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    © 2004 Andrew Dormeier Shadows created by a wall panel played across the folds in Sol's bedsheets. He turned restlessly in the dark, from one side to the other. A thin film of sweat covered him. One drop rolled down his temple as he made several unintelligible murmurs. Artemus stood alone at the intersection of two dank hallways. A single dim light hung from the middle of the crossway. Down all the halls, darkness overtook the thin light rays within a few short feet of the source. Sol looked about nervously, his eyes darting in multiple directions. He backed up against one of the walls near a corner. Dark hall on his left, three more on his right. He thought he saw and heard something rush past him in an intersecting passage a short way down the hall. Stumbling into the crossway, Artemus reached for his sword. He gripped nothing but air, and realized he had no equipment, no weapon. Another shadow dashed down a hallway-black on black. Artemus tripped over his own feet and landed on his side. He was beginning to push himself up when he saw a figure coming towards him. Slowly it walked, the lighting too sparse to make out fine details. It was big. It had a blade in place of its left hand that reflected what little light there was. Sol backed up as fast as he could, still sitting on the ground. He hit a wall: the hallway was gone. He looked to his left and right, but both those hallways were gone as well. The figure loomed above Sol. "You, it is you," the Walking Evil said. It was all black save for the single long blade it had in place of a left arm. Droplets of blood dripped from the tip to the cracked stone floor. It looked humanoid, but the exact boundaries of its body moved like a liquid, or like a shadow. It spoke in a deep, harsh voice, "We will destroy you. Like your brothers before you. You are no different. All that you know will be ours. You will serve us and kill in our name. Weak fool, you thought you could challenge us and survive? Come into our refuge and leave without us knowing? You are nothing. Your powers are nothing. Your pathetic friends are nothing. The Denten will consume all that is good and turn it into the hard beauty of evil. You cannot stop the flood. You will watch your elven friend be torn apart and laugh at his pain. You will never be anything more than a gnat; an annoyance, and nothing more. Your life is meaningless and your soul will join us in our war against the weak Creator who has not the courage, will, or power to stop us. Your God is a joke." The demon quickly thrust his bladed arm into Sol's torso. Artemus grimaced in pain, pinned to the wall. "No one can stand against us." The demon's body expanded and began to fill the hallway. A long black tendril reached up and wrapped around the dim light source, covering it. Barely visible violet light seeped through the thin membrane. Then the light was crushed, and there was only darkness. Artemus could feel a wet, cold substance consuming his legs, then his chest and arms. He heard the voice speak again, "No one." This time many small voices surrounding Sol echoed the words, "No one." The cold poured down his throat and covered his eyes. |
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