Two fully grown men stacked, was too much weight for the prisoner to hold and they both crashed to the ground.
The clang of blades hitting the floor was all that could be heard for a moment as everyone else watched on too dumbstruck to act.

Four against one. A fight he was unlikely to win.

Naturally, the other prisoners, instead of seeing a chance to be let out if he won, saw only a monster and called to the guards for his death.

Jillian quickly glanced down at his blade to reassure himself that it would not fall apart at the first swing. The hilt was janky with the leather wrapping nearly disintegrating in his stress-tight grip, the cross-guard skewed.

It would have to do. At worst, he could probably beat someone to death with the pieces.

He charged in, hoping the chaos would give him a momentary advantage. There was no way any of them were paid enough to deal with a blood-splattered naked elf on a murder spree.

They hesitated just long enough for him to get close, leaving no room for anyone to back out. Even if they had any second thoughts, it was too late to run. Steel groaned against steel as Jillian parried the first guard and landed himself in the middle.

Impressive strategy.

It was, in a way. As another guard struck out—too eager—his sword hit the bars on the opposite side, preventing the one next to him from stepping forwards. The tight quarters could not protect him for long though, as wherever he turned, a sword waited to strike at his back.

Jillian felt the Azur warning him that a punch was coming at him from behind, and turned to dodge it. There was no one there. And when he looked back, he took a guard’s fist straight in his face.

You did not fucking do that, Jillian thought as his head rebounded from the blow.Do you want me to stay here, Issayë?

We'd already be outside if you'd let me handle this. Even I can't do much for you if there is no blood left in your veins.

Jillian kicked at a guard while he considered it.Cuts, bruises, fractures, they were all terrible, but not an emergency. Then suddenly, a blade dug hard into Jillian’s lower back.

Oh, that's going to bleed.

The blade pulled out again, rough and cold. A triumphant holler cut through Jillian’s now somewhat blurry hearing. The human faces mocked him, convinced that they were winning.

Was the spirit toying with him? Was escaping not the point?

Issayë sighed in Jillian’s mind. They'll turn you into soup soon, either before or after they kill you.

When he thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, a prisoner joined the fight, spitting curses and promises of revenge for some unrelated past. The man’s lanky arms shot out between the bars to grab for Jillian’s tangled hair before tugging him violently against the bars. On the other side of the corridor, an older man with enough wits about him to keep his limbs within his cell, threw his bowl of half-eaten gruel at Jillian’s exposed head.

The crude bowl flew above its mark and hit the prisoner behind him in the shoulder instead.

As the two prisoners launched into a verbal battle with each other, forgetting the elf between them, a guard caught hold of Jillian’s flailing ankle to pull him in the other direction. He hung like a rag between the two humans, too stuck to fight back.

And the yelling. It was so loud and infuriating it had him almost paralyzed. It reminded him why he didn’t mind the azur feasting on the thieves and marauders frequenting the prison. Even locked up, they were a nuisance.

“Let him go!” The guard ordered the prisoner latched onto Jillian’s hair.

“Why? Just stab the dirty rat while I hold him. Don’t just look at him.”

The guard lifted his sword. Jillian could see his face out of the corner of his eye, wearily glaring at the prisoner. He understood the dilemma. If the guard killed him, the grabby prisoner might get a hold of his sword and stab the guard in turn. A small and short-lived rebellion, but the prisoner had little hope of getting out alive in any case. Why wouldn’t he take some lives of his own before then?

“Try nothin’ or you’re next,” the guard said as he wagged his weapon in warning.

Chop … chop. What do you think you taste like?

Jillian’s usual dumb luck was apparently running out. If he could muster the strength to twist, he could pull the guard down and to the side with enough force to impale him. But as he flexed, he felt his own hot blood trickle over his glutes in an alarming amount. If he took his free foot off the ground, he’d just fall on his ass and die.

“Fine,” Jillian groaned, “just get me out of here so you can leave me alone.”

“I didn’t talk to you,” the guard answered confused.

“I wasn’t talking to you either.” Jillian grinned, his teeth bloodied.

