The Cursed Inheritance

The woods themselves were unnaturally quiet as Alaric and Seraphine were ready to depart.

Morning mist caressed the branches with skeletal fingers, diaphanous and cruel, and every quivering leaf a menacing hiss.

Alaric fastened his armor, his mind wrestling with what the implications of what Seraphine had told him the night before were.

His mother's ghost was still at large, captive.

Everything was changed.

He'd thought his only motivation was vengeance, but now hope flared with the anger. If rescue was even a hope, he had to take it—no matter the price.

Seraphine pushed a pouch into his hand. "Dried meat, herbs, a vial of elixir. Don't squander it."

Alaric accepted it with a nod. "How far is the conduit?"

She gazed out over the distance. "Far enough that we'll need to be cautious.".

Magnus has men everywhere, and the moment he gets this idea in his head of what we're looking for, he'll do anything to stop us from getting it."

Alaric took a breath. "Then we make a run for it."

The two of them melted into the thickness of the woods. Their footfalls were muffled, their senses acutely honed.

Every one of the creaking limbs above strained under unseen weight, every blast of air rushed with aroma of something other than earthly.

The deeper in they went, the heavier air became, as if the earth itself tried to block their path.

Calling forth hours of stiff silence.

Then—

A blast out of thin air.

Seraphine's sword against her hip as Alaric could even respond. She nodded to him to drop down and peered into the trees. Alaric followed suit, his hand clenched on the pommel of his sword, his heart pounding in his chest.

A shadow dashing through the trees. Quick. Inhumanly quick.

And then another. Another.

Alaric had not even realized the emanating crimson eyes until they rested on him.

A hellish form dropped on them, a whirlwind of sinew and claw. Seraphine whirled around, cutting crisply through its neck before it was even going to attempt to wrap its hands around her. The creature shrieked, black blood splattering on the ground as it flailed.

There were others.

Alaric drew his blade just in time to deflect a claw-like bony finger thrown at his chest. The shock made him numb, and he flinched away from recovering balance before the beast could strike again ruthlessly. He deflected the next and struck it deep into its ribcage and ripped it out with tremendous force. The creature let out a shriek of agony before falling to the ground.

"Don't say anything to them about us!" Seraphine yelled, bringing down another attacker.

Alaric gritted his teeth and spun, blocking another blow as he fought to remain at the front of Seraphine's. The beasts were starving, their blows wild and bestial. They smelled of death and dark magic, their presence evil.

Alaric parried a blow from the side.

Pain flashed through his shoulder as claws tore on metal, glancing off by the thickness of a hair. He howled and smashed the beast with his elbow, it staggered back. Before it had a chance to recover, he swept his sword in a smooth, pitiless curve, severing its throat.

The battle continued and continued. When the last creature perished, there was silence again. Alaric panted, his body complaining of the strain, his hands sticky with blood—hers and theirs.

Seraphine wiped the point of her sword on the grass. "We must leave. That was a warning."

Alaric nodded, attempting to swallow the vile gall in his mouth. "Then let us not give them time to send another."

They progressed, warily. The further they advanced, the more barren was the world around them. Trees withered to gray and unhealthy color, soil blackened, air clung heavy with foul quiet.

And they looked.

A great stone gateway towered before them, pulsating with sorrowful energy. Runes etched upon its face shone faintly, rolling and rewriting themselves into stone. Across the gateway, air rippled like a heat distortion, and for fleeting glimpses, a shadowworld of pain lay exposed.

Seraphine took a deep breath.

"The Veil Gate."

Alaric's hand on his sword hilt went white-knuckled. "And here's where we're going to find the conduit?"

She stumbled. "Yes. But it shall not be undefended."

Even the air itself retaliated in kind, shuddering. The shadows on either side of the archway thickened and solidified, taking on a grotesque, armored form. Its eyes blazed with hot coals, and in its fists was bunched a sword that writhed with naked, evil power.

Alaric's own breath was locked in his throat.

The guard of the Veil had arrived.

And it had been waiting for them.

It was something Alaric had never even dreamed of. It was nearly twice his own height, its armor blackened metal, carved with red runes which pulsed with veins full of seething fire. Its sword was as broad as a man's belly, its blade humming with black power.

Seraphine cursed. "This is no guardian. This is a Shadeborn."

Alaric swallowed hard. "What's a Shadeborn?"

"A warrior damned to serve in death. It was human once, but now—" Seraphine's fists gripped her daggers. "Now it's an abomination."

The Shadeborn drew its blade, and the air vibrated with its power. The runes on the Veil Gate shone with an unnatural power as if they were being fed by it. It did not speak, and it charged.

Alaric hardly had time to react. The raw energy of the Shadeborn charge rattled the ground, and by the time Alaric could prepare to parry with his sword, the energy almost left him reeling. The impact was horrific, and he was positive at that moment—he was overmatched.

Seraphine had already begun to move, cutting through the shadows at nonhuman speeds. She came from behind the Shadeborn, blades flashing with what little light there was. But it did not last long. It whirled, parrying her with nightmare quickness before bursting into her across the face and sending her crashing to the floor.

Alaric wasn't given any time to react. He launched himself forward, stabbing across the vacant space between the Shadeborn's armor plating. His sword lodged deeply, but scarce did it than a bolt of dark energy flew out of the wound and threw him across the room.

The Shadeborn wrenched his face into a frown.

Seraphine sprang up off the ground, rubbing a fleck of crimson off her lip. "We need to create another plan."

Alaric's hand trembled on his sword. He had practiced, stretched to the limit—but it was not enough in this foe.

The Shadeborn lifted its sword once more, ready to strike.

And then it spoke.

"You cannot prevail." It spoke in a dry rumble, a voice of elder evil. "Your souls are destined for the void."

Alaric's heart raced.

They lost count of time.