Dst – Chronicles of Malignant Mercies Pt 12 (5/8)

Dark HalloweenEnd Game

Joseph paused and Michael looked up from his personal musings. To see a large, weathered mansion. He furrowed his brow, glancing back toward where the city would be, though there was no indication of its presence. Not even that ever present halo of light pollution, the dark sky and glittering stars showing with brilliant clarity. “Where are we?”

Joseph raised a hand for silence then and pointed toward the mansion. Michael looked to the indicated spot, but saw nothing more than shadows. Until one of the shadows seemed to separate from the rest. Michael blinked as it seemed to shift and distort, becoming more solid.. or were his eyes tricking him? It became immaterial when a pale hand lifted from amid a dark cloak, there a faint glint from keys it held.

“She will begin the last rite soon, we must prepare quickly.” Joseph turned to Michael.

Michael shook his head and looked to the youth. “Prepare what? I could probably get a shot at her from here..” He started to slip his hand back to his holstered sidearm.

Joseph’s hand lifted to still his. “No. She is beyond such mundane attacks now. And if you were to interfere without true defense against her power, you would be as good as dead. We must use alternate methods.”

Michael frowned, looking toward the mansion. She was going in. When the door closed, he looked back to Joseph and nodded his head once. “Alright. What’s your plan?”

*****

Deep within the basement a soft, melodious voice spoke intricate chants in smooth time. A single hanging bulb shed weak light. The big cabinet lay open, empty of its previous load. Instead the jars were set out upon the rough floor.

Red calk was traced upon the stone, circles inscribed within circles, glyphs composed of mixed geometric shapes adorning the interior of this diagram, creating a complex whole. One jar was set upon each glyph, each prominent intersecting line that made up this circle of power.

And at the middle knelt the Pale Lady, her delicate fingers laced together, hands held just below her bowed head. Her cloak draped form swaying in time with the rhythmic chant emanating from her. Beyond this, the basement was quiet.. still. But the persistent chant never pausing.

Closed eyes did not allow her to see the first signs as she gave prayers and entreaty to Vrecxs. Speaking its name and giving the contents of these jars in offering. The black hearts of the unclean. The essence of murders, liars and deceivers, harvested in bloody ceremony, flavored with their screams of agony, the sweet taint of their terror in facing the dark oblivion of death.

The offering accepted as the red chalk gathered a soft luminescence, running along the carefully drawn lines until the whole of it threw a blood red light upon the folds of her black cloak and pale skin. Energies gathered in the air at the beckoning inflection of her intricate words.

Her lips turning upward in an exulted smile as her voice lifts higher, her hands parted to spread out wide to her sides. Chanting with greater energy as she felt a presence draw closer. The darkness in her soul, the cold hatred which empowered her. Patron to her vengeance, he comes.

Her arms were thrust forward, fingers spread in entreaty as the pace of her chants grew, her voice lifted higher. The touch on the edge of her consciousness causing her to shiver. His abyssal touch heralding the dark voice that crawls through her mind.

My harbinger. I am near you. Call to me, my dark maiden. I bring with me the power to realize your vengeance. He who destroyed you will die when I am with you.

The Pale Woman’s eyes slowly drifted open as the first tear forms in the air before her. Another shiver as the chill of ages wafts faintly from the jagged line of darkness which slowly blossoms mere feet away. Her mind racing, her chant faltering, then stilling as she stared into perfect darkness without equal. No light, from the glowing circle nor the light that hung behind her could pierce it. Yet she sensed movement within..

Her distraction was broken when another voice suddenly rose in a messy chant. A firm, masculine one only faintly weakened by the fear that laces it. She turned her head, moist red lips curled into a snarl as she took stock of the intruders.

“Joseph? What is the meaning of this?”

Shock in her voice as she laid eyes upon her young ward, dressed in his sleeping clothes, standing beside the police detective who had been tracking her for so long. But it was more the way he looked at her that draws shock. The boy’s eyes old.. his expression sorrowful.

Michael took a step forward from the foot of the stairs, his mind working furiously as he sought to remember the precise words that Joseph had made him memorize. He tried to keep his attention focused on the woman, but the blot of darkness that hung in the air tugged at his focus as it writhes and grew gradually.

“This cannot go on. I understand now what you are doing, but do you? Do you know what you bring to this world?” Joseph’s words, firm and probing. The strange change from his quiet norm leaving her off guard. Uncertain. Until..

Kill the man. He seeks to stop you. To stop us! He will deny you your vengeance!

She found herself compelled to obey, but there was little resistance as the dark voice thrust her mind back to her goals. She rose to her feet smoothly, the folds of her black cloak slipping over her hands. “You have made a serious mistake, detective.”

Michael, having not stopped his attempts at the chant, stood tense as he watched the Pale Woman warily. Thus he was ready when she leapt at him with the agility of a jungle cat, the silver of a deftly retrieved scalpel flashing before his eyes. Michael lurched back, arm lifted to shield his face. The sharp pain as the keen little blade cut his forearm, though the detective managed to keep his voice from breaking as he struck back at his assailant amid his backpedaling retreat.

Suddenly her lightning assault ceased. When Michael lowered his bleeding arm, he saw that Joseph had moved out between the two. The Pale Woman stared at her young ward, red stained scalpel lifted, but motionless in her deft fingers.

“Please, listen to me.” The boy’s voice resolute, yet there was caring in it. “I love you. Even though I do not know your name, I know you. You took care of me. Sheltered me when I had nothing. Taught me things. You are a good woman, but you are tainted by the Death Lord. He is using you to his own ends.”

The boy lies. He has been corrupted by that man. He is the only obstacle. Kill him and you will be free. We will see your dreams to fruition.

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