The Shade

[PepsiWhirda]

Whirda's chest heaved as she surveyed the carnage—or lack thereof—the professor's concoction had wrought. Five dozen undead creatures, scrubbed from the face of the Omniverse in seconds. Not a trace left behind.

The battle rage still hadn't abandoned her. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Her teeth felt like they had been ground to dust. In the corridor, the air crackled with the bomb's residue, wisps of purple smoke fading fast.

"Are you all right?" The professor's voice was flecked with concern. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder.

Whirda shrugged it off. She wasn't all right. She saw red. Her breathing was more akin to snarling. Her head pounded with stress, and fatigue. But she still hadn't forgiven—would never forgive—Van Helsing for what he did to Nyx. After they vanquished the shade and the professor settled his debt with the elves, she would have her revenge. If Nyx didn't insist on it first, anyway. Whirda was true to her word, but after the mission was seen through, well... she wouldn't be held accountable for her actions, then.

"I'm fine," she snapped. Gradually, her breathing settled.

"Good," Van Helsing said. "Then we should continue on."

"I have to find Nyx."

The professor's brow furrowed in frustration. He opened his mouth to reply, thought against it, then settled on a sharp inhale. She could see the proverbial gears whirring as he formulated a response. Whatever he said, Whirda knew, it would be futile. Nyx was her responsibility, and her first priority.

"Whirda," he said finally, "listen to me. Your friend, whatever she is, she is capable of handling herself. You heard her say the demon is in her head, yes? It is no telepathic bond they share. Tell me, did it seem to you like a simple psionic intrusion?"

Whirda chewed the words. "No," she admitted. And it hadn't. She had spoken with psionicists before, and it was as effortless as speaking normally. The effect Nyx's contact with the demon had on her was different, more immersive. "But that doesn't mean she should be abandoned."

"Abandoned! Certainly not!" Van Helsing said. "I do not wish to abandon the girl. To exorcise her, perhaps, but never to abandon her. Trust me, dear girl, she will be a liability in the battle to come."

"She's saved my life enough times, professor. And I, hers. Whatever you think you see in her, you're wrong. And I intend to find her."

Van Helsing's shoulders slumped. "Very well," he said. "We will do as you say."

"Thank you," Whirda exhaled.

"The door is shut behind us," the professor said. "We must continue forward, and hope to find a way back around."

Whirda nodded. It was a relief to have someone on her side. Someone whose goals at last aligned with her own, who didn't require any looking after. She was fond of the blood mage, certainly, but the professor calling her a liability wasn't far from the truth. After they were out of danger, Whirda foresaw a parting of ways between her and Nyx.

It was past time she found a way home.

They started off down the corridor. Residual energy from the bomb raised the hair on the back of Whirda's neck. The air was damp and cloying, even as they delved further underground. Whirda eyed the arch as they neared it. The green light was extinguished, but she could still see the runes inscribed along its length.

"Read it," she said after a moment's hesitation. If it was another incantation, she would deal with the results. The information might be too important to ignore.

They settled beneath the arch. Van Helsing peered up at it, deciphering the words. He began to read.

"At twilight's end,
too much, too soon.
He stole the sun
and doused the moon,
and on the morn
they woke to find
that mem'ry left
so far behind.
To deafened ears
they ask, unseen,
Who can wake us
from this dream?"

Searing pain flashed through Whirda's head. The arch exploded with green light, chunks of stone flying free. A high-pitched keening split the air. Whirda clamped her hands over her ears. She was briefly aware of Van Helsing's arms around her. Then the arch was consumed, and them with it.

Whirda came to consciousness much the same way she always did, except someplace different.

*****

The first things she saw were the cages. Lengths of thick chain suspended them twenty feet off the floor. In the cages, children clung at the bars, wide-eyed. Their screams reverberated through the cavern.

Lengths of wriggling shadow prodded at them from the outside. Their faces were caked with blood and dirt, their arms crisscrossed with scabbing wounds. They screamed the way children screamed: unintelligible, shrill, unburdened by the constructs of language. Pure, unadulterated fear.

Whirda's kukris leaped to her hands, holy fire limning the blades. Her eyes traveled the length of the room. Lanterns, placed equidistantly along the walls—walls draped in murals depicting acts of torture, rape, and savagery. At the far end, three stairs cut crudely into the stone. A resplendent throne of carved obsidian. And sitting on the throne, in all his ebon glory, the shade.

No, not just a shade...

"A lich," Whirda and Van Helsing said in unison.

The undead creature stood, towering, over seven feet tall. His robes were pure black, flowing freely, as if in a strong wind. Shadow serpents wrapped around his wrists. Whirda could see his fingertip bones protruding from the rotten flesh, stark white. His face—gods, his face—was a leering, skeletal thing. The flesh hung off his cheekbones and jaw in shreds. Two eyes smoldered in their sockets like luminous blue stones. Shadow oozed from every orifice like pus from a suppurating wound.

When he spoke, the words came from every place at once but his mouth, booming and mellifluous, filling the entire cavernous room.

"Professor Abraham Van Helsing. At last, we meet."

At Whirda's side, the professor spoke with more bravado than she felt.

"Ahn Thrix," he said, raising his crossbow. "You and I have a debt to settle."

The shade-lich chuckled without moving his shredded lips. "Indeed, indeed. And Whirda Windstrom! I so hoped you would make it this far." From a sheath at his waist, he drew a long, curved dagger. The blade was black as pitch. No light reflected off its length.

Van Helsing's crossbow clicked, the bolt hurtling through space. A moment before it buried itself in Ahn Thrix's head, the shade disappeared. Simply vanished. The professor grabbed Whirda's shoulder and whirled her around.

Ahn Thrix reappeared behind them, his vast form dominating an open doorway. Up close, Whirda could see the wisps of white hair clinging to his scalp. A section of skull had rotted away, revealing the pulsating brain underneath.

"You will have to do better than that," he boomed.

Van Helsing's second bolt caught him in the cheek. His head snapped back from the force. The holy fire sprang to life. The lich hissed, and one of the serpents around his arms dove for his face. It snuffed out the fire in seconds.

It took Whirda longer than that to realize the shade's hissing was laughter.

"Much, much better," Ahn Thrix said.

The lich raised his arms, pulling shadow to him from every corner of the room. The shadows amassed before him, wriggling into place like pieces of a puzzle. A head, arms, legs. Soon, two humanoid shapes stood before him.

"Deal with the others," Ahn Thrix said. The shadow creatures darted from the room, impossibly quick. With a sweep of the lich's hand, the door closed behind them.

"What others?" Whirda found herself asking.

"The demon child and the young guard, of course," the lich said simply.

"If you hurt them," Whirda growled. She let the threat die in the air.

Ahn Thrix hissed another laugh. "Yes, yes. Well threatened, battle mage."

Van Helsing loosed another crossbow bolt. This time, the serpent was quicker. It snatched the projectile from the air a foot from the lich's face. The bolt fell to the ground with a dull clink.

"Now," the shade-lich boomed. "We can begin."

With a cough, as if doused in water, the lanterns sputtered and died.