Descent: Part Fourteen

I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Sage smiled at me, lips pulling back from his almost frighteningly human teeth in the kind of smile I think Shir Khan might have given to Mowgli. Then his eyes closed, smile shifting into something softer, gentler. Like he was an old man listening to classical music and remembering when he was young. Wistful.

While behind him a boy died.

The boy’s scream sounded like something out of a movie. The kind of scream that tore at throats, drowning the screamer in their own blood. A long, continuous wail as his knees visibly buckled yet he remained standing.

Pale flames appeared, licking up his arms and the scream grew louder, higher in pitch until my hands whipped up to cover my ears, trying to block out the terrible noise. I couldn’t look away, though. Something forced me to keep watching as smoke trailed from his hand, drifting up and being sucked into the blackish sludge.

Black lines went mad on his exposed skin, wriggling up his arms, racing towards his neck. Following their undulating, eye-straining lines tongues of heatless flame sprouted, burning away the flesh and feeding the creature on the smoke.

His skin went first, blackening even under the mass of twisting, curling lines. It peeled away, exposing the muscles and bones until they too blazed away to ash.

The hand vanished, slowly consumed by the spreading fire until only the smoke remained.

Each scream, each gout of new flame, each billow of smoke seemed to give the sludge more substance. Starting from the still out-stretched, inhuman hand, the stomach-turning mass of semi-solid blackness stretched and warped until it more closely resembled a human arm. The illusion spreading slowly up towards the shoulder, morphing it into a mirror of the boy as it consumed him.

I had to do something.

I had to try something.

Anything.

Surging to my feet, I tried my best to race up the steps. Sage didn’t seem to notice, eyes still closed like he was enjoying the boy’s suffering. Thoughts swirled madly, ideas sparking and dying. Sage was likely immune to whatever it was in the silver that had killed Sherman, so I needed something else. Of course, I needed water to save the boy, but could anything be done against Sage?

Skidding to a stop just behind the boy, I pulled out a half-full water bottle and upended it over the blazing stump of his arm.

And nothing happened.

“You’re too late for that one,” snarled Sage, stalking down the steps to where Sasha lay still catatonic. “And as for this one, believe it or not, I completely forgot she was your friend. Whatever, you’re both part of the Feast now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

I don’t know how I heard him over the screams. But somehow the words penetrated and I stood frozen. It wasn’t possible. Before my eyes, the fire continued to crawl its way up the boy’s arm, moving like a languorous spider. The water hadn’t worked. It… that… but it had helped Sasha, hadn’t it?

Sasha.

Dropping to one knee, the boy who I couldn’t seem to help completely driven from my thoughts, I pulled out the second-last clean shirt and quickly wrapped it around the head of the cane. Torches are hard to make, yeah, but I knew the theory from Scouts and soaking things is easier than making them burn consistently.

The boy’s screams were almost fading out of hearing. I fought the urge to look over at him, he was lost. Maybe Sage was lying, but I didn’t know the boy. And I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my chance to save Sasha for someone who I not only didn’t know but also had no idea how to save.

Jerkily, I pulled a full water bottle out of the bag. It was nearly the last one. I didn’t bother counting the others, no reason to know for certain how many chances I had left to get it right. Too much like planning for failure. Go in as confidently as possible, and not only are people more likely to believe you, but you’re also more likely to win. I forget who said that, but whoever they were I think they knew what they were talking about.

Mr. Sage grabbed a fist-full of Sasha’s hair and started to drag her up the steps. He was muttering to himself, completely ignoring me where I knelt struggling with the stuck-fast bottle cap. I couldn’t hear him anymore over the screams, meaning that he didn’t want me to I guess.

Carefully pouring the water onto the shirt, I made sure to soak it straight through. Maybe the silver couldn’t hurt him. Maybe the water was just a placebo. Maybe I was going to die. But nothing would stop me from trying, at least.

Sage seemed to be ignoring me, eyes locked on the second of the three piles of ooze. The boy didn’t even warrant a passing glance, which convinced me that he was beyond my help.

Gathering my legs under me, I took a deep breath and launched myself at Sage, swinging the now awkwardly balanced cane with every ounce of speed and strength I had. It made a surprisingly satisfying crunch as it connected with Sage’s left knee, shattering bones and resulting in a small spray of blood from the side opposite the strike. Thanks Newton.

He stumbled. His gait thrown off by the strike. But it didn’t take him down.

Another step forward, Sasha now groaning as he dragged her. Maybe the pain from her scalp was waking her up. I barely noticed. Time seemed to stand still. I had… hurt him?

Without thinking too much about it, I struck again, this time aiming for the shoulder of the arm he was dragging Sasha with.

And I missed.

Moving like liquid, he flinched out of the way of the cane, body rippling and flowing around the walking stick. Then his eyes turned on me.

They were not human eyes anymore. Black within black within black, the exact same kind of eye that Shunsuke had had. Except, different. Running in a line down the centre, almost like a cat’s pupil, a clustered row of gleaming flecks looked almost like stars.

“You,” he said, voice icy calm and free hand rising. “Are very annoying. You know that?”

The slap made stars dance before my eyes and sent me skidding away from him, stopping only when I connected hard with the strange boy. Or what was left of him.

Dazed, I looked up and saw that the flames had nearly finished their work. The sludge creature was almost solid, I could see the distinct shape of a face starting to form out of the constantly shifting mass of black gunk. Only his legs and his head were still fully in tact. And the head was still screaming.

On instinct, I reached up – letting the cane fall forgotten and useless at my feet – and grabbed the boy’s thick, oddly brittle feeling black hair. This was a risk, a terrible risk, but I needed to do something to stop the screaming. It was boring into my head, driving inwards like some kind of hellish screwdriver.

