We'd lost. The tableau was bathed in harsh and angry light. The silent one, pinned to the wall by magical bindings, arched her back, her mouth pried open in a non-existent primal scream. The guards were scattered through the cave, swords up and pointed at anything dangerous. The apprentice wizard and her friend knelt behind me, bleeding and dying. I stood, shaking. And at the centre of it all, protected by the glowing circle of runes, a single cloaked figure reached a hand for the staff.
Do you know what it is to expirience true isolation? What must that do to a mind, especially a brilliant one? His hands, his greedy hands landed upon that carved wood and something else reached back.
The light was blinding. Painful. I raised a hand to protect myself. For a moment, it images flooded the room, the drifting memories of a soul struggling to achieve cohesion. In fleeting moments, I saw a lonely silhouette, cloak tight against the blizzard, the clash of magics, the isolation and madness.
The hood fell from that figure in the centre and I saw that it was once my friend. No longer. It took in the room with a stranger's eyes, the spirit having already ripped out that which made him the man I knew. It was dark, alien, evil. The silent one, the only one who truly understood, was struggling harder now, desperate to prevent the coming tragedy.
One of the cultists started stepping into the circle. It moved as though to ask something. The thing did not respond. And then, as it entered the circle, it collapsed on the ground, strings cut. An empty vessel. The human had left to parts unknown, leaving a mere sack of flesh. The thing had done nothing.
I glanced back at the wizard. "What is it?", I asked.
"It's beautiful", she mumbled.
"What is it?"
She didn't respond with words. Instead she reached forwards and laid a single hand upon my leg. And then I was blessed with her sight.
I saw magic. I saw souls. I saw the spirit as it was, large and angry, far more massive than any of the rest of us. The staff, also a thing of magic, pushed through it, holding it into the ground, a trapping stake. I could see the way it threw itself against the binding circle and was rebuffed, the way the staff reinforced the circle. The inside was chaos, a maelstrom of energy. I could see how each of us glowed dully, how those fierce winds would tear us from ourselves.
It had pushed itself into the marionette body of their leader. I watched the energy flow from the mass of the thing along his arm, from the staff up into his chest and brain, where it moved his mouth and body. He was working magic, his lips and free hand locked into spells of unknown purpose. No, I could see their purpose now. I could see him asking the rock to meld, to move, to shift. Of course. No human could hold this thing, this god. His body was already failing, flesh dissolving, bones melting. It would carve a form from the rocks of this cave and walk over the boundary in it. It would reshape the world in its own image.
I glanced at the silent one. She was even more beautiful like this, truly stunning. Her soul shone brightly. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to fight anything that dared to hurt her. She was afraid, deathly afraid of the thing in the circle. I could see why.
Her knife was by my foot, much more visible with the magic eyes. Without thinking, my hand closed around it, brandishing it in front of me. Her words flashed through my brain. It doesn't cut objects. It cuts magic. I glanced back at the god. The god was pure magic.
I took a step forward. Contact between me and the wizard was lost and my vision clicked back to normal, the cave still illuminated by the glow of the staff. I couldn't see the threat anymore, the harsh raw power that threatened to strip the very soul from my body. I could feel it. There was a wind, a sharp taste to the air. My instincts screamed to run. I brandished the knife before me like a talisman, a hasty shield against the end of the universe. I crossed the boundary.
I felt the impact like a punch to the gut. I reeled a little. It hurt. It felt like every wound I'd ever taken, every lost fight, every failed training exercise, every snap of my limbs, all at once. It was awful. I could feel its claws digging into my mind, threatening to drive me out of my body. But the flow broke around the knife, a solid blade of protection, and that was enough. I was still here. I could do this. I took another step.
The god did not notice me. Why would it? I was beneath it. I was tiny. I was insignificant. I was just a human, just a person. It was busy, carving a body from the rock, coaxing magic into it to settle it into the shape of a person and imbue it with hardness and endurance and strength. I laughed a little. I took another step.
I glanced downwards. I was being sandblasted. The flesh was peeling from my legs, my arms, my face. Blood trailed into the air, cast off by the wind and energy. It was excruciating. I felt that maybe my soul was being hit, maybe pieces of myself were already falling off. How would I know? If I lost a part of me, would I be able to tell? I took another step.
I met the eyes of the silent one. She looked sad now. Perhaps she could see what was happened to me. There was so much I wanted to tell her, so much we never go to do. I loved her. I couldn't be what she needed. But I can do this. I took another step.
The god noticed me. I could feel it's attention on me. And then I wasn't myself anymore.
I was the wizard Telloca. I was the human Marl. I was both. I was neither. I remembered walking into the circle to kill myself. I remembered detaching a part of myself to dissect my soul. I remembered screaming towards me, an angry swarm of knives. I remembered colliding with my own blade and becoming fractured and wrong. I was not me. I was determined. I remembered that much. I took another step.
Memories flashed through me. I was learning to walk. I was being held. I was kissing. I was loving. I was fighting. I had a sword. I had friends. I had a place. I had a home. I had a mother. I was running. I was riding. I was taking. I was making. My eyes me those of the silent one. She never told me her name. I felt a pang at that. I didn't even know her name. She looked so sad, bound to the walls of the cave. She looked so so sad. I didn't want her to be sad. I took another step.
I could feel pieces of myself slipping off. The knife was insufficient. I was decaying rapidly. Memories flew by and out. I could no longer see my mother's face, feel her warmth. I could no longer name my mentor. My own name slipped out my mind, gone just like that. I don't know why I'm here. The list of things I had lost was gone too. There was a stranger across the cavern. She was trying and failing to say something. I did not understand. I almost reached out a hand to touch her, but she was too far away. To far away. Something stirred in what was left of my rapidly fading brain. I took another step.
My feet wouldn't respond anymore. I glanced downwards. My hands, clutching the handle of a knife desperately were now bone. My feet, likewise. As I watched, one of them crumbled into dust. I almost laughed. What did I need feet for. And then I paused. I couldn't remember what was so funny. What was so funny?
Who was I? Why was I here? The absurdity captured what was left of my feeble mind. I almost dropped the knife. In fact, I would've if my hand was at all working. But it would not respond to commands and so I could not. The woman across the caves looked so sad. Why? There was a stone man before me. It was almost complete. It was out of reach. I wanted to touch it, I think. That was my goal, right? I think so.
I'm not going to make it. That was a sad thought. I don't know what that means. Not going to make it? Make it where? Where was there to go? I watched my bones begin to flake away. Oh. Perhaps I was to go wherever my bones were gone. Perhaps I was about to fade from existence. It would almost make sense. It was as though my life was running in reverse, memories and skill pouring out of me the way I had accumulated them over a lifetime.
Could I do it? Could I do anything?
One last memory flashed across my brain. I was a child in the snow. Someone held my arm, showing me how to move. It was the movement, I remembered. I traced it now. I pulled my arm back and the full force of the storm was upon me. I thrust forward, flicking my wrist as I was once shown. And then I was no more.
The knife tumbled end over end, once, twice, and then passed neatly through the arm of the puppet human. For one precious moment, the connection between the trapped wizard and its corrupt toy was disrupted. The power was overwhelming, and now, undirected. The room was bathed in light and the puppet human was no more. It dissolved, taken by the force. The bindings on the silent one dropped away and she stood proud and strong. The world was gonna be okay.
If I still had a face, I would've smiled.