There was always a risk that Issayë wouldn’t let him go when done, that he’d unintentionally give up his life instead of losing it. It was, on the other hand, guaranteed survival. Jillian’s stomach twisted as dark magic filled every inch of him, turning the blood in his veins black and cold. All control faded away as he became a passenger in his own body.

The change, though subtle on the outside, could be felt by everyone in the prison like a dark cloud blocking the sun.

Now with full rein, Issayë threw the useless hunk of steel Jillian had so insistently called a sword aside and tugged his leg back from the guard. The man lost his balance and tipped straight into Issayë's embrace. Two fully grown men stacked, was too much weight for the prisoner to hold and they both crashed to the ground.

The clang of blades hitting the floor was all that could be heard for a moment as everyone else watched on too dumbstruck to act.

Issayë hugged the guard on top of him tight and buried his teeth in the man’s jugular without any of the inhibitions a normal man would have.

Jillian’s canines were a little longer than average, but still nowhere long enough to do any serious damage. That little detail didn't stop the azur though. He crushed both throat and neck in one feral squeeze.

Don’t you fucking dare, Jillian thought, suspecting where this was going.

The azur gulped the blood down, making him feel even more nauseous.

No, no! Jillian yelled in his mind like he was reprimanding a dog. The taste of iron and salt was so overwhelming he wished he could have vomited it out.

It was not his choice to make, and Issayë had no plan to stop.

Every torch on the walls sputtered and dimmed as the shadows came alive. From the darkest corners of the prison came the sounds of paws clawing at the walls and floors. It wasn’t just sounds and shadows, Jillian knew. Those were very real beasts waiting to be let loose.

Dogs began barking in the distance, sensing the evil all the way into people’s backyards.

Then the screams came.

First from the prison cells completely engulfed in the dark. Muffled stuttering cries of men choking on their own fear. Though Jillian couldn’t see it, he knew what they saw and felt—the teeth and claws sinking into flesh—only, for those souls over there, the biting and tearing wouldn’t stop once they passed out.

Next from their neighbors, still cradled in faint torchlight, as they noticed the blood pooling in the gravel.

“Let me out!” someone screamed and banged on their cell door. A pleading this time instead of the usual demand.

“What the fuck is happening?” Grabby-hands sputtered.

“Elf-magic,” the old man wailed. “Kill him, kill him now!”

For once, the humans gave the elves too much credit. This was no such thing. Technically the beasts weren’t magical either, they were just things that festered where Issayë practiced his magic.

Issayë rose to his feet while still holding on to the dead guard with an arm around the ruined neck and gently stroked the head with a terrifying tenderness.

“So, so fragile,” he tutted. The azur’s voice was almost the same as Jillian’s, just softer, almost sickly sweet no matter what he said. He flashed a bloody smile and dropped the body. “Come here,” he said and stepped towards the guards that naturally stumbled over each other to get away from him.

They did not need to know what had changed. Instinct alone let them know this was a different fight. One they couldn’t win.

Issayë reached out a hand and one of those impatient shadows pacing the border between light and dark leaped out to seize one of the guards by the leg and dragged him towards the azur. It looked like the wind had blown him off his feet, but on the wall danced the shadow of a massive wolf fetching prey for its master.

The guard used the momentum in a desperate attempt to impale the possessed elf before him and thrust his sword through Issayë’s thigh. The not-so-keen edge lodged itself between bone and muscle, bringing both the guard and the shadow-wolf to an abrupt stop.

The azur barely flinched and it was due to the inconvenience rather than pain. He grasped the guard’s wrist and twisted it as he kneeled down. The guard pounded at his shoulders and head to get free.

“I’ll show you what I do to sad, weak things that don’t want to fight,” Issayë whispered as much to the guard as he did to Jillian.

I already know, Jillian thought back at him sharply. He was less concerned about the horrors the azur could inflict, and more about the new gruesome wound he’d received. It did not hurt nearly as much as it should, but if Issayë did not heal it when done … he’d be crawling out of there.

“What do we have here,” Issayë mumbled as he pulled at the guards belt, completely unbothered by the beating. It was a little annoying, but it would end soon. He found a small carving knife and pulled it out. He looked at the blade and then at the guard, disappointed. “What do—”

Issayë was thrown to the ground and the wind knocked out of him. The remaining two guards had tackled him while he was busy teaching lessons.

