[Womb of the Dark Mage]

Chapter 33 / 13

Womb of the Father

Geoff followed Lamet deeper into the tomb. They entered a chamber that squished under his boots as if it were made of meat. Juices seeped from the ground and pooled with each step. Rick groaned with disgust. The Riteweaver stopped as a spirit condensed into being in front of them.

It was a puren woman. Her wispy face looked over them, and then turned away to face the dark room ahead. Her mouth moved, but Geoff heard nothing. The woman tilted her head at them, and spoke silently again.

“What is she trying to say?” Rick asked. “I can’t hear her.”

“I do not know,” Lamet answered. She pointed a thumb into the shadows. “A warning about the thing she watches in the dark, perhaps. Geoff, is your weapon ready?”

He lit the Flame Drive and squinted into the darkness. A gangly figure swayed towards them at the edge of the light. It resembled the enthralled people they saw on the Leviathan Train. The creature was like a skeleton with skin stretched over it, lacking the muscle and other mass those thralls had. The tendrils wiggling from its head pointed at an upward angle to somewhere behind it.

Geoff moved to the right to stand in front of Rick for a better shot. He aimed the MGS above the thrall, hoping his eyes were good enough to trace the angle of the tendrils. Whatever controlled it was up there. He pulled the trigger. A flash of hot fire shot across the room and broke against the meaty wall. The room was smaller than he expected, and the brief light gave him a view of a man wrapped to his neck in the fleshy surface.

The chamber reverberated with deep laughter. “You dullards, it is too late. The Rite of Dark is essentially complete. I alone will wield the strength to combat Warbinger, now.”

The spirit backed away from the thrall as it stumbled closer. She looked up with surprise as the meaty wall shot out sinewy strands and sewed the corridor shut behind them. Her silent words came with a tremble through her wispy body.

“Dorshemet!” Lamet took a deep breath. “Geoff, clear the hobblers so we can deal with Dorshemet without distraction.”

His hands were full so he nodded. “Do you have a plan or something?”

“I am going to cast Warmth on Sparlyset in hopes that it stirs her from her slumber. I have never cast the spell before, so it will be deeply draining.”

“That sounds incredibly risky,” Rick said.

Lamet ignored his concern and placed her hand on Sparlyset’s head.

Geoff had his orders, so let the Riteweaver do what she had to and blasted the thrall. It split in half and spun across the room. While the Flame Drive charged he fired a volley of grenades at the wall where Dorshemet was. The satisfying thunks were overshadowed by his disappointment as Dorshemet chuckled through the explosions.

The spirit showed him the next threat by backing away from the shadows. The flash of his Flame Drive illuminated four eyes outside the boundary of their light. Whatever it was, his beam struck it harmlessly.

Lamet collapsed, and Rick was barely able to catch her. Geoff recognized that he was on his own for the moment. Richard would have to mind Sparlyset and Lamet until she caught her breath, or whatever she needed.

He strafed around the edge of the room so his back was to the wall and launched a grenade. It arced through the air and donated on the creature’s back. It lurched away from the blast like a wave and clawed across the fleshy ground towards him. Rancid fluid gushed from the gashes it rent.

The creature looked like a small dragon, with a toothy, lizard-like head. It stuck out a forked tongue at him that dripped with black slime.

He pulled the trigger. The grenade spun into its mouth and the explosion sprayed its head across the room. Geoff shielded his face with his arm. The monster didn’t fall, so he kept backing away as he shook goo from his arm. He was going to end up smelling like Sparlyset at this rate.

The body of the creature took a shaky step forward. Flesh from the ground shot to its splayed neck like a lizard’s tongue, the peeling strands coalescing into a new mass that shared nothing with the head it replaced. As it lumbered towards him slime sprayed from its sagging wounds. The new flesh flapped like flayed skin.

He was thankful it was harder to see it as it followed him into the darker corner of the room. He kept an eye on the spirit, just in case she spotted something else.

As he rounded the edge of the room he became uncomfortably aware of Dorshemet hanging on the wall above him. He fired another grenade into the creature, and one at Dorshemet for good measure. His fear swelled when the creature was completely obscured by the dark. He fired off a volley of grenades just in case. Their flames lit the gangly creatures crawling out of the ground as they were torn apart and their limbs scattered across the room.

Dorshemet chuckled.

The light moved, floating into the air and hanging in the centre of the room. Its radius was enough that he could see the edges just barely. Dorshemet’s nose was the only part of him that peeked into the light. The maarte’s piercing cry echoed from his body before being snuffed out by his satisfied grunt.

Geoff took deep breaths. He tried to keep them even. He kept his focus. On his body. On his hands. He wasn’t sure if he felt the power, or if it was adrenaline or something else. He tried to feel out how to cast a spell. They would need Isamdureet. But when?

The dragonoid lashed out at him with a tentacle from its tumorous new head. Geoff ducked aside. He loosed another grenade. It tore the large monster’s leg from its body and scattered bits of it across the wall beneath Dorshemet’s fleshy cocoon. It was regenerating, but not completely. Not like Warbinger.

“A relic of our ancient sins.” the spirit said. Geoff blasted the monster again. The spirit waited until after the noise to continue. “Sir Warren lost his wife to the cruel madness of grief… Then wrought this womb that keeps his life. They shared their suffering with us all.”

The next shot broke open the monster’s chest. Whatever the putrid pus and slime of its insides were, they spilled over the ground. The only solids were chunks of rotted meat and broken bones. It collapsed finally, and remained still with only a gurgle of escaping fluids.

