Acacia Chronicle

Meanwhile, deep in the Nightmare of Izoria Vhal…

In darkness black as pitch, Anna de la Lune lay upon a bed made of straw, chains clasped around her naked body that had her pinned down upon her hands and knees.

“It was all because of me, sis…”

Now, there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable end. But the waiting, it was always the worst. She had already waited so long, that her brown eyes had grown used to the lightlessness of this world far beyond even her darkest fathoms.

“Forgive me, Elicia, I…”

She winced and bit down upon her tongue until the wetness of blood made itself known, her eyes dry and her face stained filthy with tears and blood from long ago. Already, so many tears had been shed. Blood, as well. Not merely for Claire, but for the master of this mansion, the dragon who claimed the name of Izoria Vhal. He, her self-appointed ‘Torturer’, who whispered sweet nothings that graced her ears like poison rubbed upon her skin. Who would, in the same breath, slather his forked tongue all over her body like she was little more than a slab of meat to be savoured.

“Pray for my sister’s… safety…”

She could recall, with an almost nightmarish lucidity, the putrid vibes of her Torturer’s true form. That, and every time he brought the massive, rotting frame of that true form upon her, and the sound of her own screams mixed amidst his roars of carnal lust. The bloody scars all over her, accumulated like etched trophies over a mural of eternity, were still raw and bleeding.

“Her safety, over mine…”

They had Claire in their clutches, as well. Anna knew, even if she dared not ask. And she knew it was happening, all because of her, because of her delusions of Elicia, and her foolishness in trusting the words of a stranger. Now, she could only wonder if the master was right, if Elicia and whatever gods remained upon Melodia, were blind to her fate. That soon enough, he would shed his rotting scale for this mortal skin of hers. It had been told to her, ordained like it was the gospel of the Codex Elicia.

“Elicia, please. Keep her safe, when I’m gone. Please, I’ll do…”

“Anything?”

It sounded like a male voice, a guttural rumbling from a monster’s maw. And it came from an elven servant, dressed in the black robes of the master's ilk. Who, like a puppet led by chains and strings, shambled into view from the darkness beyond.

“No…” Anna gasped. “Please, I beg you, I…”

“Beg me? No. Do not do that. Not yet, until you hear my offer.”

“Offer…?”

“Yes… but first, unlike my brother… an offering of trust from me, to you.”

Anna shuddered, eyeing the elven servant in stunned silence. He was not speaking in his own voice, and those words he uttered were not his own. But of someone else, whose visage she could spot within the irises of his eyes, that upon closer inspection, were glassy and clear like mirrors forged from flesh.

“Trust…”

From within the elven servant’s eyes, the visage of a four-armed behemoth uttered this singular word, his draconic maw slurring it slowly as though to savour it upon his forked tongue. His eyes, lidless and orange like a pair of orbs set aflame, looking upon Anna like the eyes of a god.

“Be freed of this nightmare…”

In continued silence, Anna watched as a single tear of blood trickled down the dragon’s eyes. The elven servant, mimicking his master’s movements, snapped his fingers. The world of darkness around her melted away, like layers of paint peeling off from a wall. Giving way, to a room of luxurious furnishings and dim light, where the elven servant remained nearby like a dutiful attendant.

“It was all…”

“An illusion, yes it is…”

“I fell for it,” Anna lamented softly, her voice weak as she looked upon the stains of blood and bile underneath her. “I believed them, like a fool…”

“My brother was once a very powerful illusionist. The greatest among us, even if he has fallen into ruin and can no longer use it for battle. His enchantments, bearing that old magic, still hold great sway over the hearts of men and elves…”

“What are you… saying?” Anna demanded with great unease, looking up at the elven servant and into his mirror-like eyes that bore the image of his draconic master. “Your… brother?”

“Yes, indeed. Izoria Vhal, your so-called ‘Torturer’, was once family to me…”

“Just who… are you?”

In response, the elven servant knelt before Anna. Such that his soulless eyes looked directly into the rawness of her brown eyes. Where within its reflection, the visage of the dragon within glowered down upon her with his fiery gaze.

“I have many names, little girl. One of them, is Terask Dagon.”

“You’re…”

“My supplicants in my Imperium, they revere me as their Sorcerer King.”

“No… this isn’t right…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re an illusion, aren’t you? The master… he always does this to me!”

“Deceive you? I am above such petty tactics.”

“No! I know better than that, I…”

Anna burst into tears. It was, strangely enough for her, a refreshing sensation. Invigorating, even, having been denied such a luxury for so long.

“He… no, you… used to say… that a little hope is the greatest form of torture… that it’ll amplify…”

“The despair and terror? My brother used to say that, yes. You are only human, after all. Still, for all his bluster…”

The elven servant placed his hands into the folds of his black robes, taking out a bloodied ring made of gold and set with emeralds.

“He would never show you this. He wanted to keep this little hope of yours alight. Never to completely break you, his favourite toy, for good…”

“Impossible, that’s…”

“You recognise this… bauble, do you not? I had this puppet retrieve it from her corpse.”

“I…”

Falling completely upon the floor, tears formed once again in Anna’s brown eyes. The ring was something she recognised all too well, a birthday gift for Claire that she had commissioned from the jewellers of the Upper City, having saved up four months’ worth of her allowance and tips as a courtesan to pay its price. It was their ‘wedding ring’, Claire had joked so happily that day, and the sight of it now, stained in blood, hurt.

“I can’t believe it, that she’d… he promised… he promised! He said, that if I… surrendered myself to him… and let him take my body, and my soul…”

“It will happen today, at midnight.”

“That was our deal… that if I let him take me… he’d let her live…”

“Yes. And now, what will you do?”

“What can I do?” Anna asked rhetorically, with a weak and bitter laugh. “Everything has fallen apart… all because of me.”

“That is what you say,” Terask Dagon stated gently. “But here I am, with my offer. Accept it, and it shall not be so. Revenge, redemption, it shall all be yours…”

Opening her eyes, Anna stared at the elven servant and the visage of Terask Dagon within his eyes.

“Your… offer…?”

“Yes…” Terask Dagon said, as what appeared like a mockery of a smile formed upon his draconic maw. “There is a way. Tell me, child, are you at all familiar with the tale of Artesia and Arcanis?”

In silence, Anna’s gaze remained upon the Sorcerer King’s fiery visage. She knew what he was talking about, for it was a story immortalised in song, one of the first ballads she had ever learned. A tale of two mortal sorcerers who were inseparable lovers forevermore, were it not for the hand of death itself.

“The look in your eyes tells me that you do. Then, you know how the final verse ends…”

“Lost in reverie…” Anna uttered, her voice soft like a whisper. “Forever haunted, yet blessed, by his presence…”

“In dreams, yearning… to reach into the depths of hell, to save him…”

“To save… her…”

“Yes, indeed. Save her. Behold, my offer to you. A Bloodstone…”

Before Anna’s eyes, the elven servant held out a black rock. Made entirely out of obsidian, it was the size of a mortal’s heart, and her reflection was visible upon its glassy surface. It glowed a deep crimson, like blood manifest into light.

“Once, you were only human,” Terask Dagon whispered, as Anna extended a manacled hand, slowly but surely, towards the Bloodstone’s crimson light. “Like Artesia, you shall reach into the depths of hell itself… and become Hellbourne.”