Devoted In Name, Mad In Practice

sacrifice / ˈsækɹɪfaɪs / (n) 1: to offer something valuable as a gift to a deity 2: us

The first sensation Shikya awoke to was the sweet smell from earlier wafting past her senses. Whatever it was, it hung thicker in the air than before. It carried with it the same exhaustion, but her mind remained sharp without the delirium of booze. Well, I’m not dead, so that’s a good start. She questioned why she awakened, but it could wait. Her body ached from a contorted posture and a bruise on the back of her head. She clenched from the pain, sucking in a breath. As she was just about to move, a nearby voice pierced the silence.

“Just because they’re young doesn’t mean they’re innocent.” Shikya froze in place, afraid of attracting attention. Whoever it was, they sounded scratchy and deep. Shit! Probably a Glasser. Fucking anti-magic bastards.

“I know, but I had expected, you know, older wizards. With the long beards. And some staffs. Things like that.” The second, feminine voice was farther away than the first. Of course, there’d be more than one. No need for my luck to break now.

“I think it’s actually ‘staves,’ not ‘staffs.’” A few clacks of boots stepping echoed and then a rustle and creak of something else, as though someone were sitting down. “Regardless, as the Arm says: ‘Magic appears to us in many forms. Some wear the face of hated enemies. Others your dearest friend. Even the smile of a child may hide its ebb and flow. All are a danger to those that follow the Three true.’”

Shikya heard a small sigh and a humph in apparent affirmation. Not going to do any good to just lie here forever. ‘Sure, I’ll just wait for them to carve me up on an altar. Great idea, Shikya!’ She slid her eyelids up just a hair’s breadth, trying to discern her surroundings.

“Why did they have to stick me on guard duty…”

Shikya’s body tingled in the desperate need to escape, and her thoughts flitted about similarly. Bricks. Stones. Iron. Ah, a cell. Lovely. It was narrow and the crisscrossing metal left little opportunity to squeeze through an arm, much less her whole body. Shikya saw she was close to the front as the bars were mere inches from her face.

The gruff-sounding man harrumphed. “You fledglings always want excitement. This is important work, even if it’s boring.” There was a shuffle and another creak, as though he were adjusting his position. “You’ll have your time in the light of Drahkun, but His eyes see devotion in all of us, whether we’re up there or down here.”

A short hallway ran by, turning to the right a few yards away. No guards that way. Shikya opened her eyes more and properly looked about, careful not to move her head. She flinched at a sudden cough, but thankfully it covered whatever sound she may have made. Gods! He’s right fucking there!

Shikya looked as far as she could in the other direction without moving and spied the toe of a boot and the wooden leg of a chair or bench, close enough to touch it with room to spare. Not that I would, but fuck, that’s too close. The other one must be further that way, too.

“Have you ever had to fight one? A wizard, I mean.”

As the initial surprise of the situation faded, she noticed a shimmer right in front of the iron enclosing her. Is… is that magic? An illusion? Her heart hammered in her ears, drumming out time. With no better ideas, Shikya coalesced energy to her eyes and prepared to activate aether sight to examine the strange glimmer. Gritting her teeth, she fought through her exhaustion to power the spell.

Searing pain lashed through her head as though someone sliced into it with a hot knife. With a remarkable sense of self-preservation, she accepted the agony in exchange for staying as still as possible. Spots appeared in her vision. Holy fuck… Shikya wanted to heave and pant, but forced herself to calm. Okay, what in gods’ name was that?!

“Oh gods, no! Well, at least not out in the field. I’m no Purifier. There was one time I had to knock out one that woke up, but that’s not the same. They can’t use magic here.”

What?! Her mind wandered through her rather substantial knowledge of spells and counterspells. Nothing Shikya remembered would cause such an effect without an active caster. Then she wandered through her rather insubstantial knowledge of alchemical reagents and concoctions that blocked magic. She mentally cursed at a realization. Beram’s Brew.

Beram’s Brew was a Kaokutian creation mixed from ingredients native to the Coalition’s lands. Wizards at the eastern border with the Kaokut Coalition carried a potion to counteract the effects because Coalition armies attempted to poison them regularly. When ingested, it clogged a wizard’s mana vectors for hours or days unless countered by the antidote. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to have forced her to drink it for whatever reason.