Now it was Jillian’s turn to snicker maniacally. He’d heard it coming.

A sword thrust downwards inches away from skewering Issayë through the chest in a blur of iron and leather. The shadow-wolf could not do much but nip and scratch to add to the chaos. The azur slammed the carving knife into any arm he could get a hold off and with a sliver of magic added to it, it tore through armor and flesh with ease. Instead of pulling it out to find another mark, he dragged it down along the length. The guard screamed and kicked to get free, thrashing like a fish caught on a hook.

Once sure the man would not be able to use that arm again, Issayë let him go and turned his full attention to the last guard whom had yet to suffer. The azur planted the knife in his thigh and tackled him into a cell door. The bars shook so hard that a large chunk of plaster and brick nearly knocked out the old prisoner inside as it fell.

To Jillian, it was like watching a rabid dog in a chicken coop, taking a bite out of everything that moved.

The guard did not even have time to draw breath again before his throat was slit from ear to ear.

The non-fighter of the group must have found his courage swimming around somewhere in the growing pool of his allies’ blood as he shot up to take a swing at Issayë’s head with his un-broken wrist. A little too brave for his own good.

The azur caught it just in time as he turned around and twisted that arm until it popped out of its socket.

“So eager all of a sudden,” Issayë crooned as he spun in a half circle with his prey to throw the knife into the back of the last living guard that was running towards the stairs, cradling his bleeding arm. The knife hit him hard between the shoulders and he tripped and fell flat to the floor—in the dark.

With a short but demanding whistle from the azur, the guard was dragged into a cell where all that came out was a muffled scream and the cracking of bones. Leather shredding like paper under invisible claws.

“I shouldn’t have thrown that.” Issayë sneered and blew a bloodied strand of hair from his face. He then looked down at the sword still lodged in his leg and nonchalantly pulled it out as if it had been stuck in a log rather than his own limb. The azur considered it, lightly throwing the blade in the air and catching it again. It was too big and unwieldy—too impersonal. He sighed and tossed it aside with a disgusted sneer. “I suppose I have to carve you up myself.”

With no limbs to fight back there was not much the guard could do as Issayë gently lay a hand on his chest. The leather soon began to writhe and boil. The azur pushed his hand through the mush and deeper.

A weird feeling of not being quite solid rushed through Jillian. It felt like reaching through water until he felt something hot and pulsing in his hand.

It was a living heart—in his hand—he could feel the life in it. Like sunlight after a rainy day.

“It’s a candle,” Issayë drawled and squeezed.

The man couldn’t scream but he trashed and moaned with every last bit of defiance before Issayë yanked his heart out and squeezed the arterial blood into his mouth.

It tasted like fear. And it was delicious. For a few of Jillian’s own heartbeats, his and Issayë’s minds were one. And that life devoured was indeed like a candle. A drop of water compared to what Issayë needed.

As soon as the last guard’s body hit the ground, the azur finally released control of Jillian’s body just as abruptly as it had taken over. After a frenzy of horror and ecstasy, it felt like someone had ripped a warm blanket off him, and it had him reeling for a moment, nearly screaming out for more.

See? I can be nice, the azur teased.

Jillian gagged. The manipulative bastard was truly pissing him off. He knew well how enticing Issayë could be if he wanted. Loving, caring and even protecting. It was all just a scheme to make him comfortable and pliant.

He stood there, just breathing for a while, looking at the surrounding carnage with weird detachment. His hands had done the killing, but mentally he’d only been an observer.

Jealous? Issayë teased. Imagine what we can do if we work together.

The prison was silent now.

If anyone was still alive, they played dead well.

Grabby-hands and old man lay curled up in their cells, noses bleeding and eyes rolled up into their skulls. Slightly gray skinned as their lives had most likely drained out of them to sustain the spirit’s antics.

The wound in Jillian’s leg was gone, and his jaw felt a little straighter. About a dozen cuts had mysteriously disappeared, even though they had not really bothered him before. Something still felt wrong though.

