Dark Legacy Series: Vol I: The Bearer of Secrets

This time was different.

The slap came first, waking her. Her vision peppered with spots; she tried to focus, blinking through the haze. She saw a prominent underbite and the long, gnarled scar running down the left side of his face.

“Wake up!” Another crash of his meaty hand stung her flesh, inciting pain from the sharp blow. The warm lingering aftereffects tingled long after his hand left her face. The first one was hard enough to wake her; the second nearly made her succumb to the blackness again. She wished for it a moment before the anger flared within her. Her chest burned, a fire building within, flames of rage licking her insides. The warmth of his slap paled by comparison. Her bright eyes narrowed in fury.

Today, something changed.

She never felt her essence, not until now. It swelled, rising with her fury, erupting from its silent tomb like wrathful skies lighting up the heavens. The hurricane of ferocity and magic swept away any logic of restraint.

“My name is Mr. Pleasure. You shall call me by no other name than Mr. Pleasure. Should you call me anything but my name, I’ll carve out your innards and feed them to you.”

He turned and lumbered off to his customary table. Just hearing his voice churned the barely restrained turbulence. A multitude of vile and malevolent imagery flowed through her, pondering the possibilities of what she’d do. Shadows stretched in the far corners of the room, deepening like the rising darkness of her thoughts, mirroring her emotions. Her essence flared to life.

He methodically scoured over his tools, planning his salacious and deplorable acts. The longer he dithered over his arsenal, the more her animosity built.

She grasped it now, definitively, like never before. The candle in her room back in Dlad City was a laughable attempt; she couldn’t believe the ease in which she called upon her essence and never truly fathomed her potential.

Judas always told her she had the ability, but she never truly believed. Every heightened sensation coursed through her. Unequivocally, the sorcery was a part of her like her blood, inseparable, and coursing mutely through her veins. The effects she experienced were breathtaking, a drug sending her into a mind-altering state, drunk on potent possibilities.

Her heart fluttered, thundered, pumping blood and tingling magic through her. Her skin crawled, the fine hairs on her arms stood on end. Goosebumps rolled across her taut flesh; the energy quivered with excitement, furor. Her mind permeated, sinking lower in her lust for domination, a euphoric state washing over her, but more efficacious than any opiate. For the briefest of moments, she understood the Xilor, and why he was evil. He wanted this control; he thirsted for power.

In a moment of clarity, she empathized with him.

At least a part of him.

The power which held him in thrall captivated her, too. The addiction came from being able to hold this kind of destructive force on a daily basis, and each time she called upon her abilities, it’d serve as a high. Julie would succumb to dependency as he did. A vague curiosity washed over her as to why Judas never told about this side of magic. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her about the addictive nature?

She cast such worries from her mind as the malevolence took precedence. Her chance to lash out against her captor had arrived, to free herself from his bonds. The darkness in her promised to hurt him as he hurt her, an eye for an eye. The scar under his left eye came to mind—she would finish what someone else started. Taking his left eye would be a start, but she’d take so much more.

She released her control of the rage within her, along with the essence coursing through her veins. Her subconscious took over allowing her innate abilities to come forth, spontaneous, unhindered, and of free will.

The energy lashed out with rapid progress as objects in the room moved. The swords laying up against the wall, axes and maces, knives, and arrows rose from slumber, quivering on invisible strings. Even the coals from the fire animated. Bows readied arrows and blades turned, their gleaming tips hovering silently in the air, poised behind the fat man’s back. Rocks lumbered up from their resting places on the stone floor; even the bricks from the walls heeded her command, revolving leisurely, waiting for the order she longed to give.

The fat man, oblivious to what transpired behind him, began speaking, selecting his tool of preference for the day. “I have something special planned for you, my sweet.” He paused to admire the gleaming silver blade of a wickedly curved knife. “I’ll even give you a hint—”

The sudden shaking of his table cut off his words. He took a cautious step back, eyeing the miraculous. His metal tools jingled and rattled as the table vibrated. Mr. Pleasure stared a moment longer before he whirled around, facing his victim.

Her eyes gleamed with hate, malevolence.

Madness.

In that brief moment, all her doubts deteriorated.

The weapons, the rocks, the burning logs from the fire, all quivered with her hatred. The restraint she showed rivaled the magnificence of her power. Striking him down was the first aspiring move, later came pain and then death.

“By the damned spirits!” he yelled in astonishment.

“The damned spirits won’t save you from me!” her once-soft voice grated. Before she managed to focus her thoughts to launch everything at him, Mr. Pleasure lunged at her with the curved knife, faster than she’d seen him move before. In his alacritous moment, the blade sunk deep into her forehead.

Her eyes blinked, languid, as Mr. Pleasure lowered his head to eye level. “What in the Shades of the Underworld are you?” It was the last thing she heard him say. The weapons, rocks, and coals clattered to the floor as her life passed from her body.

What the Shades of the Underworld are you?

What are you, Julie?

Chapter 28

“Wake up, darling.”

