Aran’s eyes widened. An arrow? Someone shot an actual arrow at me? He tracked the length of the arrow, searching the inky darkness for the hidden assailant. He strained his eyes, combing the woods for any movement, until a small flash of light made him jerk to the side, narrowly avoiding another arrow as it slammed into the tree behind him. But now he was off balance, slowly tipping over the side of the narrow branch he’d been balancing on. The moment seemed to stretch out, as he waved his arms wildly, feet slipping on the icy wood, until pain shattered the instant. He cried out, left shoulder burning as the arrow pinned him to the tree.

He gasped, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Ugh, what… what the hell.” He tried to focus through the pain, his thoughts slow and muddied. Got to get out of here. Got to get this arrow out! He reached up with his right hand, gripping the still brightly glowing arrow, before immediately releasing it with a sharp cry. He glanced at his palm, where a blackened line marked where the arrow had burned even his thick skin. Even as he watched, he felt a trickle of mana start repairing the damage, green light shining from his palm. He wouldn’t be grabbing the arrow again, even if it would heal, that burn was severe, and he’d only touched it for a moment, no telling how bad it would get from trying to hold on while pulling it out. If, he could pull it out. When he’d jerked his hand away, his whole body had shifted, and he could feel the arrow keeping him pinned. It must have been anchored deep in the wood.

He started to try and push forward, off of the arrow, but his left arm hung limply. That’s when he noticed the pins and needles feeling spreading over his body. Slowly, the numbness was spreading out from the arrow like a cancer. He looked inward, desperate now. If he could just get out of this tree, he could run for it. He could feel foreign mana pulsing into him, shunting his own mana out of the way, filling him with the stuff. He could feel it grabbing onto the connections in his body, as the fingers on his left hand twitched. He realized with horror it was taking control. Whoever had sent that arrow was taking over his body! His own mana was pushed back, over and over, unable to resist the spell.

No! I’ve got to get out of here, get help! Thoughts tumbled through his mind as he desperately tried to push the mana back. It was a futile effort though, the foreign mana just kept pushing through, crystalizing in his channels, blocking his own mana completely. It was spreading now, up his neck, and across his abdomen. In blind panic, he tried to push forward, straining with his legs and right arm. He nearly blacked out from the pain, the mana had taken over, but he could still feel the arrow as he pulled against it. The angle of the arrow meant he had to slightly lower himself as he pulled away from the tree. Aran grit his teeth, and slammed forward. He didn’t want to find out who had shot him, he had to get out of here. A voice in the back of his mind whispered there was no way he would escape, they’d already got James and Alice, and they were way better than he was already. Aran ignored it, focusing on the pain as he finally slipped off the arrow, the brief moment of elation suddenly gone when he realized he was falling. He’d already been off balance when the arrow had pinned him, and now with only one good arm, his balance was basically nonexistent. He plummeted, the ground slamming all the air out his lungs as he landed on his back. He silently thanked his luck he’d only climbed a few feet as he gasped for breath.

His instincts screamed at him to get up, to run, but he could barely breathe, and with the whole left side of his body numb, he didn’t have the leverage to stand. Instead, he tried focusing on the foreign mana. It had stopped spreading, thankfully, but he still couldn’t push it away, it had set like concrete, completely immobilizing any pathways it had infused. As he focused on it, it was like a lightbulb lit over his head. If this works, I’m an idiot, he groused. Instead of trying to push or move the other mana, he worked his own around it, surrounding it like some great maw, then he pulled. His mana slowly sunk his own tendrils of power into the foreign invader, spreading as he siphoned it into his core, his mana funnelling it into itself faster and faster, breaking it down, consuming it. He could feel his mana reaching and pulling, almost ravenous, as if it had a will of its own awakening as his body was gradually freed from the will of another. He could feel his own mana swelling with the foreign power, and his wound closing nearly instantly as a wave of energy reverberated through him as the last of the mana was consumed. He sat up, working his shoulder, grinning. He wasn’t helpless, he was powerful. He’d survived a nuclear bomb, hordes of monsters, and he’d done it by himself. His mana seemed to growl in agreement.

He would devour them all. He leapt to his feet, a ravenous overwhelming desire the only thought in his head. His smile widened as his eyes panned the darkness. The mana inside him pulled him forward, leading to its former host. He could see it now, a glittering vaguely humanoid shaped mass of mana, just beyond some bushes, hunched and waiting. Waiting for him. He wouldn’t keep them waiting.