However, in an airborne form, the concoction behaved more passively, reacting to magic that rose to the surface or outside a caster’s body, from lightning bolts to destruction spells to something as subtle as aether sight. Guess they are in league with the Coalition. Maybe the Alliance too. Not my problem right now. Shikya flicked her eyes to the cell’s ceiling and spied the edges of a grate. They must be pumping it in here. But why am I awake if they can do that?

“Do you think they’ll wake up?” Wood groaned, along with the shifting of clothing. The other must’ve sat down. Wait, she said ‘they.’

Shikya chanced to turn her head to scan the other side of the cell, nearer the back. Ella! Someone had unceremoniously dumped her friend at the back, her head bleeding. Shit. She couldn’t see Alvix, but the space was small enough she didn’t think he was here. They must have him somewhere else. She pondered trying to wake Ella and quickly abandoned the thought, as it would inevitably alert the guards not two feet away from her.

“They won’t. Heard this lot is getting double the normal dose. Purifiers want to make a habit out of it. Something about new suppli-“

A muffled and ominous tone emanated down the hallway.

“Ah, they’ve started,” the guard nearest her said matter-of-factly. Fuck! Started what?! Where’s Alvix?!

The unseen woman sighed and shuffled in her seat. I have to do something. I have to do something. I have to save them! What can I do?!

The gruff man grumbled under his breath. “Oh, alright. You can go watch. I’ve seen it before and these two aren’t going anywhere.”

Excited rustling and steps rang out, and a red-robed woman hustled past in the direction Shikya was facing. Gods, she can’t be more than sixteen. These fucking Glassers…

“Thank you!” A door creaked open, then closed again. While it was ajar, Shikya heard the chanting and assumed the worst. Alvix! He must be up there! The Grand Arcane Academy doled out tales of the Glassers and their rituals, but she hadn’t taken them seriously until this moment. As if I’m going to fucking let them… Few plans came to her mind as it paced hurriedly. Think, think, think!

“Bah, fledglings…” The man harrumphed, but chuckled softly afterwards.

Breathing deeply, she slowed herself while logic returned. Okay. What is this thing I’m looking at? Forget about aether sight. Just look. As the soft chant continued in the background, Shikya eyed the shimmer and realized it was dust floating upwards. Aeromancy? Figures an anti-magic cult would use magic when it suits them. Not exactly the most logical of people, cults. Why is it there? Narrowing focus on the motes, she noticed none of them crossed past the bars. Ah, it keeps whatever they’re pumping in here from leaving.

Shikya’s eyes flashed with insight. If she could get her hand outside the cell, she could channel mana through her arm and then the vectors in her hand to cast a spell. Not that it would do much good. I’m shit at hex magic and binding, and I couldn’t control it anyway. Besides, I can’t open the door. I don’t know if I can even fit my hand through. Another rather unpleasant thought arose.

Recall. I can bring that bitch back here. No verbal component. Just a rune and raw mana.

In an ideal environment, Shikya preferred to research, debate, further investigate, and then discuss once more any life-changing choices, which obviously included recalling a snide, dangerous, coercive, and ultimately deadly demon. But this was far from ideal.

Hoping against hope that the guard wasn’t looking directly down at her, she slowly brought her right index finger to her mouth. Steeling herself for the influx of pain, Shikya bit down hard on it, rending flesh apart enough to bleed steadily. Gods, that hurts! Stifling a groan, she reached her hand out to the lowest bars, next to the guard’s boot. Her hand didn’t quite fit, but she would make it. Better to lose some skin than my life. The rough iron scraped her skin raw, and it bled, but mercifully quietly enough to not draw attention over the chanting.

Shikya etched a small circle of her own blood on the floor near the guard. Carefully, within the circle, her finger traced a crescent with a line passing through it, similar to a trident. She couldn’t see her work or confirm the arcane circle’s pattern. If she could, she would’ve found an ugly, scarcely recognizable rune spattered with drops of blood in random spots.

Well, guess I'll die if I don't. Might as well chance it.

She spent several moments channeling the bulk of her mana into her hand, feeling the heat of Beram’s Brew against her flesh as she did so. Aggressive little shit, ain’t ya? Bearing the burning as it flared higher, Shikya spread out her fingers, invoking a sphere of purple energy around it and slammed it into the rune.

