Shield of Fire

The fortress at Gremos peak shakes with a scream of outrage emanating from its core. The soundwave passes through the cold and gloomy halls with such ferocity that the revived corpses and the hideous abominations squeak, running frantically around to cover back from the holes they came in. Anywhere but the throne room. The centre of attention.

The stone walls shake with every scream that echoes. The pain scratches the insides of General Tolm, as he kneels on the floor, chest heaving violently. His right hand claws the flesh where his heart should be. If he had one. When he possessed that body it might still have one, but with the years the insides start to wither and turn to ash. And then the flesh starts to crack, signalling the time for a change. Another body. Another vessel to host his cursed and bloodthirsty spirit.

Pushing the flesh in his chest as the pain slowly fades, he tries to remember when it was the last time he felt like this. What could have caused that? Swimming through the lake of his memories he finally fishes out the one he was searching for.

The time Gadarovon, former king of Anive died.

General Tolm’s eyes changed, darkness consuming the orbs in his sockets. He was close. So close to finding it. But not worthy of passing the trial. He raises his free hand in front of him and turns up the palm. Feathers of dust start to come out of his skin, spinning gently around and up creating a small coming from his hand. As the spin intensifies, a figure starts to appear within its centre. A shadowy form floats, its hands bound by heavy chains. Two hollow cavities rest where his eyes once were. Inarticulate voices are blocked by the noise of the whirlwind still spinning. With a swift move, General Tolm closes the fingers on his palm and the shadow vanishes as his hand turns into a fist.

Reaching out for the throne, he pushes himself up with trembling legs. It is time for a change. This vessel has served its purpose. “Trimeri!” his command resonates, flying across the walls. Shortly after, the sound of rapid steps echoes on the stone floor and a tiny figure with long slender arms and short legs appears running to the throne room. Tripping on the stones, the creature lands harshly wiping the floor with its face until it stops on the base of the throne.

“Your wish is my command.”

Opening his mouth to speak, the voice comes out hoarse. “Bring me a new body. Run the stones and brink me the strongest.”

Trimeri bows deeply before it runs back the way it came. Passing through various levels of massive lizard-like guards it opens the gate to the dungeons. Its steps move so quickly that it seems like it’s floating on the stairs leading to the cells. The air is heavily dressed with sweat and blood and fear. There’s also a dose of a herbal mix they give to the prisoners to keep them in a state of hype and not able to comprehend where they are.

Trimeri makes a series of incomprehensible voices towards a pair of guards standing at the end of the stairs and the guards stand straight, pushing the iron doors to make way for it. Once they open, a long hall appears in view, illuminated faintly by the moonlight sneaking through small openings and cracks inside the walls. Trimeri makes a gesture, pushing back its head with its pig nose shrinking. The smell is stronger.

As it walks down the hall, several arms are stretching, with voices that speak things that it cannot understand. Good, the herbs are working. It stops abruptly when it reaches a point in the hall where all cells are within close distance and reaching for his pocket, it takes out a handful of stones. They look dark and ordinary, anyone would mistake them for stones coming from some broken wall in the fortress. How mistaken would they be…

Trimeri whispers a series of dark prayers while holding the stones tightly in its fist it brings it close to its chest. Before the prayer ends, it brings its fist in front of its mouth and lets his whispers wash over the stones in its hand. Stretching out its arm it lets the stones drop on the floor. The moment they land on the floor they are starting to glow, transforming each stone into a different colour. Trimeri hovers over them and turns its head to the side, so its ear is floating above them.

“Hm… I’m sensing a strong one in the north. But not quite healthy.” an eerie voice resonates from one of the stones.

“No, look at the northwest. She’s strong and healthy-”

“Nonsense! Look at the east! He’s the right one.”

The voices continue to discuss, picking the perfect one for General Tolm. Their consult ends eventually, pointing at the east. Trimeri grabs the stones in its hand and walks to the cell. The light in the stones gets brighter, signalling it’s getting on the right one. When the door of the cell opens, no one tries to get out. They all look phased in their worlds. With the stones as a guide, Trimeri finally finds the one the stones had chosen. It lets a loud squeak and before it blinks the guards are there. Grabbing the young Anivean they start dragging him upstairs to the throne room.

General Tolm looks pleased when the guards arrive, throwing the soon-to-be new vessel before his feet. When the guards leave, he finally stands up, his steps circling his prey. A dark liquid substance starts to spill out of his eyes, falling like tears of darkness on his face. He begins chanting, the words forbidden and pleaded never to be spoken out loud. The body rises, floating before him as something invisible holds it like a marionette. The man tries to scream, his eyes wide as the effect of the herbs is fading. For a second General Tolms face changes as he looks at his new victim and new body, taking his true form. The demon he truly is beneath the flesh. The man struggles to get away, pushing and stretching his limbs, screaming but there’s only a muffled sound. As if his mouth is shut.

Completing the chanting, General Tolm covers into a cloud of thick smoke and enters the man’s body. The man starts shaking violently but the battle is predetermined. And he’s destined to die. Soon the body collapses on the floor like a bag of flesh and bones, before starting to move again. This time, the movement is sure, and the body rises naturally. The warm hazel colour that was colouring his eyes now is carbon dark, extending and occupying the cavities. The room suddenly fills with the sounds of bones cracking and flesh tearing apart as the body starts to shift from the inside, like a devilish creature fighting to be released. The warm tanned skin is replaced with a pale white one. The features change as the facial bones crack, detaching from their original places and reattaching to the new. The arms and legs extend slightly and the bronze curly hair transforms into short and dark ones in a blink of an eye. The very known face of General Tolm appears on his new vessel. His lips parted, taking a deep breath resembling the first in his life. The former body disintegrates into dust and with a click of his tongue his body is dressed back to his uniform, the sword hanging threateningly from his waist.