“The sorrowful spirits of children inadequate… and the heart of the last, a meal to a dragon…” The spirit looked at Lamet. “Your brother has done the same, now. The same as Warren. All to sate the madness of his dear distended Luubinger.”

Geoff spared only glances for the spirit. Nothing else moved, but he wasn’t willing to be caught by surprise. He thought the creature he killed earlier was the mother who commissioned the Tomb. This Warren, her husband, created the Rite of Dark, then? The spirit was hard for him to understand.

“Are you… lucid?” Rick asked her. “Why can we hear you now?”

Lamet was back on her feet, and that made Geoff feel much better. Sparlyset was awake too, and her eyes were fixed on the ghostly woman.

The spirit’s form wavered. “My words are strangled in the dark. Perhaps one who emits light renders the way clear.”

Dorshemet’s voice filled the chamber. “What is your purpose here, spirit? You know I am invulnerable in the flesh of the womb; the Rite of Dark cannot be stopped now.”

“I am Glinlyset,” she said. “A lowborn in humble servitude to esteemed Lady Luubinger and her human husband Warren. I bore witness to tragedy beyond description, as their grief poisoned our very souls. Upon blade’s edge I released my own, that I might serve as warning to any who sought the dark powers born of these depths. Regretfully my mind fogs with the memories that stain my past should I wander too far.”

“You are nearly as annoying as Sparlyset.” Dorshemet laughed. “I consider myself lucky I did not have your tedious words haunting my journey.”

The spirit flickered. “Sparlyset? No wonder you bring my voice to light.” Her voice trembled, sending a ripple through her misty body. She faced the Lightweaver “If you bear the suffix of my family, then… my daughter must have found safe passage to the mountains!” Geoff could hear the quiver of joy and hope come to the woman’s voice.

“How touching,” Dorshemet said mockingly. “The ghost of an ancestor millenia old.”

The spirit—Glinlyset—approached Richard. Her wispy arm rose towards Sparlyset. “I know not what else I might do, but the revelation you have brought me threatens to send me peacefully to Haantisha.” Sparlyset extended her hand and touched the spirit. “I cannot rest yet. Let my spirit aid you…”

Sparlyset’s hand glowed with her pink magic and the wisps of the spirit’s form seeped into her body. “Oh,” she squeaked. “Oh!” She put a hand to her mouth. Her cheeks glittered.

“I am so relieved there is only one of you, now.” Dorshemet said.

“Come down from that swaddle so I can kill you, brother!” Lamet shouted.

“There is no need for that,” Dorshemet said calmly, “I have done this for the power to stand against ultimate evil! Do you think I sacrifice a child lightly?! Her death will haunt my dreams until the day I die, but at least we can defeat him! We will do whatever we must, and suffer our nightmares so the world can sleep in peace.”

Lamet growled. “This is not the way to obtain power!” She traced a circle in the air and poked her finger through. An orb of blistering flame roared to life and soared across the room into Dorshemet’s face. “Can you breathe, brother? Does my fury warm your lungs?!” She flicked her finger at him, producing a lance of fire that speared him through the chest, cutting his muffled screams. She flicked again, lancing him two more times. “Does it melt the ice that frosts your tiny heart?!”

Geoff relit the Flame Drive.

Through the raging orb, he could make out Dorshemet sinking into the wall. He followed the bulge as it moved across the room and the flesh flaked away to reveal his face again.

“Lamet, stop!” he cried with a hoarse voice from a burned throat. “You cannot kill me! Save your strength to leave this place!” His face healed, but half was marred by scarring.

Lamet’s shoulders sagged. Her breath was ragged. She leaned on Richard to keep herself standing. “Are you able to fight at all, Sparlyset?”

“I had little use to begin with, but… the womb.”

Dorshemet’s mirth returned. “Bold to think, after all your ape’s futile attempts to harm me, that you of all people could stand against me.”

Sparlyset scoffed. “My ancestor’s antique recollections have unravelled mysteries even you do not comprehend, Dorshemet! The womb!” Sparlyset raised her hand towards the centre of the room. The womb preserves Warbinger! Without it, he is as powerful, but mortal as the night he was born!”

“Then I would lose my regeneration as well,” Dorshemet said thoughtfully. He sighed. “So be it, Lightweaver. Destroy the womb if you can. My power will still be enough.”

The fleshy wall frayed and peeled away, uncovering the entrance tunnel. Geoff took Lamet’s arm and helped her hobble out of the room.

“I do not require your permission!” Sparlyset said. The moment Rick carried her from the room, Sparlyset's outstretched hand peeled away the surface of reality and tore open a gash that bled emptiness into the room. The womb churned, protesting against the pull of the void.

Dorshemet appeared in the air and landed beside them earning a growl from Lamet. His hair and eyes had turned dark, nearly black.

The fleshy walls flaked away, swirling into the spatial tear in a hurricane of rotten meat and blood. It stitched closed, and the air was calm and quiet. A cave was open before them, the natural stone walls stained with filth. Smaller versions of the luminescent mushrooms poked out amongst the jagged rocks. A corroded altar was flanked by a pair of stalagmites, and a collapse farther back opened the cave to light.

It looked natural, but they were so far underground…

Lamet bared her teeth at her brother. The hilt of the iron sword was gripped tightly in her hand. “Flee while you can Dorshemet, or I will bury you!”

Dorshemet hopped out of the tunnel. He stepped carefully over to the altar and ran his fingers across it. “Face me then, sister. Let us see who will carry the burden of disappointment to our dear grandmother.”