Captured Sky

‘Through the All-Seeing Owl, I’ll be able to counter The Temptress’ psychic attacks.’

Returned was Annalise’s carefree demeanour. The glacial steel of her eyes melted into inviting pools of blue. They promised tender rejuvenation to he who would sink into their alluring waters. Their promises were lies. Havoc knew that to be captivated was to drown. Her beauty was a weapon; she was never disarmed. ‘With her greatest weapon out of play, you shouldn’t have much issue handling that overgrown snake.’ Annalise said.

The Temptress was not as powerful as she appeared, Annalise had told him. The memory of the tips of her ivory claws shred through his flesh gave him pause, but in the end, there was no way out but through, even if he did not want to kill her.

Even if he pitied her…

‘Is there anything else I need to know?’ Havoc asked.

Absently turning her face from left to right, she twirled the golden threads of her hair around her finger.

‘Well…’ She said, stretching the word into suspicion. ‘There’s the matter of her thralls…’ Annalise replied.

Of course there is…

Eyes rolled back, Havoc had no question Anne could hear his silent accusation with perfect clarity. Annalise placed a palm across her eyes and slowly parted her fingers to uncover her sight. It was a mocking display of embarrassment. Playful and light. He would have found it charming. His heart may even have fluttered had the display been from another woman even half as pretty. But having seen her true face, her mischief was only cause for further caution.

‘The Temptress craves adoration. When times are scarce, she’ll settle for dungeon-spawn or lesser abomination, but what she really seeks are the hearts and minds of uncorrupted beings.’ Her hair returning to the rotation of her finger, Annalise continued. ‘Lucky for you, I can tell you all about her adorers. In fact, they’ll prove rather useful should you manage to keep some of them alive during your battle.’

He had no evidence to support the conclusion but somehow he knew she had placed the thralls in The White Temptress’ care. An all too familiar chill crept up his spine.

‘It’s very much like you,’ without intending, he spoke his thoughts aloud.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing. Tell me about the thralls,’ Havoc replied to the pout of Annalise’s ruby lips.

‘She should have six of them. All inheritors, but only two of whom will pose any challenge. You should aim to free all six, but if you can only save one, ensure its the Selenarian.’

He had heard of their kind, but had yet to see one in person. Humanity was not the only to be imprisoned in The Dungeon. There were six others. Five invited and one intruder. The Selenarians were among the invited races. Humanoid in form but with light blue skin and intricate patterns running the length of them. Their eyes were blacker than night. Their ears stretched into a tube, pointing at the tip. He knew little of their culture, but the books he had shared with his sister said they lived in high places. Supposedly, they had cities within the tenth floor of the Dungeon. He had wanted to visit their cities. Crystal towers reflecting light below. The Dungeon was filled with the fantastical, but to him, they had always seemed magical.

‘She’s not very strong,’ Annalise continued. ‘You won’t have much trouble incapacitating her.’

‘What of the others?’ Havoc asked.

‘As I told you, there are two you should be wary of. A gentleman of the Crest family and a lady of the Desmond. Of the Temptress’ thralls, they are by far the most powerful. With a bit of effort, either one of them should have been able to do away with that snake themselves. It’s a wonder how they found themselves ensnared,’ Annalise said, devilment dancing in her smile. ‘They’ll be greatly diminished, and I’ll do what I can to disrupt the hag’s control over them from time to time… They’ll make things more exciting, for sure, but I trust you’re more than able to handle it.’

The aforementioned gentleman was named Aaron Crest, and the lady, his fiancée, was Lucia Desmond. Anne said they were from Stone Garden but Havoc had never heard of them. Of matters beyond the mortal partitions of the city, he had never been concerned. The business of gods could be left to the gods, his only concern had been to pilfer enough to pilfer some more. That and revenge. A vengeance which had never been more than impotent fury. But things had changed. No longer beneath the concern or contempt of Inheritors, he was now one of them. With that came substance to his rage; a real possibility of avenging his past. But in his elevation, he would rise… Rise to the attention of the those still able to crush him underfoot. He could no longer afford to pay no notice.

‘That Crest boy is the stronger of the two. His daddy dearest is a man of means so he’s equipped with the finest remnants money can’t buy.’

Remnants could be bought and sold, but not necessarily for money... Havoc tucked that detail away. It would be useful, for certain, but only after escaping the Cell.

‘His anchor allows him to spit out flames. Besides that, he has two armour-type remnants, The Lesser Drake’s Claws and The Lesser Drake’s scales. The claws, while defensive, are quite handy for offence. The scales, while active, make an impressive defence.’ Annalise paused for a moment before adding, ‘He’s also able to fly…’

‘Is that all?’ He had managed to keep his eyes forward but their exacerbated roll carried in his tone.

‘Well… Almost… Individually, his remnants are top notch, really gold star for his rank, but together they form a set… More than the sum of their parts…’ Rapidly, Anne raised both hands in front of her and began to wave them furiously. ‘It’s unlikely you’ll have to worry about that. It takes a certain presence of will to make use of a set, more than that old snake will have left him with…’ She hooked her upper lip with a finger before nodding her head. ‘No, It’s not a present concern.’