Something warm and soft press against Judas’s lips. Judas stirred. His fluttering lids peeled back, his azure eyes focusing on the woman before him. His eyes pulled away from her to his arms held fast, shackled to a wooden chair and flickered back up to the woman. She was beautiful, angelic, just the way he remembered. Tall and curvaceous, lips the color of rose petals, a buxom woman—thoroughbred in every sense. Clad in white cloth cut short, riding high on her thighs and a bosom wrap pushing up her breasts and scarcely covered them, she hovered near. Behind her shoulders trailed a long tress of bright golden hair so light it rivaled the white of cotton. Her finely spun hair glimmered with luster and flowed behind her, full of volume and a life of its own.

She leaned forward, bringing her face close to his, her cleavage looming near his face. A sweet smile, her breath cloyingly sweet, like vanilla and a touch of sugar. “Oh, I’ve waited a long time for you, darling.” Her smile widened, showing her perfect teeth.

“Ms. Pleasure,” Judas grumbled, the tone low in his throat.

Her sky blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’ve been gone a long time. The last time I saw you was—?”

“When I broke your hold over me. What is this?” Judas asked, motioning to his arms with his head. “I defeated the Corridor. You hold no sway.”

She laughed a throaty chuckle. “Oh, Judas, you mistake your belief with boredom. But I’ve found a new way for you to experience the pleasure of pain.”

“Look into my mind.”

“What?”

“Look into my mind,” he commanded. The air shimmered between them, the pull of his power too strong to resist. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open. The atrocities of war flickered through his mind, a river of visions, visceral and violent. Severed limbs, decapitations, intestines spilling out, their abdomens sickly red like a bowl of pulverized tomatoes and twisted noodles. Faces flashed between them, every death he recalled, more than most. Explosions, screams, the slaughter, the lives he’d taken, and the armies sending their might against each other in a clash of bodies and a hail of iron and steel. The dark lord and their confrontation, the atrocities Judas committed defeating him, and the creature who wouldn’t die.

The air shimmered between them again, and the visions faded.

“Tell me,” Judas intoned. “What can you do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

Ms. Pleasure pulled back from him, standing, her mouth open and face slack. “You’ve been busy.”

The warlock rolled his wrists emphasizing the bonds. “What are we doing here?”

She cleared her throat. “There was something I didn’t see in your vision.” A dark smile came to her face, giving Judas pause. “You were never helpless while someone you cared for suffered. Yes, those close to you died, but you never witnessed them break.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your apprentice,” she purred, her voice like silk. “Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to see her crack, to lose grip on sanity?”

“Julie won’t break.”

“Are you so sure? She seems fragile, don’t you think? How long do you think it’ll take for Mr. Pleasure to fracture her sanity? When she numbs to the physical torture, and Mr. Pleasure turns to emotional and metal torture, how long before she falls apart? Do you think she’llsurvive the violation of her body as well as you did?”

“Julie won’t break,” Judas repeated, but the words were empty. He had faith in his apprentice, but she’d never been tested like this, shouldn’t be tested like this. Not yet. Ready or not, she faced trials far beyond her abilities, and it’d be a long time before she was prepared.

“Do you see your folly?” she whimpered, demure.

Judas had been a fool. In the hopes of sparking the magic within Julie, he opened her up to the potential horrors, horrors he understood well. What he didn’t expect—a miscalculation on his part—was the Corridor’s inability to accurately judge her strength or knowledge. Stories emerged about children and even some adults walking through unscathed, untouched by the machinations of the narrow strip of land arching over the Abyss.

“And now, I have a way to rend you again, my sweet.”

Ms. Pleasure sauntered to the side, revealing a large, silver looking-glass, oval in shape, embraced by dark stained oak. The surface glowed green like the Psimond spell as though she called to someone. The image of Julie strapped to a chair appeared, sharp and clear. A massive bald man loomed into view, oblivious to their voyeurism. His large calloused hand clouted the side of her face, rocking her head backward.

Ms. Pleasure pulled back to the side, stepping out of his line of sight, fading away. Judas paid her no mind and sat riveted, terrified yet enthralled. He realized what was coming; he underwent something similar but with Ms. Pleasure. From the few stories he heard, only a handful of people ever met the pair, he being one of them. Usually, the tales came from those with prominent gifts.

He watched, horrified by what he viewed and the knowledge he was helpless to stop it. Regularly, she endured countless beatings, mutilations, and deaths. For every lash she received, he suffered it doubly. Silently, he offered a plea to the good spirits, hoping they hearkened his anguish and her tormented cries. She gradually broke before his eyes. The first few times just seemed like a bad reoccurring dream, but the reality burrowed deep. He recognized the stress, the pain in her eyes, the invisible fractures through her psyche.

Judas empathized with every blow she received, every cut, every death.

“Come on, Julie,” he muttered, having witnessed her tenth demise. “It’s not real. It’s in your mind. Only your mind makes it real. Remember!”

Failing to discern his words, she fared no better the next dozen times. The torture Julie endured whittled her away. Every time she succumbed to death, Judas writhed, knowing what each session cost her. Ms. Pleasure tortured his soul without raising a hand to him. He wanted to turn away, to shield his eyes, but a nefarious ember of dishonor burned in the pit of his stomach. He’d disgrace Julie by looking away, refusing to partake in her suffering.

