Black Magus

Somehow, I had a plan; or rather, somehow, the Owl gave me a plan. One I would have never thought of. It involved ruining the fledgling celebration rather than the ritual. Thus the need for immediate action was removed and my day passed by just as countless days before. Then again, this time was different. The ravine seemed less distant while appearing as bottomless and wide as ever. Part of me believed I could jump the gap easily. Yet, another part of myself seemed tethered to these woods; like an invisible vine was dragging me down. So I sat, gazing at the mountains, the tundra, the taiga, and the war-torn lands; not to wonder, but to plan and decide where to go once my work here was done.

Of course, that only lasted so long. I could only see, and in turn plan so far, after all. And while the sun was near to starting its nightly ritual, the celebrations had yet to begin.

I tried to put them out of my mind- the gawking birds, stalking from the trees afar, or trying to, at least. I tried, but as the sun crawled further down, they began to consume my thoughts; for now, they would realize the truth of my claim.

I tried not to smile when the golden eye of Tiatus seemed to spread its glory to the skies before it hid beneath the Mortal Plane, offering a breath of life with the last of its gilded rays to anything willing to accept it.

Like the Blighted Woods.

Like me.

The rays swelled the once-petrified trees into gnarled trunks and spiraling branches; barked the same shade as the blue-violet clouds overhead. Their roots wound and spiraled across the dusty surface until they met the limit of their reach, wherein they began to spread a surface web of roots akin to a lush carpet of pitch-black moss; in turn, giving life to the withered plants and decayed brambles scattered about. Their stems turned the same shade as the trees before the golds, oranges, and reds of their lush flowers and leaves bloomed with puffs of golden pollen that fell to the ground to paint a mural of stars over the abyssal ground.

As I'd done since this miracle first appeared, I skipped through the Duskwoods, tasting the mix of spices lingering in the air as I approached the trees to watch tiny golden buds grow and take shape into exotically shaped fruits that tasted of spiced pie. Warm and sweet and heavenly. It was the only time I could feel overjoyed- it was the only time I could be free. Eating and humming and dancing with the creatures of the night until the sun said its nightly goodbye and its golden rays dispersed, bringing the woods back to its blighted state until dawn.

As they'd done every night, the predators went off to secure lairs or mates while the prey, fully satiated, retreated to their holes. Even the owls left. All but one.

It was larger than the others. As large as a giant hatchling. But its feathers, and more, most of its flesh was missing. There were only bones that seemed more like the petrified wood surrounding us. And deep within the recesses of its eye, I saw something shimmering in its skull; sea-green in color and multi-faceted like a jewel.

A jewel that spoke to me.

"Hello." I gently stepped forward, reaching out and stopping shy of the creature's range.

Almost without hesitation, it stretched its bony wings to waddle forward and gnaw gently at my finger. "I suppose I don't need the ritual after all." I giggled, finding its body to feel like bone rather than wood as I scratched its head, despite it seeming to be as hard as quartz.

I received a soft hoot before the skeletal owl took off to perch a nearby branch and spin its head around to look beyond the trees to my right, where the amber lights of glow stones could be seen dancing through the forest. Just as quickly, those vacant eyes turned to the left, where the cliffside on the western edge met the treacherous terrain leading down to the forest. I had doubts it would keep whoever was watching me from following. But I felt it a better option than walking out of the blighted woods as if all was normal. The owl seemed to agree, yet had gone on its own path, given how I soon found myself alone, sidling along the cliffside to come upon a small perch overlooking the Feathered Grove.

"Time for a revolution," I whispered grimly, then began looking across the rocks to make a mental path until something dark swept past my eyes, tracing a line of fire around my throat. "W- ack!" I choked, thrashed, and felt the struggling of someone behind me; then began kicking and biting.

"Struggle not, Reina! This will be over quickly!" A male voice growled in my ear, rolling his 'r's' in a way that made my heart plummet from this very cliff. My mind swooned as a hundred justifications, reasons, or excuses for this mistake, nightmare, or illusion were generated and subsequently denied, and my stomach churned. I wanted to cry. To collapse on the ground and weep. But my blood, boiling with rage, refused.

I thrashed harder. Bit harder. Kicked harder. All to no avail. I was helpless against being dragged towards the cliff by my father's seemingly infinite strength, as I nearly lost all of mine when I caught sight of my loving mother tying a rope around a tree.

I had no more hurt left in me. Only hate and rage and anger and denial of everything I knew. Only... vengeance.

"HOW COULD YOU!?" I thrashed enough to turn and thrust my knee into my father's groin.

He squealed in pain, filling my mind with fantasies about him losing his ability to make children before his body jerked and everything became dazed.

The Mortal Plane seemed to spin as my consciousness slipped. All I could feel was something cold and solid beneath me and some warm and squishy thing atop me, so I clawed, feeling a slight resistance before something warm trickled down my hand, leaking an acrid scent into my nose that snapped me awake with a rush of excited claws and scratches.

"Agh! My eye!" The world opened to reveal my father's figure jerking back to cover his eye while giving me a glare reserved for hags. I scrambled to my feet, confused until I saw the red-black sheen on his hand reflected under the pale gaze of the Silver Eye. Then I remembered the talon I was given as my father screamed. "HOW DARE YOU!?"

I began to charge, only for something to tackle me from behind and restrain my arm. Then my father stomped forward, taking me from my mother to restrain my arm and pull. I could not hope to fight him off, but I tried. I tried desperately to break him. To kick him over the cliff. To smash his balls, bite out his hair, and gnaw off his skin. But to no avail. One punch to the back of the head and my senses grew distant. Another punch to the ribs and my strength faded.

"Throw her over already!" I heard my mother's chirping. "The devil-child can't taint the rest of us!"

"You're more wicked than I could ever be!" I screamed, thrashing out again as my former father began to pull.

He pulled harder, and I scrambled just as hard, feeling tugs of resistance cascade as I brought my talon across his arms and legs until a great weight fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. Then… it was gone. Replaced by a hand gripped around my neck and an arm wrapped around my waist before the ground merely… disappeared.

Time seemed to slow the moment I left the ground, giving me a final hard look at the faces of the man and woman who birthed me into this cruel reality. How despicable, they were, to stand there in relief while dozens of birds flocked to them and many more looked on from the canopy. As the Mortal Plane turned over to reveal its dark underbelly, I saw many more hateful faces further down the trail. The faces of druids I had known my entire life were already doing their best to ensure the hatchlings never learned of this dark day. Oblivious, they were to the dark shapes that would soon creep up to drag them into an eternity of wickedness. So enthralled in their ritualistic bloodshed, they were.

I knew they would die today. It made me happy, knowing my call would bring their demise; knowing my scream would bring a wave of blight the Feathered Grove could not have conjured in their worst nightmares.

Yet... that was hardly enough for me, knowing they would die. I wanted to be the one to kill those who banished me. I wanted to be the one to slaughter the so-called family who tossed me into the night with little remorse. Sadly, though, I knew it would not happen. I knew... the rope was at its end.

That was hardly enough for me. Yet the rope pulled taught all the same. Thrown outward, I swung down into the cliffside all the same. The resounding crack of my crushing bones was heard all the same, signaling the everlasting wave of darkness to flow over me before the rope snapped; forcing out of me, a scream of abyssal dread before I fell to my death.