So it’s a future concern? Havoc thought but did not say, weary of an abundance of answers. The Dungeon gave nothing for free. That lesson alone exacted a heavy price; a price he was still paying and could scarcely afford. Even still, The White Temptress was an abomination. He was only one step ahead of the collectors but to face her ill-prepared was to foreclose on a chance of victory.

‘What of Lucia Desmond?’ Grinning like the cat who caught the mouse, Annalise gave him a look. It was a strange mix of admiration and schadenfreude as if declaring him both commendably bold and incomparably foolish.

‘You won’t have issues identifying her, and if you avoid her wires, you’ll be fine,’ Annalise replied He had not felt it descend but as the last word fell from her mouth, he could feel it lift. It was as if being pulled from warm water. Water he had no recollection of entering but had, nevertheless, been submerged. His heart spiked. The Dungeon had been watching, weighing the weight of assistance against his burden, eyeing the scales for balance, ready to reappraise.

Anne had given all the help he was willing to accept. The Dungeon's expectations had been met. To ask for more was to raise its requirements.

He silently vowed to tread more carefully in the future, the thought flashing through his mind like a warning flare: Another word from her, and that creature's shadows might have sprouted yet another horror. Perhaps a second head, maybe another tail. To whom much was given, much would be required. He had enough.

‘Shall we call this meeting to adjourn?’ Annalise asked. Havoc’s mouth parted but he sealed it shut. There was more he wanted to know. Not simply concerning the snake, but about the temptress sat opposite as well.

Annalise was an enigma. Despite her apparent craftiness and formidable foresight, Havoc couldn’t reconcile the powerful figure before him with the vulnerable state in which he had found her: caked in blood, entombed in stone, wretched, desperate, and alone, in need of his help...

I don’t understand, but he could accept that for the time. First things first… He finally conceded, nodding his assent to Anne’s dismissal.

‘One last thing,’ Annalise said as the tearoom span to a blur. ‘Remember to mention the Tears Of Desire.’

The Tears Of Desire? Was Havoc’s last thought before hurtling back through where seams of the world came loose.

***

Reality greeted Havoc like a slap to the face. Gone was the lavish seating of The Fair Lady’s Tea Pot, returned was cold, damp slab of the Marshland Cavern. The luminous moss reflected in the shallow lakes and ponds was a poor consolation for the crystal chandeliers which bounced off the pristine tiles of Anne’s mental space.

The walls of the cavern slowed; they stopped. In a few deep breaths, the ground regained its balance also. Though stark, the return to his body had not been as disorientating as being spirited away. The stale perfume of damp and mould was a grounding scent.

The mad beat of wings drew his attention. Tracing the sound above, the All-Seeing Owl lifted into view. Its many eyes turned in every direction before bearing down in one. The tunnel to the White Temptress’ abode…

He could not hear her voice in his head, but he felt her rage. It permeated the thick cavern wall, tinting its moss-draped grey a dangerous red in his mind’s eye. Pricking their warning, his hairs stood erect. The stillness wafting through the tunnel chilled his blood. The White Temptress waited.

He could not keep her waiting long…

***

Crouched at the end of the tunnel, Havoc beheld the Temptress’ arena. Gaping tunnels were cut into the walls of the oval space. Some were level to the ground while others would be a steep climb to reach. The ground was covered in glowing moss. It was not a natural growth. Rather, it appeared the result of meticulous cultivation. A garden in a cave. A noble attempt, at least. Large swaths of charred stone disfigured the field. The dried blood darkening patches of moss and the stripped bones scattered about would not allow the cavern to be called a place of beauty. It was a monster’s lair and could not be mistaken for otherwise.

The illusory power of the Cloak of Mirrors demanded focus. The greater the concentration, the more tangible the illusion. Wrapped in the cloak, Havoc scanned for the Temptress. No doubt lurking in ambush within one of the tunnels, she was not to be found. Eyes closed, mind disciplined, Havoc pictured himself. When the soft glow of the bioluminescence returned to his world, his illusory copy stood by the entrance of a wide lower-tunnel to the far left of the cavern. His copy stepped out from the tunnel and walked towards the centre of the field.

‘You coward!’ Arms raised in challenge, the illusion’s voice reached every crevice. ‘You call yourself a queen? Why are you hiding?’ Continuing its march, the illusion began to turn, surveying its surroundings. ‘A morsel, you called me. Why are you hiding from your meal? Perhaps, your grace...’ Condescension dripped like honey intending to sting. ‘You’re the prey and I am the hunter.’

Like rocks tumbling down a the face of a cliff, a low rumble blast from a tunnel above. A cutting shriek pierced through the arena, heralding the Abomination. She burst from the tunnel above the one from which the illusion had stepped out and sped the ground toward her lure, crushing the dense patches of moss beneath her. Claws forward, tail lashing behind, her pace could not be halted. Upon reaching the illusion, she dived forward, teeth barred, and bit into nothing.

The illusion had vanished but Havoc had entered the arena. With The Buried Strike in hand, he plunged the tip into ground and tunnelled it below. Releasing his hold, the razored tooth of the strike pierced through rock and moss beneath the Abomination. Emerald blood flowed like a river, it dyed the moss slick green as the strike bit deep. A devastating strike, but it failed to be lethal. Missing her head, the blade had sliced into her tail.