight he had put on his shattered knee, but before he could, he released another wail and clutched his shoulder. Warm liquid soaked into the cloth under the armour as the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils; adding to his panic.

A slight nudge and Bruce tumbled onto his back, his eyes darting around, trying to find his attacker as he sobbed and let out a mournful whisper. "It's not meant to be like this. I am the son of the Bearkin Cheif; I am a noble."

Although Bruce was considered strong for his age, his heritage and year worth of training from the Huntsmen were the reason, not any special innate talent and thus, he was woefully unprepared.

He was still only a teenage boy, without any real combat experience. Though he understood that the world could be a brutal, violent place, this level of psychological warfare was too much for him, rendering his defences almost useless.

But most importantly, in his terror, Bruce he had forgotten that he could shatter his token and lay there almost paralysed, his mind starting to shut down.

"What. The Fuck. Is This. FIGHT ME!" Roared Mors as if Bruce had mortally offended him, increasing his aura's pressure. "You are meant to be strong. A challenge. Somebody worthy of killing. Not a snivelling cub that has given up on life."

Mors' instincts and desire had awakened to the challenge, but there was none. There was nothing left for him to direct his rage. Bruce had even stopped responding to the wounds Mors inflicted on his body, only letting out small, inconsistent whimpers.

Mors' eyes abruptly opened above the bearkin as he slammed his foot onto his chest, snapping Bruce from his daze. "Pathetic. Totally, utterly, pathetic."

Mors had released all the restraints and limitations he had put on himself during his training, and in this almost perfect environment, where no natural light could enter and Bruce had unintentionally cleared all of the obstacles, he was virtually unstoppable, at least for someone of Bruce's level.

Not that Mors was thinking about any of this. His draconic heritage was feeding off his emotions, increasing his power and bloodlust but these emotions were being fueled by the enviroment, by the terror and fear absorbed by his demonic side, around him, trapping him in an ever increasing spiral, one where his power increased exponetionally, at the cost of reason.

"MORS!" bellowed Kelora as an orange glow appeared from one of the walls in the distance. The demoness was holding two fireballs in her hand as a means of illumination, her appealing figure, with horns and tail, painting chilling spectacle with her shadow.

Normally the dark would be nothing to the higher level Huntsmen, but due to the barrier, there was not even a trace amount of light, and their eyes were all but useless. Even their keen senses, which should have made it possible to navigate through the void were worthless, mainly due to Mors' aura.

Even though Kelora was a demoness, having lots of resistance to fear and terror inducing effects, her back was drenched, and she had the strong impulse to flee. Each step she took towards the centre of the arena, harder than the last.

As she walked forward, her eyes scanning her surroundings, Rock followed silently, which was an incredible feat due to his massive frame. There was no hint of his playful smile or the gambling elemental, but only the countenance of a warrior who was solely focused on battle.

Typically they would not approach a situation like this, making their presence apparent, but with their senses impaired and the order not to antagonise Mors, which meant no sneak attacks unless he was about to kill Bruce, they were forced to take things slowly.

It wasn't long, or hard due to the ragged breaths of a terrified bearkin, that the flames illuminated the cowering Bruce with Mors, a single foot pinning the much larger boy to the ground. Both Kelora and Rock took a sharp intake of air.

It wasn't the fact that Bruce was in a terrible state that shocked them, it was Mors' appearance. Even though he should have been illuminated by Kelora's flame, the shadows flickered across his body, completely masking it, the only sign that this was Mors and not some Wrath returned from the grave, was his distinctive, draconic eyes.

Bruce's imagination had gone wild, but when he saw the dark silhouette above him, all he could think was that the Goddess of Darkness, sister to Death had decided to harvest his soul.

Saying that Mors looked feminine would not go down well in the best of cases, but currently, where Mors was teetering on the edge of completely losing control, Bruce was lucky he was too terrified to even speak.

However, when Mors' gaze returned to Bruce, the trauma was too much and, after noisily emptying his bowels, the bearkin fainted, further enraging the unstable demon.

"Mors?" Asked Kelora, flames pooling in her hands, ready to attack and push him away from Bruce. "It's over, you've won. Calm down."

