Page 53 of Up from the Earth

Oh, Gods. No…Beastie.

And as I studied them, searching their form for any sign that they might be too close to that depthless abyss, I noted the smeared blood beneath the cuffs. The near-black liquid oozed out of them slowly, and where they had always been a lithe figure, they now appeared gaunt, so much so that they could scarcely move more than an inch.

Hang on. I will free you. I will…I will end this, my King.

Snickering laughter tore through the air as my insides felt shredded by worry. I flicked my attention to the priest. He slipped up behind The King and threaded his fingers through their skull. My King hollered out, the agony lighting up the dark sky with red lightning. He was doing something vulgar and wrong, something that affected the very core of The King’s being.

And in that moment I could see that the priest had changed, too.

His grotesque arrangement was unaltered, if slightly more disturbing, his wide jaw dripping with black ichor as that tongue—now possessing a gaping hole in the center—licked over his teeth. But that was not it.

No, what had really changed about him was that he seemed larger, more imposing. He’d collected strength from the souls he’d destroyed, apparently able to feed on their trapped energy like a parasite, as well as take strength from the rightful ruler of this realm. I could sense the deep-seated hatred and arrogance within him expanding as wide as the desecrated land.

When he at last yanked his hands free, my King collapsed forward, their arms giving out as they tried to cushion their fall. The priest licked their fingers, swirling that mangled tongue around them, and my stomach roiled, nausea reaching up the back of my throat.

What is he doing?

While the cracked expanse of this section of the World of Below had never been warm or as connected to the natural cycle as the mortal plane, it had never been this. Now, just a few feet from where I stood were the evils of the Pit blanketing over a space that was never meant for it.

“We need to stop him. If this continues, the entirety of the World of Below will be plunged into darkness, made a place of pure suffering and harm. I will not have that.”

“You must find a way to sever his connection to the Pit. It is feeding him; each corrupted end gives him strength. The Pit needs him to maintain this invasion; without him, it will lose its anchor.”

Some ancient part of me understood that. The women who I’d seen and been knew that. But the solution remained clouded to me. How might I sever his connection? While I was confident that he was still bound to the natural order by virtue of once being a human soul—now an empowered and fiendish one—the method for tugging on that thread eluded me.

But I wasn’t about to do anything from up here.

Thankfully, Father Paine hadn’t seen us yet, still too far up to be readily noticeable, and I might be able to use that to my advantage. Distracted focus could provide the chance for a surprise attack. I knew that if I could get my vines into him, I could sap the power from him just as he had stolen it from my King, allowing the natural cycle to drink him in, bestowing the decay that he should have remained in.

The World of Below wanted him back where he belonged. The earth wanted his soul bound, unable to prey on its children. Destiny still held a path for this foul priest, and if I could get the cruel bastard on it once more, he would be swallowed up by the forces greater than him.

As I watched, Father Paine stepped farther from his throne, shoving back The King and delighting in yanking on their chains in an attack that sent them tumbling back down to the ground. Fury raged in my guts. This abomination had taken my spouse prisoner, tortured them in their own realm, and now sought to rip open the barrier all the more, until there was nothing left.

He will pay for this.

I closed my eyes, feeling that deep well within me and reaching into the ground for my connection. I would not fail this time. I couldn’t. As I gathered my strength, I pulled from the World of Below—my home and charge—a suit of armor constructed from the very minerals and magic of the kingdom. A breastplate, more flexible and built of the stone of mountains as old as time, settled over my chest. The slim coverings for my arms and legs, solidified cloud and fog, their gray color helping me to blend into the background.

The stillness of ice cloaked me, making my steps as silent as death. There was no wind, no crumbling of stone beneath my feet. And beneath the cauldron of my ribs boiled the heart of the world, a burning core that reflected in the blazing heat of my stare.

I was not the birth of spring right now but the retribution of winter, and Father Paine would meet his end this day regardless of the lengths that were demanded of me.

“I need you all to sink into the ground, find your roots there and travel the distance to the priest unseen. I will approach on my own.”

I could sense the stag about to broker an argument, but he stopped himself, instead offering a nod and slipping into the ethereal earth along with the rest of my army of abused souls.

The time was now. I hunkered low, coiling tension in my legs until I burst forward at a dead sprint. I flew across the charred ground, the world a blur around me as I dashed right up to the priest’s back and planted my hands upon him. Vines shot forward from my arms, burrowing into his flesh.

He bellowed, roaring into the silent air, and I craned backward, lifting him from his feet as my magic began to draw his power, a blight against his unnatural existence.

“Fucking whore!” In a wild arch, he reached around for me, his too-long arm allowing his claws to find me and tear me loose. “Can’t you just fucking die like the rest of them!?”

Father Paine held me in his firm grip, his nails extending several inches from his hand. I sneered, reaching up again to force my vines into his temples. But he threw me back, sending me far from the tear and to the base of his throne, which met my back in a loud crack.

“Cerridwen!” The King shouted, or as much of a shout as they could.

I shot my stare to them, the concern and terror there buffeted some by the utter relief it was to see them again. Their dark eyes were ringed with angry red, their scleras bloodshot and tinged with pink. They were hurting. Father Paine had hurt them.

Buuuzzzzz.

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