A multitude of events happened at that moment. Lavender smoke shot upwards and out of the bloody stone. Shikya’s chest erupted in piercing agony as the rest of her power was forcefully dragged out of her, feeding the hungry spell. Blue wings slapped against the opposite wall and against the metal of the cell, a soft ‘shing’ ringing out. A cry was cut short as yellow light flashed through the haze a half-second later.

Then, the guard’s body collapsed to the floor, eyes staring into nothingness in front of her. He didn’t move. Blood seeped out of his eyes, nose, and mouth. His deep crimson robes matched its color well. The man’s face was older, well-worn creases of a life lived long contrasted with the raging spirit of his eyes. His now dead eyes.

Shikya’s world froze, and her vision narrowed. He’s dead. Her body shook with shock and fear. She had seen the deceased during funeral rites, but she had never watched anyone die, much less from her own actions. No rising chest. No tiny throbs of a pulse. Unblinking. Unceasing. She killed him. I killed him. I… I’m… I… The glaring sting near her heart pulsed with daggers as though something inside her cracked apart.

“What? Have you never seen someone die?” A familiar voice cooed, teasing her.

Shikya couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dead man’s. In her periphery, Velzix crouched over him, elbows on knees, as casual as could be.

“It is a simple thing: a binding spell to crush the brain stem and another for the frontal lobe. You might call it merciful.”

As the realization set further in, Shikya blanched, and her guts lurched. On reflex, she pulled her arm back into the cell, ignoring the rending of metal on skin. While she emptied her stomach on the floor, Velzix chided her.

“This is what you are being trained for. To kill.” She put an edge to it this time. “Did you think your Kingdom’s wars are fought by proxy? Did you not realize what they require of you?”

Shikya dry-heaved for another moment. I’m a killer. I’m a murderer. Why couldn’t she have knocked him out or-or… Tears flowed from her eyes, not only from vomiting, but from terrifying realization. She looked up at Velzix, face wet and eyes scrunched in anguish.

 She saw none of the mischievousness or languid frivolity from before. She finally understood the succubus for what she was: an ancient and exceptionally talented killer with a craft honed over centuries. What the fuck was I thinking… She’s going to kill me and then everyone else.

In her state, Shikya could barely enforce the contract. Hardly any mana left and affected by the Brew, she couldn’t give commands. When she died, Velzix would be free to roam Turan, wreaking havoc and destruction until a task force eliminated her. Hundreds or even thousands of lives would end because of what she did. She continued to heave.

Finally, Shikya slumped and whimpered. Why do I only ever make things worse… She curled up into a ball, ignoring the sick seeping into her clothes. What gods did I offend?! Sobs escaped from her as she waited to die. Why does everything have to hurt?! The chants beyond the door grew louder. Why’d it have to be this way?! WHY?!

A soft sigh played at the edge of her attention.

“Do you want to be saved?”

Why doesn’t she end it?! She opened her eyes to accept Velzix’s torment and witness her death. The sobs subsided momentarily and Shikya sniffled and choked on her own crying pangs.

“No, I suppose you do not.”

It was a quiet statement made with finality and she couldn’t disagree with it. She didn’t want to. But looking up at Velzix, Shikya saw something different. Something resembling sympathy. A trick to build me up and cut me down again? Go ahead. Might as well. She let her head flop back to the floor with a thud.

“Your kind… are cruel. Crueler than you know, as though it were your birthright and your purpose. You deserve our hatred. And we always return cruelty tenfold.”

Velzix exhaled and stood while she laid on the cold stone sobbing, mind blank except for the stabbing sensation in her chest and the fervent desire for whatever game the succubus played to end. Instead, Velzix walked down the hallway and rounded the corner. A door opened and Shikya thought the demon said something under the chorus of the Glassers.

Visceral screams shattered the ritual, and the roaring of pyromancy overshadowed them. Bursts of flame vented into the corridor as the wails continued. The sounds of chaos echoed throughout.

Shikya could tolerate no more of either her own pain or others’, and her own mind seemed to force her unconscious to protect what was left of her soul. Her last thought turned away from her travails and ruminated on what she thought she heard:

“But you are not cruel.”