COF 6: The Last Oracle

20 | Gates (II)

Cirasa regained consciousness just as he was being dragged inside a plain room.

"Ah, finally," a feminine voice said. He was thrown to the ground. His head smacked the floorboards as it happened. "Now, Xanthy, what do you say? Shall we open it now?"

Xanthy?

Cirasa wrenched his eyes open to see Xanthy sprawled on the floor on her side. Gaping wounds peppered her skin and she didn't seem to be moving. Fresh blood made large puddles on the floor. The smell alone made Cirasa want to stand up and flee as quickly as he could. As soon as he did, a hand shot out and grasped the back of his head.

He screamed as magic flooded into his system, spearing into his mind. He lost all feeling to his limbs but he didn't topple over. Instead, he was pushed to the corners of his brain, watching everything unveil through his own eyes. He lunged forward, his consciousness banging against the cages in his own mind. All he succeeded on was making flashes of magic sear his brain that sent his form reeling.

"Don't fight the magic," the Heiress caressed his back. When had she stood behind him? "Be a good child like Xanthy over there."

Cirasa did everything he could to direct his form's gaze towards Xanthy. The Heiress snapped her fingers and Xanthy bolted upright. Her eyes were tired but alert. Alive. Thank the gods she's alive.

Then, Cirasa noticed what was wrong. Xanthy wasn't fighting. She wasn't saying anything. The Heiress chuckled as if sensing Cirasa's thoughts. "Xanthy gave up control over her magic," she said. "If you do so as well, then together with the thrones, the Sovereign and I can finally enter Parkane. Oh, after all these years!"

Cirasa slammed his hypothetical shoulder against the barriers of magic in his own mind. He yelped in pain as he was thrown back by his own force. Outside, his form staggered. The Heiress steadied him. "Feisty," she grinned. "I like it."

Then, with her hands lit up, she plunged it into Cirasa's chest, filling him up more of that strange magic. He gurgled; his control over his consciousness slipped from his grasp. Oh, no...

The Heiress smiled. "There we go," she transferred more magic to him before letting him go. Cirasa screamed but he lost his voice. His form wasn't his anymore. He tried moving but his arms wouldn't follow. Gods...

The Heiress was soon joined by another woman. The Sovereign. "Open the Gates," she ordered.

Cirasa felt his magic awaken from the pit of his soul. No, no, no. Don't give them what they want! Too late. Cirasa's form raised his hands. The oracle's synnavaim crackled and turned the air colder. The Heiress and the Sovereign's grins widened. Their eyes glittered upon seeing the scene unfolding in front of them.

The air turned electric. If his consciousness had hairs, they would have probably stood up. A ripping sound echoed around the room. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. The wind whipped and slammed against the walls. It drove Cirasa's hair off his form's forehead.

Magic overflowed from his soul and he couldn't do anything to stop it. The space peeled away to a brightly lit doorway big enough for a fairy. The Heiress and the Sovereign grinned at each other and waved their hands in thin air.

The thrones appeared one by one, each settling on their enemies' hands. Then, the Heiress touched Cirasa's shoulder. "Keep the portal going," her order reverberated in Cirasa's skull and strengthened the cages of foreign magic around his consciousness. There's no way he would be able to disobey. "Even if you die, keep the portal going."

Cirasa didn't reply. He thought his form didn't either. The Heiress bent down and yanked at the chains holding Xanthy by the neck. The girl snapped up, limping after the women as they stepped through the doorway of light. Blood trailed her feet as they disappeared in a flash.

A tear slid out from Cirasa's eyes. Indeed, tears really were the most rebellious things in this world.

Then, his world brightened and light swallowed him whole, his throne's call looming in the damning horizon awaiting him.