twisted manna, he would have known to come here first. That thought made him dread even worse, for if there was indeed an Arbiter down here who’d embraced such terrible power, this battle was going to be more difficult than everything he’d been through over the past few days combined.
Finally, his groping hand found the doorway, and he pulled Elisa through it along with him. When they reached the other side of the threshold, the pressing darkness vanished, leaving them standing, panting desperately for air, in a circle of radiant blue light. He looked over at Elisa, who returned his gaze with a nod.
He believed that she might be beginning to understand what was in store for them.
D’Arden looked around this next room, wondering what could possibly lie ahead of that deep, despairing darkness, and how much they would have to endure to reach the self-appointed master of this dismal fortress. He dared not voice these thoughts aloud to Elisa, for her own fear was great enough without knowing exactly what sort of horrors might lie ahead for them.
“Elisa,” he murmured softly, his voice echoing unnaturally in the room. “Be on your guard. We don’t know what might be next.” She deserved at least that much of a warning. He saw her nod with acknowledgement.
Without warning, the room suddenly filled with a chattering sound that was so loud, it drowned out all hope of communicating verbally with each other. They stood back-to-back like two surrounded wolves, each guarding the flank of the other and holding out their blades protectively as the volume of the sound reached near-unbearable levels. It at first sounded intelligible, then began to blend into a sound like a thousand voices speaking in ancient, forgotten tongues all at once, and then became a sort of strange insectoid buzzing that filled their ears. Elisa might have cried out, but D’Arden could hear nothing over the horrendous noise.
Then, from out of the darkness, they came. Demons of all shapes and sizes, at least a dozen of them, as this sound echoed all around them in the room. The demons approached slowly, with lopsided, slavering grins on their faces. These were minions, not deadly, but certainly dangerous to his acolyte. The cacophony was not just distracting, it would cause one to make a fatal mistake if they were not careful.
He shouted an order to Elisa, but it was lost amongst the sound of tens of thousands of buzzing insect wings in their ears. Making sure to stay where he could feel her presence or see the glow from her blade, he struck outward at one of the slowly approaching demons, who easily rolled aside, out of the way of his attempted attack. They closed in ever closer in a deadly ring. Though it would be dangerous for her, he could not help but silently thank the land for providing him with a second blade that could fight against the corruption. It would make all the difference, he knew, in this encounter and every encounter going forward into this awful place.
That was, of course, assuming that she didn’t get killed.
It became more difficult even to hear himself think as the sound seemed, impossibly enough, to grow louder. The sound was supplemented by the thick smell of rotting flesh and decaying bone, most likely whatever it was that these demons had eaten last. One of them approached too closely, and D’Arden struck outward, catching the demon squarely in the shoulder with a passing cut. The demon shrieked – at least, he imagined that it did – as the blade cut through the flesh of the arm and ignited a purifying fire there. These were no mundane demons, these were creatures spawned wholly from the corrupted manna that permeated this place, and they had little to no resistance against the azure flames from his manna blade. They took root in the wound immediately, consuming outward in a rapid blaze that flared up brightly as they dug into the demon’s body, wriggling into every gap in its armor in an attempt to purify all of the evil within.
It staggered backwards, its mouth hanging open, exposing a deep black throat and ragged yellow teeth. The cobalt fire leapt down the demon’s throat as it left that entryway open and exposed, devouring the beast from the inside out. It collapsed to the ground as the manna fire ate at it from within, its face still frozen in what appeared to D’Arden to be a silent mask of agony.
One down, still a dozen to go.
His head was beginning to ring from the impossibly loud buzzing sound that surrounded them. He forced his brain to stay focused on the task, trying to focus on the sound of blood in his ears to drown out some of the outside sounds, but to little avail. His only choice, then, was to strike quickly in hopes that he could destroy the demons before the buzzing disrupted his thinking too much.
Immediately he struck outward again, and another of the demons – which had apparently in no way anticipated an attack at that moment – was caught by the edge of his manna blade. It was just deep enough to leave a long red slit across its throat below its disgusting visage, and the manna flames ignited in the same second, burrowing inward, seeking the corruption that lay within. The demon stumbled away from him, screaming in the same silent agony that he imagined would have been much louder, if he could have heard it at all.
His attacks became a dance of sorts, a series of flowing movements with the most deadly intent. He struck and they parried, and he moved to strike again or to strike another. Each of his movements flowed perfectly into the next, and though the buzzing in his ears was almost deafening him, he began to imagine that he heard a rhythm in the sound that he used to time his movements. Cut, step, strike… the pattern of movements took him back to his fencing days at the Arbiter’s Tower in the clean warm air, in those golden days of youth that are always remembered fondly. He struck down demon after demon, the blue flames igniting eagerly at each successful stroke, consuming the demons from head to toe in a matter of seconds.
As suddenly as it had started, the noise ceased.
His head continued to ring. The sudden silence was almost more deafening than the noise itself. He turned to find Elisa, down on one knee and holding her sword almost desperately before her, shaking her head to try and clear it of the ringing that remained behind.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and his voice sounded strange as it echoed in the stone chamber.
She nodded slowly, and then climbed back to her feet. Bright red blood showed on her tunic from where a demon had cut her across the arm, but she showed no other obvious injury. Acolytes always wore white, so that injuries could be more easily spotted. The manna would not start to heal her wounds automatically for several years yet – in the meantime, she would have to rely on her body’s natural healing ability.
“What was that awful sound?” she asked.
He gave a half-shrug and shook his head. “I have no idea. That’s the nature of this place, though… it will do whatever it can, whatever it has to, so that it can win the fight. Whoever – or whatever – is the master of this place does not control these happenings any more than you or I can. These are creations of the corrupted manna, spun from whole cloth in order to drive out the purity that’s crossed its gates.”
“What might be next?” she asked, a hint of fear in her voice.
“I don’t know,” was all he could answer.
The doorway that led back to the room of perfect darkness was visible, and there was another doorway directly across from them that led into yet another unknowable chamber. Anything could lie beyond that threshold – even the certainty of their own deaths – and yet he was compelled to travel onward, to discover what had brought this place so deeply into corruption, and to drive it out.
He glanced at his young student, who returned his gaze bravely. “Are you ready?”
“Will I ever be ready to take that step?” she asked rhetorically.
“I’ll let you know if I ever get there,” he said grimly.
Together, they stepped across the next threshold.
Flames surrounded them. D’Arden could feel their heat, blinding him and searing his flesh. He heard Elisa cry out beside him. The fire had not been there only seconds ago, but now it was all too real. He could feel his skin as it blackened and burst where the flames touched him. He gave a shout of agony as well that echoed in the chamber above the sound of the roaring flames.
He got a glimpse, ahead of them, of a doorway that seemed impossibly far away. The floor was made of hot coals and embers, and fire flared all around them on every side. The heat was so intense that he felt as though he might simply die on the spot. Sweat poured from every part of his body and yet it was immediately evaporated. There was no way to survive.
This was the end.
D’Arden clenched his hand down on the sharp edges of his manna blade. Blood surged forth from the wound, and he cried out yet again. The pain from the wound in his hand, however, made the flames in the room flicker slightly. He felt cooler, and the azure fire of the manna blade danced around him. His flesh no longer felt as though it were being seared. He could still see the flames, but they seemed more distant somehow.
“Elisa!” he cried out. “Let pain be your guide!”
He heard her sob to his right, and he turned to look. She had collapsed to the ground, and though he could