He took off, slamming straight through the brush, uncaring as the branches whipped at him, nothing could stop him. He could feel the mana in the other calling out to the mana within him, and his answered as a deep growl, almost pleasurable escaped his throat. He picked up the pace, leaping the final distance over a fallen log. As he descended, he could see the vague shape of a face turned up, inhuman features greeting him, but the eyes, wide with surprise, looked all too familiar. He landed, grip latching onto the attacker as he tumbled with them. He could feel it, just out of reach, tantalizing him beneath skin. He stopped, breathing heavily over them, letting go to grasp their neck with one hand and slamming his other down into their gut, fingers digging into flesh his mana surged out, into them. He breathed in deeply, pulling their energy into himself, his mind too addled with hunger to hear the screaming. Too consumed in the feeling of devouring the mana to feel the knife the attacker tried to stab him with, the wound healing instantly.

He pulled more and more, feeding on the smaller creature’s energy, as their attacks came slower and slower, their form withering under him. He was so focused on the feeling of power, he didn’t hear the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. Neither did he hear the sound of something heavy swinging through the air, before it slammed into his head, and everything went black.

----

Aran woke with bleary eyes, a headache that pounded in his ears and forehead, and a body that felt like he’d been run over by a truck. He was kneeling, and his hands were bound behind his back to something, pulling his shoulders back painfully against as he was held upright. His chin had been resting on his chest, and he struggled to lift it, but settled for raising his eyes after a wave of nausea swept through him at the movement. He blinked away the crust in his eyes, finding it difficult to focus his eyes. When he could finally see, his eyes went wide.

He was kneeling on a raised stone dais, looking out into a massive cavern, a long path dotted with torches leading to his dais, surrounded by darkness. As he looked closer, he realised it was a massive chasm to either side of the path, which was really a bridge across the pit. The path was perhaps 10 feet wide, and with his raised perch, allowing him a good view down into the darkness that seemed to go on forever. His stomach turned over looking down into the endless black, and he forced himself to tear his eyes away.

He took a moment to steady his breathing, slowly raising his head to look around. He could only turn his head so far, as whatever he was tied to blocked his vision. The dais appeared to be constructed into the wall of the cavern, the raised part a large oval atop a slightly large crescent moon shaped stone outcropping. Two large braziers stood too either side of the dais, but they did little to cozy up the place. The bridge extended far into the darkness, the torches only pinpricks of light at the farthest edge of what Aran could see. He seemed to be completely alone down here. But if movies and books had taught him anything, waking up tied to an altar in an underground cave was never a good sign of hospitality to come. He tried to organize his thoughts, remembering first the forest, then the others' disappearance. Then the arrow, and… anger like he’d never imagined. It was like he’d taken a backseat and something else had been at the wheel in his body. The thought was terrifying, of being completely out of control. Fear welled up, before vanishing, leaving him strangely calm. He shook his head, he had more pressing concerns than anger management.

He cleared his throat, trying to clear the dust he could feel on his tongue, the sound echoing in the darkness. Fuck. Hopefully whoever put me down here wasn’t close enough to hear that. He pulled on his arms, testing his bonds. He could feel cold, jagged metal biting into his skin. He pulled harder, but there was no give. He tried to move his legs to stand, and found his ankles similarly bound beneath him. He twisted, but no matter how he moved, he couldn’t get any leverage. As he tugged against the manacles, the sharp metal sliced into his skin, making him hiss in pain. Dark green blood dripped into his palm, and he felt his mana respond, rushing from his core to repair the damage. But as it approached the wound it simply… disappeared. He froze. That was a very bad sign. Tentatively, he moved more mana to the wound, and focused on it. As it approached, the metal on his wrist grew very cold, and he could feel mana being siphoned away. He flinched, instantly pulling his mana away from the wound.

That’s not good at all. These bindings are stealing my mana as soon as I try to use it! He grunted in frustration, the sound bouncing off the stone around him, echoing a growing deeper as it reverberated strangely. He stopped, taking a breath, trying to focus. He felt around with his hands, trying to feel around the cuffs to see if there was any weakness to exploit. Hi fingers could just barely brush what felt like a thick cord or cable, extending farther back from the cuffs themselves. He strained a finger towards the cable, pushing mana down the length of his finger, bridging the gap to the cable, where it was immediately whisked away again. He grit his teeth. There’s no way out, not without tearing off my hands. He’d seen the shows where extremely determined people broke their thumbs to get out of cuffs, but he had no illusions. The cuffs were far too tight, and even if he did get his hands out, they’d be a bloody mess, and he had no idea if he’d be able to free his feet once he did. He had to try though. He leaned forward, pulling, relaxing his hands as he did so. He groaned as the metal bit deeper into his wrists, but there was no give. His hands didn’t budge a millimeter. He stopped shaking from the pain shooting up his arms, unable to relax them into a resting position.

Aran hung his head, breathing deeply, trying to think of something, anything, to help him get out of there.

