Part 10
*THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP*
He ran instinctively through the wood, some basic primitiveness deep inside him taking over as his mind retreated within, oblivious to the danger about him, behind him. He did not feel the sting of the branches as they lashed at him, seemingly alive in their malevolence. He fled through the dying wood, his face crisscrossed with rivulets of blood where wooden fingers had torn the flesh, giving him the appearance of a shattered porcelain doll held together by threads of crimson glue. He felt not the sting of blood and sweat in his eyes, nor the long strands of silken hair as they caught on the skeletal trees, ripping free as he flailed his way free of their grasp. His whole world shrank to the furious beating of a shaman's drum, and the vision of the mad old man as he laughed maniacally, mocking him in his panic.
*Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump*
The beat of the drum within him slowed to a recognizable, if still frenzied, song. It was the song of his Life, the beat of his heart as it pumped furiously within. His mind narrowed even further, focusing on the beat, willing it to his own tempo. As it slowed, he regained control, sheer willpower giving birth to each beat, the song created anew. Each beat driving the fear from his mind.
*thump thump, thump thump, thump thump*
He was in control again. His arrogance had almost lead him to his death, and the shock of staring into such an abyss before his quest was complete had almost driven him mad with fear. He could not die now. Not after all his searching, after all he'd learnt. Not before he saw her again. Not before she saw his creation.
He saw the road before he'd even realized he was heading towards it. On some basic level, beyond the fear, he'd known where to go, what to do. Even in his terror, some unknown part of him was in control. He could lose them there, in the alleys and hidden passages he knew almost by heart; the cobbled and twisting paths he'd spent much of his life carousing in, vile dens in which he'd whored and gambled. He erupted from the forest, startling a lone horse and rider trotting towards the glow of the city to the North. The horse reared up in fright with a terrified scream, and before the rider could even react to the tattered and bloodied fiend which charged him, Iblis had launched himself through the air, knocking him senseless to the roadside. He whipped the reigns as he righted himself in the saddle, heading straight up the road towards Britain.
He knew they were still on his trail, toying with him in the darkness beyond his sight. It would take more than just a maze of streets and back alleys to lose them. He bled freely from the innumerable cuts and gashes across his face and arms, and the scent of his blood would be as a beacon to them. He needed a plan... he could not face them, and he could not outrun them. His mind raced faster than the hooves beating beneath him as he passed the small houses on the outskirts of the city. As he passed them by, one by one, lonely candles in the windows casting pools of light in the dark of eve, he realized his salvation. They would come at him one by one. He'd studied them, read of them... even read the memoirs of one of their kind in a decaying hut choked by weeds near the cliffside fortress of Gehenna. Through all he'd learnt, two things blazed like beacons across the waves of midnight... theirs was an existence of lonely solitude, and the arrogance bred by such. They would hunt him as a pack of individuals, their was no sport in it for them otherwise. They let him flee, for sport. They hunted him for sport. Just as his arrogance had lead him almost to death, he vowed that theirs would be final. He knew they would let him reach the city, let him relax in the false safety of its walls, and then they would come at him, one by one. If he could take out one or two, it would throw them off long enough for him to make good his escape, and he would lose them in the confusion. He would remain hidden til morning, submerged in the filth of the sewers which honeycombed the city. He would be invisible to them.
He would live to see the dawn of a new day. And he would find her again.
He WOULD find Illestra.
He ran instinctively through the wood, some basic primitiveness deep inside him taking over as his mind retreated within, oblivious to the danger about him, behind him. He did not feel the sting of the branches as they lashed at him, seemingly alive in their malevolence. He fled through the dying wood, his face crisscrossed with rivulets of blood where wooden fingers had torn the flesh, giving him the appearance of a shattered porcelain doll held together by threads of crimson glue. He felt not the sting of blood and sweat in his eyes, nor the long strands of silken hair as they caught on the skeletal trees, ripping free as he flailed his way free of their grasp. His whole world shrank to the furious beating of a shaman's drum, and the vision of the mad old man as he laughed maniacally, mocking him in his panic.
*Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump*
The beat of the drum within him slowed to a recognizable, if still frenzied, song. It was the song of his Life, the beat of his heart as it pumped furiously within. His mind narrowed even further, focusing on the beat, willing it to his own tempo. As it slowed, he regained control, sheer willpower giving birth to each beat, the song created anew. Each beat driving the fear from his mind.
*thump thump, thump thump, thump thump*
He was in control again. His arrogance had almost lead him to his death, and the shock of staring into such an abyss before his quest was complete had almost driven him mad with fear. He could not die now. Not after all his searching, after all he'd learnt. Not before he saw her again. Not before she saw his creation.
He saw the road before he'd even realized he was heading towards it. On some basic level, beyond the fear, he'd known where to go, what to do. Even in his terror, some unknown part of him was in control. He could lose them there, in the alleys and hidden passages he knew almost by heart; the cobbled and twisting paths he'd spent much of his life carousing in, vile dens in which he'd whored and gambled. He erupted from the forest, startling a lone horse and rider trotting towards the glow of the city to the North. The horse reared up in fright with a terrified scream, and before the rider could even react to the tattered and bloodied fiend which charged him, Iblis had launched himself through the air, knocking him senseless to the roadside. He whipped the reigns as he righted himself in the saddle, heading straight up the road towards Britain.
He knew they were still on his trail, toying with him in the darkness beyond his sight. It would take more than just a maze of streets and back alleys to lose them. He bled freely from the innumerable cuts and gashes across his face and arms, and the scent of his blood would be as a beacon to them. He needed a plan... he could not face them, and he could not outrun them. His mind raced faster than the hooves beating beneath him as he passed the small houses on the outskirts of the city. As he passed them by, one by one, lonely candles in the windows casting pools of light in the dark of eve, he realized his salvation. They would come at him one by one. He'd studied them, read of them... even read the memoirs of one of their kind in a decaying hut choked by weeds near the cliffside fortress of Gehenna. Through all he'd learnt, two things blazed like beacons across the waves of midnight... theirs was an existence of lonely solitude, and the arrogance bred by such. They would hunt him as a pack of individuals, their was no sport in it for them otherwise. They let him flee, for sport. They hunted him for sport. Just as his arrogance had lead him almost to death, he vowed that theirs would be final. He knew they would let him reach the city, let him relax in the false safety of its walls, and then they would come at him, one by one. If he could take out one or two, it would throw them off long enough for him to make good his escape, and he would lose them in the confusion. He would remain hidden til morning, submerged in the filth of the sewers which honeycombed the city. He would be invisible to them.
He would live to see the dawn of a new day. And he would find her again.
He WOULD find Illestra.
posted by Shadowsong | 11:28 AM
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