Curselock

Chapter 36: Circle of Souls

“Kneel before me!”

Creeping groans marked the start of the curse, the start of damnation. They came from underground, like tiny flower stems poking out of the soil. Jagged nails came first, each broken and ghostly, each fervently digging upward. Wrists and hands were next, followed closely by elongated forearms.

They flailed, like a crowd swaying off beat to live music. The groans deepened as the first few heads breached the stone floor. Violet eyes cast with diabolical flame locked onto the Witches, one pair for each.

Suddenly a pillar of purple flame burst from beneath each Witch. The fire spun into a vortex, encircling around their marks before fading into something ethereal. A scream escaped the spearman Boor had moments ago sundered despite the flames failing to burn his skin. He stammered back, the gaze of one of the Damned too much for his wounded life.

He tried to run, tried to flee, but found himself at an impasse of towering purple flame. It looped around the whole small battlefield, sectioning the Witches and Boor off from the rest of the underbelly. The spearman tried to pass through the boundary but found only pain. The moment he touched the circle, a thick green oozed from his hand.

He screamed again.

The other Witches hesitated. They looked from their friend to the purple fire and finally to Boor. The butler stood stark still, watching the display of magic with a keen eye, at least, until a sword ignited with gales of wind entered his periphery.

The two men shared a small bout, but the Witch quickly retreated to his friends. It was then they noticed green mist leaking from their own bodies.

The spearman crawled towards them, every broken patch of stone, every bit of rubble, like chasms or mountains. His body was failing him, the green mist taking too much with it as it spilled out. His sliced open muscles died first, a clear image of his upper torso slowly detached from his broken body.

As he died, his eyes met one of the souls sticking up from the ground. Ethereal eyes built from purple flame bore themselves into the fading life of the spearman, consuming his remaining lifeforce. Abruptly the soul faded into the ground, its belly full and its master waiting.

Leland wasn’t surprised that the soul of the Damned sprouted from the ground beside him. Nor was he surprised when his body moved without command. His Legacy blared instruction directly into his mind, allowing him to accept the soul’s gift.

Holding out his hand, Leland slowly touched his summon. Green mist poured from the soul like a broken faucet. The mist swirled around Leland’s hand before suddenly being inhaled by the young man. It entered his lungs before disappearing deep within his body.

Pain receded from his broken arm while range of motion and flexibility returned. Leland rolled his shoulder, finding it in prime condition. It was then he felt a bubble of heat combine into his soul. His body shuddered with delight, like a good stretch after a long day. He felt powerful, like when he enacted his contract with the Lord of Magic.

A presence stirred beside him, another soul of the Damned. It offered its hand to Leland, who accepted it without ceremony. At their touch, more green mist spilled forth before quickly being inhaled again. Bruises and superficial cuts healed at that moment, all the while a hit of pain made itself known in his head.

A headache, manageable but oddly alien. It thumped in an off rhythmic way, like a person beating against a brick wall while slowly succumbing to exhaustion. Leland frowned, finding the purple flames across the market street still roaring.

He snapped, “Fracture.”

He whistled, “Maul.”

His tattoo cawed at him.

A low crunch sounded, a knuckle burst open which was quickly followed by a yelp in surprise. Green mist surrounded the Witch completely before an ethereal copy of the woman in question was stripped away. A soul of the Damned capitalized, locking its fiery gaze on a rogue soul.

A moment later the summon appeared outside the Circle of Souls, offering his hand to its master. Leland hesitated but felt obliged. He touched the skeletal being, taking its burden into himself.

Heat found his soul a moment later, fueling him to continue despite the increasing pain in his mind. The thumping had increased for the worse, each pounding moment causing Leland to lapse in concentration.

Leland turned his attention to the two remaining in his circle. One was being mauled by a flock of crows, the other watching on with horror. A warm wetness then dripped across his lips and chin.

“Leland!” He heard someone yell.

It was blood he realized, trickling from his nose. When did he get hit in the nose? That’s strange, he thought. A green figure suddenly pulled away from its now deceased host, returning the soul of the Damned to its summoner. It reached a hand out, offering its penance.