Tock! Tock! Tock!

Aran whipped his head up, searching for the source of the sound even as it continued. It sounded like wood against stone, echoing across the cavern, steadily growing lowder. The sound was monotonous, perhaps a half second between each beat. He peered into the darkness, eyes squinting to see the furthest edges of the bridge. At the very edge of what he could see, a wide shadow moved across the bridge. He struggled against his bonds, trying to push down a rising sense of panic as the shadow grew closer. He jerked his shoulders, refusing to just lie down and wait for whatever was coming. He could feel his mana boiling within him as anger stamped out the coals of his panic. He was scared, he didn’t want to let whoever put him down here get away with… whatever they were going to do to him, but he wouldn’t just wait for it. He wrenched his arms forward, arms straining. Mana surged into his muscles, and he pulled harder, bowing his head to align his whole body into the strain. He kept any mana from the area where his skin contacted the manacles, focusing on trying to leverage his arms to break whatever held him. It wasn’t working. He could feel more mana feeding his strength, as his muscle visibly stretched, bulging outward as his jacket tightened.

The sound was getting closer. He blocked it out, focusing on escaping. He couldn’t waste energy thinking about that when he was still stuck. He let out a low growl as mana burned in his veins, his very breath saturated with power. He could feel the tendons in his arms thickening, taking more of the strain as the cuffs cut ever deeper.

Then the sound stopped.

He heaved a breath, letting his arms relax, as he looked up. A hooded figure stood before him, head cocked. He felt… a kinship with this person. A bond between them, he could feel across the intervening space. His eyes narrowed as they pushed their hood back, revealing surprisingly delicate features. Silver eyes nestled in an ochre face surrounded by silver hair, only interrupted by the sharp points of long ears pushing through. His eyes widened. Is that… an elf? The elf did not look well, it’s cheeks sunken and skin drawn. Dark clothing hung loose on it’s frame, making it difficult to guess at gender. As they locked eyes he remembered, any thoughts about meeting an actual elf pushed to the side. “You! You shot me!” he growled, voice still hoarse. The elf’s lips twitched in a small smile, but they didn’t speak. Instead, they turned, and gestured behind them with a ‘come hither’ motion.

As one, three more figures shuffled into the light of the braziers.

Rick, Alice and James stood staring with blank gazes, unshackled.

Aran was stunned. “Guys? What’s going on?” They didn’t respond, continuing to stare ahead with empty, emotionless eyes. “Guys! Talk to me? What’s going on?!” No reaction passed across their faces. Even James’s normally expressive face was limp and passive. His heart sunk, dread filling his mind. “They can’t respond, can they?” He glared at the elf as he said this. The elf stared back, head cocked once again, face betraying no emotion. “Who the hell are you? Better yet, what are you? And why are you doing this?” The elf turned to the others, ignoring him. With a gesture, Rick dropped limply to his knees. The elf produced a knife from a sheath at its belt, black blade glinting in the firelight. It gripped Ricks face, turning back to look at Aran as it did so, baring bright white teeth in a gruesome smile. It wrenched open Rick’s mouth, then in one swift motion, pulled his tongue and sliced it off. Aran screamed, horrified. His hold on the mana shook, but that was all it took. All the strength left his limbs, his muscles shrinking noticeably. Rick hadn’t been a friend exactly, but this was barbaric. The elf proceeded to cut off his ears as well, placing everything in a large bowl. Rick kneeled there, catatonic. Then, holding its hand above, the elf drew the knife along its forearm, black blood spilling into the bowl. It looked noticeably paler as it stooped to grab the bowl, walking to the brazier to Aran’s left.

“Hey! Hey I’m talking to you, asshole! What are you doing?!” Aran’s cries went ignored, as it held the bowl over the fire, uncaring of the flames touch as it mumbled in a guttural language that made Aran’s hair stand on end. The flames guttered as the elf muttered, before flashing upward, and the contents of the bowl glowed with a red light. Aran took a moment to look at the others. They were all pale, and unnaturally still. Dread wormed its way up his spine, making him shiver. He tried getting their attention, voice strained. “Alice, James! Come on, we’ve gotta get out of here! I know you can hear me, you’ve just gotta break free!”

The elf finished whatever magic it had been casting, turning back to him, smiling patiently like a grandparent watching a particularly dense child. It shook its head, walking closer. He leaned away, casting a wary eye at the foul smelling liquid in the bowl it still held. Its smile widened as it grabbed his jaw, forcing it open with apparent ease. He grunted, trying to jerk his head away, but the elf’s grip was iron. It slowly poured the concoction down his throat, tilting his head back in such a way he was unable to cough it up. It tasted rotten, like the underside of a swamp, tinged with the iron of blood. The elf pressed on his throat roughly, forcing him to swallow. The disgusting substance hit his stomach, a wave of vertigo rushing through him as the elf released him. He hung his head, retching. He fought to master the nausea that rocked him, reminding him of what he imagined sailing in a storm to feel like. After a few moments, the vertigo and accompanying nausea subsided, and he took a few long, deep breaths.