The burden of fault was his alone. The warlock should’ve foreseen this possibility of her falling into Mr. Pleasure’s clutches, should’veknown with the erratic behavior of the vile place. He hoped, a curiosity really, that her journey would aid her, but now he realized how utterly detrimental his injudicious notions were. She’d fracture and perhaps never recover. He prayed that she found a way to free herself.

Something unexpected happened next. She awoke, a crazed gleam in her eye. Even from here, he sensed the swell of her essence, her rage. It rebuffed him, permeating the air, washing over him. He shivered. Only a few times in his life had he experienced such a presence, such force: Xilor and their subsequent battle; the third came from his former master, the gnomling, Fife Doole.

He sat riveted, a silent sentinel observing as she poured her magic, controlling the weapons around the room. Everything heeded her command, rising. The table rattled, and the startled fat man spun on her. Her absolute control was both beautiful and terrifying. Never had he witnessed such dominance in an untrained pupil. The awakening he hoped for had come, but he didn’t want it like this, with a cost too great and terrible.

Mr. Pleasure lunged with an agility belying his bulk as he plunged the knife deep between her eyes. Her head slumped, and all the objects fell, clattering to the floor.

“What the Shades of the Underworld are you?”

What are you, Julie?

Judas sat back in shock.

What in the Shades of the Underworld?

The apt question tumbled in his mind and only brought more questions than answers. Upon meeting her, he surmised she held exceptional aptitude, but under the sway of Mr. Pleasure, both power and focus were hers to command. It took unbridled rage to call it forth. The feat no less spectacular, near impossible for someone so infantile to magic. That was, at least, until he witnessed it. But what troubled him most was her ability to conjure without an incantation.

Could she be a warlock, too?

If she commanded Rumigul, like he, then he’d made a grievous error. He assumed she was destined for the Plotus branch.

Is this the reason why her magical skills seem so feeble next to the aura I can feel within her?

Watching her undergo the tortures of Mr. Pleasure was the hardest part for him. He remembered his time with Ms. Pleasure, recalled it vividly. Facing her captor should’ve been years off. Her raw potential notwithstanding, she lacked the skill and experience.

Why did the Corridor read her so wrong? It has never done that before!

With Mr. Pleasure appearing on her first journey through, let alone within the first few days, troubled him deeply, shaking his faith. Only the most powerful ever met the keepers of the Corridor, and many people traveled through their entire lives without ever meeting the pair. The last step—the ultimate challenge it can offer a person.

And she faced it now…

Once someone passed the test of the Pleasures, the Corridor became silent to them. He never endured anything beyond a mild discomfort, but now, he wished for a legion of awaited suffering rather than to watch this. The challenge he experienced now was observing while not interfering, a new kind of distress, but he dare not look away. To an extent, Ms. Pleasure was still torturing him. He remembered her shrill voice, sharp and clear, mocking him. “You’ll never escape me.”

He blinked, realizing she hadn’t spoken for some time, and turned his head to the side to find her gone. The room was devoid of life. His gaze turned to the arms of the chair, finding his shackles were gone. How long had he sat there, free, and done nothing? Another way for Ms. Pleasure to torture him. It’d eat at him, not knowing the answer. Did she free his restraints the moment she shifted away, and only morbid curiosity kept him spellbound and riveted? Or did she wait until Julie finally displayed some form of power, in a sense freeing him?

The purpose of the Corridor was to test a person—in theory, stretch them to their limits and crush them, so they rebuilt into a stronger person. Julie’s success rested solely on her failure. Ms. Pleasure attempted one last time to break him. He felt terrible, dismayed, but he wouldn’t let the buxom torturer get to him. Julie needed him.

He glanced back at his charge, still bound to the chair, knowing she’d succumb unless she remembered what he told her. The key was the power of the mind, which worked on perception, and magic was unlocked in the same manner, doubly so for a Rumigul user.

His student believed everything she saw and felt, and if she didn’t cast aside the shroud of perception, he knew she’d lose her mind.

If she isn’t already, she might be unable to function at all.

Julie could come out of this completely mad, scarred for life.

Judas shut his eyes in anguish as a tear rolled down his cheek. He needed to step in, had to, for her sake. Her progress floundered, but finding her first was the key. As a master, he knew he shouldn’t step in, but these weren’t normal circumstances. The only reason he didn’t skip the Corridor altogether was because of the elder fairy and her belief in their prophecy.

Judas didn’t believe in presage, soothsayings, foretelling the apocalyptic future, or any other nonsense. In a way, allowing her to journey through tested the fairies’ prophecy and his stubborn belief that such things didn’t exist. If she was going to fulfill the fairies’ prophecy—if it was real at all—and destroy Xilor, he shouldn’t hinder her tribulations. After watching her struggle and fail so many times, he couldn’t sit by and do nothing. The moral war raged within him, but after witnessing her crucible, he was decided. It’d be detrimental for it to continue.

Resolved, he set out to end this madness.