Leland hesitated. Someone was touching him, shaking him. The purple flames of his summon drew his attention, however. Green leaked from his outstretched hand, precious soul energy being lost foreve—

Leland gasped, his bloodshot eyes going wide. Suddenly Jude and Glenny were next to him, each yelling with fear and ferocity.

“-the spell!”

Grogginess invaded his senses, everything went dull. Pain bashed against his head, each thud threatening his consciousness. But Leland understood.

The circle of purple flame suspended, cutting itself off from this reality. Leland’s domain collapsed, his ethereal vision failed him. Red was all he saw, that and the general outline of his best friends. He collapsed, two arms keeping him from breaking his face open on the rubble below.

With enough presence of mind, Leland gave the four souls of the Damned around him a final glance. The three whose gifts he had accepted disappeared first, fading from existence like a darkness against a light.

The last, the one still holding a soul, hesitated, its flaming eyes meeting Leland’s own. There wasn’t anger or sorrow, but rather understanding and patience. The soul was for it to keep, at least until Leland could accept such a potent resource.

It was then he wondered just what happened to these souls he ripped from their host. The Witches obviously died, but what happened after the fact? Leland accepted the lost soul, breathing in its lifeforce while eradicating its fleeing life.

Or was he allowing the soul to reincarnate?

His Legacy fed him information about such a feat, something that conflicted with his own understanding. Leland didn’t believe in reincarnation, in fact, most of the world didn’t. It was common knowledge that the souls of the Damned were the dead, all of the dead. Every single person to have ever died became a lost soul, at least until they grew enough sentience to ferry over to the Land of the Dead.

The Lord of Souls made sure that every lost soul eventually crossed the boundary. It was his job to guide, to free. No souls escaped his help, and all eventually left their mortal plane for elsewhere. There was no reincarnation, no life after death – something the Lord of Souls had preached to his legacies for millennia.

But still, the foreign information given to Leland by the Lord of Curses told something different. Yet, it also spoke of the land after death and the clear difference between the two.

“You okay, Leals?”

Leland's eyes creaked over. “M-maybe.”

“That’s better than ‘no,” at least,” laughed Jude.

The last remaining Witch came into Leland’s view. The man shivered like he had just been out in a blizzard but still managed to get to his wobbly knees as Boor approached. The butler didn’t let the man live, ending his corrupt life with a swift stab.

Finding himself then staring down Boor, Leland gave him a halfhearted nod.

Glenny whispered, “He’s not going to attack us, right? That spell was… different.”

Leland found himself idly nodding. “I-I wasn’t expecting that… I, uh, I wasn’t…”

“It’s okay, everything is okay…”

They watched Boor look around the section of cleared street before walking over. Giving Leland one last look, he spoke, “We need to move. I don’t sense anyone looking at us, but that spell was quite a showing. Someone had to have seen, which means people are going to soon be hunting you.”

Leland recoiled, the pain suddenly deciding to spike. “Hunt me?”

“Surely you don’t think that a spell like that is going to be simply let go. People are often desperate for power, if they think they can use you, then they will hunt and capture you.”

“Oh, right…” Leland trailed off.

Jude coughed. “We better find Poppy and get out of here. How likely are they to track us?”

Boor deliberated for a moment. “Unlikely they will be able to get much from this battle. You three aren’t exactly well known, which means trackers will have less to go by. Most likely you will be hunted by appearance alone… How do you feel about hats?”

Glenny frowned for Leland. “Is that meant to be a joke?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think you all should get hats.”

“Right…”

Boor nodded, straightened his thin leather armor, and walked away. The boys followed quickly after, albeit a bit slowly. As the minutes passed, so did Leland’s headache – at least to a manageable point.

It still blazed deep within his skull, but the thumping had died down to nothing more than a dull throb.

“So,” Jude asked, “Where do we find this Poppy?”

Boor eyed the group before pointing across the bridges and scaffolding to a nondescript ladder. The boys traced the ladder down, finding it stretching for an eternity before eventually disappearing into the darkness.

“You can’t be serious.”

“The smuggling operations that even the Smugglers Guild don’t like to talk about happen down there. If Poppy really deals with body parts, she’ll be in the depths.”

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