A bone tingling growl, somewhat familiar, caused her hair to stand on end, her demonic instincts screaming at her to submit or flee, finally having a glimpse of what Ryen had felt back in the Ice Citadel. "No wonder the kid submitted. This is the presence of a stage three demon, not an imp."

"Snap out of it, you damn brat before I break your neck," roared the demoness, infuriated that she felt like she was inferior and had to submit to the demon in front of her.

"Back off." Mors' chilling voice echoed around them as a flicker of purple flicked across his eyes. "Or this is not going to end well for you."

Rock had moved to the side, vanishing into the darkness in an attempt to circle Mors, halting when he saw Kelora flinch as she resisted backing away.

It was not that he wasn't affected by the aura, but Kelora, being a demon, was much more sensitive to this kind of thing. Seeing her hesitation, something that had only happened once before, he knew that something was wrong and decided to take Mors down.

Using every ounce of willpower she had, Kelora refused to move, as her brain tried to make sense of what she had just seen. Demons had many different coloured eyes, but one colour was reserved for the elite, demon royalty, the Lords. Beings that could ensnare and force into servitude even the most cunning of their kind.

Telling herself she had seen an illusion, Kelora continued to study Mors' eyes, inwardly praying that she would not have the terrible luck to bump into one more than once in her lifetime.

Outside, Verz ignored the roar of the crowd as a scruffy looking messenger, slid to a halt beside her and knelt down, his leather armour torn and displaying signs of combat. "Captain, a message from Eastern HQ."

Verz took the letter and broke the magical seal before reading it and letting out an annoyed sigh. "I told them this would happen if they didn't keep the monster population under control. Fucking idiots wouldn't be able to organise their way out of a nursery school."

"The Mystic Republics started gathering troops on the border due to 'monster raids'?" said Velcea, though it seemed she didn't really care about the answer. "When do we leave?"

Looking at the messenger, Verz's attitude shifted to that of a battle-hardened commander. "Rally the 1st to 8th divisions and the pathfinders. We leave in four days time. All leave is cancelled and as each unit returns, excluding those in current operations or training the new recruits, are to be sent to the Eastern HQ. In the event of a war, we are to instantiate a scorched earth policy. There is no way we can hold off the legions in open conflict, but we can make them bleed so bad that by the time the main army arrives, they will be little more than corpses."

Slamming his first to his chest, the messenger stood up and run down the stone stairs behind them.

Even though she wore a mask, it was clear Verz was frowning. "Seems like we are going on a little hunting trip."

"Or a full-blown war." Velcea picked some dried blood from one of her nails. "What about the demon?"

Verz shrugged and wiped away a strand of her silver hair that had fallen over her mask. "Not sure yet. Let's see what happens."

With a nod of her head, to the huntsmen who announced the rules, the barrier began to crumble from the top, and Mors' terrifying aura escaped.

Some of the guests fainted while most fell to their knees. The Huntsmen, however, nervously fidgeted their hands resting on their weapons. They had been warned about the demon's aura but had not expected it to be so powerful.

Verz nodded her head in approval, thinking that at least one of her men might have taken a step back or lost themselves for a moment and was pleasantly surprised they hadn't. "Seems like the training in the Dead Swamps wasn't a complete waste of time."

Just as the barrier was around one-third of the way gone, the terrifying aura stopped, returning the barrier completely transparent, making it vanish from sight.

What the huntsmen, and those guests who had not become a mumbling mess, saw stunned them. Kelora was on one knee, dripping blood from a nasty looking split lip, her mask shattered into pieces and spread across the floor while Rock was digging himself out of a wall towards the outer ring.

Velcea looked at Verz, noticing her change in attitude, and sighed. "He really needs to stop impressing her so much, for his own sake as much as mine."

In the centre of the arena, standing upon what most assumed to be the corpse of a badly mangled Bruce, stood Mors, the right side of his leather armour steaming, burn marks littering its surface.

The sudden sunlight had weakened his abilities, enabling him to regain control and, after looking around at the stunned faces, purposefully ignoring Kelora's glare he found his anger subsiding. Feeling drained, he couldn't help but smile, refusing to utter the words he was thinking incase he jinxed himself.

Feeling drained, he couldn't help but smile, feeling as if something had changed inside of him. "Look out Acoria, here I come."