Setting my feet, I pulled hard. Despite the supremely evident nothing connecting his torso to his rapidly decaying legs, I felt resistance. And pulled harder.

I could actually feel things tearing. Feel the stretch and pull and snap of something that was not there and should not have had substance as I hauled on the head, only caring that the noise would stop. Only hoping that my efforts would help, somehow even if it was just to kill him faster. Like I had done with Shunsuke. A mercy.

The head, still connected to the shoulders and maybe a third of the arm that hadn’t shaken hands with the sludge monster, came away in my hands and I pitched it down the steps. As it flew, the boy’s eyes closed and the screaming finally, blessedly stopped.

For a long, beautiful second, the altar room was quiet. Dead quiet. Even Sage froze in place, cold, black within black within black eyes locked on me.

But only for a moment.

The sludge monster roared. Like a lion, like a brilliant voice actor pretending to be a lion. I didn’t know if it was angry, confused, or in pain. Trapped, maybe, between existing and not existing. I hated it.

Acting on instinct, I picked up the cane with its wet shirt-wrapped head and swung hard. It connected with the sludge. And passed through as though it wasn’t there.

Whatever, it hadn’t been very likely to work anyway. But at least the boy was gone.

Before my eyes, the charred, smouldering stumps of his legs collapsed. Tumbling away from the enraged sludge like pieces of a destroyed marionette on cut strings. “Fly free Pinocchio,” I cackled, the comparative silence after the endless torrent of screams blissful.

“Gone and lost your mind,” grunted Sage, resuming his march to one of the two remaining pillars of sludge. “Lovely. That won’t be inconvenient at all. You know something,” he pulled Sasha up so that her legs were barely touching the ground, “I’m glad Sherman died. If she couldn’t handle you, then it’s a good thing you got rid of her.”

Turning, I saw that Sage was still moving towards the black sludge, raising Sasha like a doll he meant to throw away. The Feast, it seemed, hadn’t been stopped by saving what was left of the boy.

I was frozen in place again, simply staring. Then, my limbs acting on their own, I reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of water, opened the lid and sprinted forwards. My shoulder connected with the small of his back, throwing him off balance and making him drop Sasha.

Momentum carried me past him and nearly into the sludge. Skidding to a stop, I upended the bottle onto the writhing black mass. It did not scream. Did not roar like a lion. Did not seem to react, only faded away, leaving behind a smell like a camp fire when lake water is poured onto it.

Before I could react, I felt a hand on my shoulder, hauling me away from where the monster had disappeared.

Sage turned me to face him again, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. I could smell his breath again, the same mind-numbing blend of beauty and horror. He was breathing heavily, struggling to form words, the line of stars that looked like a cat’s pupils in his black on black on black eyes glowing red now. Hot coals in his face.

He leaned in, the stench of decay and aroma of flowers blending on his breath and making me gag. “You really think you can stop this? You really think that someone like you is capable of doing anything to prevent the Chained from getting what they want? You’re nothing. Less than an ant to them.”

“But I killed Sherman,” his fingers closed around my throat, cutting off the rest of my brave words. Any thought of spitting in the face of death fled as he began to crush the life out of me. Stars danced in my vision, making me almost want to laugh. There were stars in my eyes now too.

“Killing Sherman was a service. So I think I’ll kill you quickly. Not as if you deserve to be fed to them anyway. But your friend, the one still leaning against the wall down there? Her I think I’ll do something special with. Oh don’t look at me like that, nothing akin to Sherman’s filth. Simply feeding her to the Thralls. It’s better than either of you deserve. But I do need to get rid of you quickly,” I could actually feel the bones in my neck creaking under the force of his crushing fingers. “And it’ll be more fun to do this myself.”

Darkness started to cloud the edges of my vision. Slowly encroaching on the centre, I knew that once I was blind, I would die. Kicking out, I tried to connect with his crotch, a ball shot was good enough to take down anyone else, and I had proven that he could be hurt. But my foot only sunk into him.

My nails clawed at his wrist. I didn’t care about any of the risks. Whatever was happening, if I got out, I’d just jump in the nearest body of water and take my chances then. For now, I just needed to escape, to keep surviving. Get Sasha to safety if I could, Mary away from any danger if I could, and as many of the students down there on the ground as possible.

But I was dying. My desperately scrabbling fingers were slowing down. The darkness obscuring half my vision. There was no hope. Only death.

Then Sage staggered.

-0-

"A Community Story [Challenge]" By: Donna Fox (The whole inspiration for this entire series)

"Descent: A Community Story Challenge" by: Yours Truly

"Descent (Part Two)" by: Mackenzie Davis (who is amazing, and everyone should read)

"Descent (Part Three)" by: *politely raises hand* me

"Descent (Part Four)" by: this dude right here.

"Descent (Part Five)" by: some guy named Alex, seems cool.

"Descent (Part Six)" by - drumroll please.... me!

"Descent (Part Seven)" by: is he still doing this? Yes! I am :)

"Descent (Part Eight)" by who's got two thumbs and a writing addiction? This guy!

"Descent (Part Nine)" retrieved from the jaws of the Archive itself by: the last shreds of my sanity XD

"Descent (Part Ten)" discovered on an archaeological dig, that's why it took so long, by a certain very tall dude with bad time management skills ;)

"Descent (Part Eleven)" recovered from among the lost tombs of the forbidden libraries in Rome by this blue-eyed guy

"Descent (Part Twelve)" by: one who blesses the muses only when their favour is upon him

"Descent (Part Thirteen)" by: a man who is tired in his soul