Jillian reached behind himself and felt the open wound at this back. The gash was three fingers long. He wasn't sure what the guard had cut into, but it was most likely something he wanted intact. "I don't want to be greedy, but it wouldn't have hurt you to heal all my wounds, would it?" he asked spitefully. The words had barely left his mouth before he already felt a tiny wisp of shame. It did cost the azur a lot. He didn’t like to think about it, but even with all the lives Issayë had been feasting on down here, all that energy had been spent on keeping them both in relatively good health.

I let you keep that one as motivation. You wouldn't be in situations like this if you would just listen to me.

"Yeah, I would be in much worse situations,” Jillian mumbled while wiping his mouth. A pretty much futile attempt as both his hands and arms were covered in layers of gore.

He stiffly walked over to the stairs leading up to the ground floor, sat down and finally threw up. His stomach ached violently and the content that spilled from his mouth was all blood and black—unnatural liquids.

As he stared at the mess he felt so thirsty that he could kill for something to drink. All the activity seemed to have awakened all the nerves in his body reminding him of all the basic needs a body had.

Jillian listened for the sounds of boots, any yelling or slamming doors, but heard only the crackling of torches and some form of dripping in the distance. Blood or water, it didn’t quite matter and only made his mouth even dryer listening to it. Other than that, it was too quiet.

Freedom lay only one flight of stairs away, but he’d still have to get through the office above, and it could fit a lot of trouble. Just because he couldn’t hear anything, didn’t mean nothing waited for him up there.

The thoughts and concerns flew out of his mind as he coughed. He had time for now and shouldn’t waste it.

Grunting and muttering to himself, Jillian padded back down the line of cells to rifle through the guards’ belongings. He found their flasks, hoping for there to be water in them. It was worse—cywor—the smell alone made his nose wrinkle. He'd been overjoyed at any other form of alcohol except this one. He still drained them one after another not quite considering how blasted he could get from it. At this point, getting drunk probably wouldn't alter his chances anyway. He already did not function, and it did wash the clotting blood down his throat.

It also made his hunger so much worse.

Jillian watched the twisted bodies on the floor, finding it harder and harder to turn away. There was no rush … he could take a moment to gorge himself on warm flesh.

He retched again.

Not that he was squeamish where his meat came from. But just the idea of chewing on entire body parts like some creature did not sit right with him.

That's where you draw the line? Issayë asked, having observed him in quiet amusement.

Of all the things Jillian had done, that sounded like a rather trivial issue.

"I still have some standards,” Jillian quipped back as he hurriedly made it back to the stairs. Out of sight—out of mind. There were taverns above ground. Warm places with hot food that tasted good. And wine, lots of wine.

A day or two away by horse, if you don’t get caught again.

“And women,” Jillian whispered out loud. Gods, he missed those the most out of everything. Even angry they were more pleasant to look at than most human men. And so soft to touch. Much better than gravel and stone. He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled foolishly. Maybe he could even get laid before he’d have to flee the continent and get back to Akariën.

Even Issayë warmed a little to the idea.

Still, the azur was right that they had quite a journey ahead of them. The stairs were a challenge of its own. His body seemed to disagree with the vertical movement. The steep, cold steps with nothing to lean on but the jagged walls drained Jillian’s stamina faster than the fighting had. Of course it did. His body needed things despite what his mind thought. "Why do you want a body anyway?" Jillian paused in his miserable journey and straight out asked the azur the question that had always boggled him. "They're fucking inconvenient most of the time. You still feel things, don't you? What else do you want”

Your body is inconvenient, Issayë drawled. I know how to take good care of one.

Jillian laughed. It wasn’t really an answer, but the banter helped to keep his mind off everything. Now when the fighting and immediate danger were over, the pain of his wound was so much harder to ignore.

Why had the fighting stopped?

More guards had to be on the way. Even Brywar's absence was striking. He especially should have cherished the opportunity to give Jillian a personal beating.

Perhaps the fact that none of the people he’d sent down had come back up was enough of a clue that he should stay away. He wasn’t that smart though.

This calm had to be a trap.

To be continued

⮜   Chapter I          Chapter III   ➤