Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 149: To the Effigies of the Gods

Toren Daen

I fell from the sky, my consciousness flitting in and out. The wind whipped past my face as the temple beneath rushed up to meet me.

Toren! A melodic, distant voice thundered across my mind. Toren, do not let yourself fall! Brace yourself!

I groaned, blinking my eyes open.

I inhaled sharply in fear as I thrust my left hand out, calling on my telekinetic emblem. I fell through one of the holes in the roof, the pews rising to meet me.

It sputtered once, pushing against the ground in a flare of white. My arms wrenched painfully as the pushback impacted, my momentum slowing for a spurt. Then my core gave out, backlash wracking every inch of my body.

I smashed into the floor, the cold, cold earth unwelcoming of my form. I felt as my broken ribs creaked and seized. I spasmed on the stone, coughing up blood. My consciousness threatened to mist away, only the forceful, weak light of Aurora's mind near my own keeping me awake.

Mardeth's body cracked against the edges of one of the holes in the roof, then splatted wetly against the ground not far from me. Something clinked against the floor not a moment later.

Brahmos' onyx horn–streaked through with reddish veins–rolled along the moonlit floor.

For a moment, everything was still in the temple. My ragged, wet breathing was all I could hear, the mosaic of the basilisk in human form near the altar watching us with outstretched arms. The mortals at its feet groveled in subjugation, bowing their backs and prostrating themselves in tiny tiles of terror. The horns along the side of its head seemed to reject the light, casting everything in deeper darkness.

And those scarlet eyes peered directly into my soul. Measuring me; judging me unworthy.

I trembled, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and let the darkness take me. Every inhale caused sharp, wretched pain to streak across my body. It was as if a dozen nails were piercing my nerves over and over, punishing my overuse of magic.

Then Mardeth's body began to shift. His hands had been severed at the wrists, and no longer did he heal. He growled as his dark green skin shifted slightly, some of his original gray coloring returning. Liquid too green to be blood dribbled from his lips.

No, I thought, trying to force myself to move. Mardeth was shifting, muttering incoherently as he moved. No, he's not dead yet! I can't let him get back up!

But no matter how I commanded my limbs to move, they disobeyed their master. The abuse I'd put them through was showing its mark. I demanded and surged, trying with all my might to move.

Nothing happened. I simply spasmed on the floor as Mardeth slowly forced a foot underneath him, his wild eyes looking around. One milky white, still blind as ever, the other alight with fire.

They settled on me. Pure, unadulterated fury surged through his eyes as he glared at me.

"Toren Daen," he growled, stumbling to the side as he finally stood. He rocked forward, a tendril of solid green sludge slowly growing from the cauterized stump of his right hand. It wrapped around Brahmos' horn on the ground, the tentacle clutching it like an ice pick as he slowly hobbled closer to me. "I'll kill you for what you took from me," he ground out, bracing himself against the pews by our side.

I couldn't move as the vicar slowly hobbled toward me, murder wrought across his broken features. He moved painfully slow, as if the very shadows of his robes were trying to haul him down to hell. But still, he pushed on, and I could not move.