“Well?” Aran whipped his head up at the sound. The elf looked down at him, head cocked. “Well, can you understand me, vermin?” Aran’s eyes widened in shock at the surprisingly melodious voice, though it sounded rough, like it was painful to speak.

The elf slapped him, hard. “I asked you a question, cur, and you will answer!” Aran reeled, blinking to clear the spots filling his vision. He coughed, feeling his face burning more from anger than pain. He looked up, bending his neck at an uncomfortable angle to meet the elf’s eyes.

“Yes, I can understand you.” He knew he was in a bad spot, and saying anything else probably wouldn’t do any good at this point. When he didn’t continue speaking, the look on the elf’s face was akin to a kid in a candy store. If the kid was a 6 foot murderous psychopath.

“Good! Now, this won’t take long, as my Lady would be very upset if I delayed you any longer than absolutely necessary. You, vermin, have been summoned to commune with my Lady, a great honor.” The elf said this last bit with a deeply condescending tone, evidently not believing he deserved such a fate. “You will be allowed in the presence of Her holy self, and so you must be cleansed beforehand. I tell you all this, so that you know that while I must do this, I also want to. You may be called to serve, or you may be burned to ash by Her glory, but I will have vengeance for the pain you have caused.” As it finished speaking, its voice lowered until it was almost growling in his face.

It stood sharply. “Now. The cleansing.” It motioned to the others, and Rick rose from his kneeling position, before all three stepped onto the raised dais. The elf glanced over at him. “I do so love obedient servants, hmmm?” It chuckled at the fury on Aran’s face. He opened his mouth to shout, but the elf slammed a gag in his mouth, quickly securing it with straps around the back of his head. Aran screamed impotently, teeth clenching on the thick canvas. “Now now, none of that. That little drink was just to make sure we can communicate properly, not so we can go on chatting for hours. Besides, I can’t have you biting off your own tongue!” The elf leaned closer, until it was just inches away. “This is going to be unpleasant. Just thought you should know.”

It stood, and all three of the other humans approached, kneeling directly in front of Aran. As one, they tilted their heads back, looking for all the world like supplicants at the altar. The elf pulled out the same black blade, and in one continuous movement, drew it across all three of their throats.

Aran screamed. He screamed until his vision was dotted with black spots, tears like damning lines of ice as they ran down his face. The elf simply watched, as the collective blood of the humans pooled beneath them in a growing puddle, even as they remained perfectly stationary. Aran sobbed through his gag, staring at the people who had saved him, slowly draining of life before him. The elf muttered under his breath, twisting a hand in strange gestures.

The blood moved. At first, Aran thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, tear soaked as they were. But slowly, inexorably, the pool of blood was being pulled as through a funnel, a small channel creeping towards him. He simply stared, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The blood continued its creeping path, stopping between his legs, splitting. He watched it, curious in a detached sort of way, as far away in the back of his mind, he realized he was in shock. All of that ended the moment the blood made contact, soaking through his jeans.

Agony. Pain swept through him like a hurricane, as mana flowed into him. This wasn’t like before, when he took, this was being shoved into him, like a hypodermic needle connected to a firehose. The mana roared into him, and his core responded, pulling it in, consuming it. But he couldn’t keep up, it was coming too fast. Power poured off of him in waves, charging the air like the calm before a lightning strike. He was vaguely aware of his restraints being released, but he could only focus on consuming the mana. Some primal part of him knew that to falter would be to end, the influx would kill him otherwise. Tears poured down his face, as he watched his companions wither to nothing more than husks, even as he fed on their energy, killing them. Some buried part of him revelled in the power, though he pushed the disgusting thoughts away. They hadn’t been close, not really, but the least he could do was survive with their sacrifice.

His whole body felt like a tuning fork struck too hard, but it was done. He’d done it, he’d absorbed all of the mana, though it nearly killed him. He was breathing hard, like he’d just run a marathon, gulping for air. The elf approached, feet appearing at the edge of his downturned gaze. He slowly raised his head, shrugging his shoulders now that he was no longer restrained, glaring at the elf, who still held the knife.

Aran spit out the gag, retching. “You, you bastard. You killed them!” He managed to gasp out.

The elf didn’t smile this time, face a mask of placid tranquility. “No. You did.” Then it plunged the knife into his chest. Aran screamed.

Everything went black.