The Shade

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda's senses were still scrambled when the last githzerai met the cavern floor. Splashes of color marred the edges of her vision. She spit the taste of fruit and rust from her mouth. Slowly, the urge to vomit subsided. She wiped her mouth with the back of one hand, and vigorously shook her head.

Nyx and Van Helsing milled around opposite ends of the cavern, nudging corpses, searching for signs of life. The professor fired a bolt grimly into the back of a serpentine head. He eyed the blood mage with something like suspicion as she ambled over to Whirda.

"See?" Nyx chirped. "I'm not so useless after all, huh?"

"Never thought you were," Whirda chuckled wearily. "Thanks."

The blood mage was about to reply when Van Helsing stormed up and grabbed her by the shoulder. He spun her around and thrust his face close to hers.

"What are you, child?" The professor pulled his sword two inches from its sheath.

Nyx blanched. "I—"

The blade hissed again, a foot of steel shimmering in the firelight. Whirda took a defensive step forward, prepared to knock the professor away with a well-timed gust of wind.

For a few agonizing moments, no one spoke. Nyx stood between the warriors, her eyes wide and unblinking. If she knew what the professor was talking about, she didn't show it.

Whirda swayed in place, her weight on her toes. Adrenaline stole any trace of fatigue from her movements. When she spoke, it was through her teeth, the words sharp and calculated. "Professor, what is this?"

He never took his eyes from Nyx. "Your friend is not what she seems, Whirda Windstrom. You must have seen."

"I saw nothing," Whirda said tersely. "And you would do well to step back and explain yourself."

"I love it when you two speak in riddles," Nyx sniped. "Truly I do. But we're on this thing's doorstep. We don't have time for petty squabbles and archaic accusations." Her crimson eyes ping-ponged between them. She gulped.

"Your eyes were black, child," Van Helsing said. "I can feel the demon's presence, its aura. You reek of the Underverse." To his credit, the professor stepped back as he spoke, but the grip on his sword did not relent. His placid blue eyes spoke plainly that without a sufficient explanation, he would be forced to do the unthinkable.

"She is no threat to you," Whirda said. "You have to trust me."

"Where I am from, dear girl," Van Helsing replied, "trust is a luxury few can afford."

"I don't know who it is—what it is," Nyx said quietly. "It has been talking to me since we arrived in the Moors. But it has no control over me, professor. I swear."

"That does not explain your eyes."

Nyx sighed. "I can't explain that either. It never happened before I got to the Omniverse."

"Dark and empty," Whirda swore. "Can't we deal with this later?"

A breath of cold air swept through the cavern. The torches flared and danced. Whether from fear or the chill, Nyx shivered. Gooseflesh lined the back of her neck.

"Please, professor," the blood mage said. "I can explain later."

Her pleading tone seemed to bring Van Helsing to his senses. He exhaled a long breath through his teeth, as if buying time to make a decision.

"Very well," he said. "But if you are leading me into a trap, I swear, I—"

"She isn't," Whirda snapped. "We're not. Once we kill this thing, and you cure the blight, you'll never see us in the Moors again. Good enough?"

The professor nodded. "Very well." He sheathed his sword and relaxed his posture. "Shall we?"

For the first time, Whirda took a look at the door the githzerai had been guarding. It was a looming thing of solid iron. Scrawled around the edges, in white ink, were words in a demonic language Whirda didn't recognize. The rusted iron was scored with deep gouges, as by raking claws.

"What does it say?" Nyx wondered aloud. She still eyed Van Helsing warily, like she expected him to attack. The self-inflicted wound leaked blood, but it was already beginning to clot.

Whirda's senses were sharpened by the argument with the professor, but she could already feel them dulling at the edges. Her head throbbed from the psionic attack. "I can't read it," she said, frowning.

"I can." Van Helsing stepped between them, causing Nyx to flinch. He peered at the door, muttering as he read. "Where there is light, there is hope," he read. He looked to Whirda, his brow furrowed.

Whirda motioned for him to go on, ignoring the sense of dread settling in her chest. It was suddenly harder to breathe.

"Where there is light, there is hope," Van Helsing repeated. Another breath of wind shuddered through the cavern. "True despair comes only in absolute darkness."

"What—" Nyx said, a moment before the room plunged into blackness.

Whirda stepped back against the cool stone of the cavern wall. The darkness felt like a corporeal thing, pressing against her face, filling her nostrils, prodding her ears, her lips. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. She heard the scrape of a sword. "Nyx?" she choked out, in the direction of the noise.

She heard only a stifled yell, plainly Nyx, but unintelligible, like a hand was clamped over her mouth. "Nyx?" she ventured again. "Professor?"

"You were warned," came the professor's cool reply. "I will not fall prey to your games."

"It's not us, you fool!" Whirda yelled. "You're the one who read the gods-damned incantation!" She tried to continue, but the room was filled with a metallic grinding noise. She raised her kukris. "Aina kala," she oathed.

The holy fire roared to life. Tendrils of fire shrank back like serpents, thick ropes of it, wriggling solid in the air. They whipped and writhed backward to settle behind a pillar.

In the flickering light, she saw the professor. He held Nyx off the ground, the blood mage crammed between his chest and one muscular arm, his hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear. She kicked and screamed, the sound muffled. The professor's sword was trained on her porcelain throat, a bead of blood trickling from the tip.

"Not another step," Van Helsing said. "Or I'll cut her throat."

"It's not us, professor. You know it's not us!"

He argued stubbornly, like a cornered beast. "I cannot know that, dear girl. I saw her eyes. How well do you know this Nyx?"

"Well enough," Whirda said, "to stake my life on her innocence in this. Now release her!"

Van Helsing eyed her with something like respect. His eyes danced in and out of her vision with the holy fire. Behind him, the tendrils of shadow poked forward, only to shrink back anew.

"I would so dearly like to trust you," he said.

"You must," Whirda replied. "If we all die here, who will remain to protect Darkshire?"

The metallic squealing continued. It soon ceased with a hollow thud. The door next to Whirda was open now. The air filled with the stench of decay. Far off, she could hear the mindless groaned of the undead.

Her words had the desired effect. Van Helsing shoved Nyx away and looked to the doorway. "We must go," he said, as if all would be forgiven.

Nyx dusted herself off and glared at the professor. Her eyes flared incandescent red, as did the ruby atop her staff. "How dare you," she hissed.

As if in response to her words, the door began to shut. The gears ground away as it lowered, inexorably slow.

"We can argue later," Whirda demanded. "Let's go!"

The professor shouldered past Whirda and through the door. It was now almost as low as his head. Whirda and Nyx followed, but Van Helsing barred the doorway. He crouched lower and lower as the door continued to fall.

"She is evil, Whirda Windstrom. Mark my words. She is evil."

"I'm not—" the blood mage protested.

The professor lashed out, past Whirda, his fist catching Nyx across the jaw. She yelped and sprawled back, laying still. Before Whirda could react, he grabbed her firmly by the wrist and threw her underneath the door, sliding through behind her.

Whirda flailed her feet, catching Van Helsing in the chest. He slammed back against the iron door, cursing, but the damage was done. A second dull thud resounded down the corridor. The door was shut.

On the other side, Nyx struggled to her feet. She rushed to the door, pounding futilely on it with her fists. Dull echoes filled the chamber, dying out as she staggered back, panting.

"Whirda!" she screamed. There was no answer. Not even the demon spoke in that moment.

Nyx was alone in the darkness.