The Outsiders

The Outsiders: Chapter Fifteen

Khristopher De Caldwick

Tainted with darkness, my wings were as dark as my soul.

I had only delved into Tenebris for maybe half an hour, yet my soul was darker than any mortals could ever be. From the deepest part of the soul, the flying spell created wings unique to the caster. Though my eyes were clouded with tears and my chest aches with anguish, I could hardly make out the raven outlines of the jagged wings. Without feathers or skin, it was made with what I imagined they'd be made of thick, aged souls. From the diagrams I saw in the book, they were usually bright white or golden, but the casters were untainted by darkness.

            From the moment I ran from Soum, I knew my soul would never be the same. Riddled with contempt and hurt I created, my soul implored for my return to Soum's arms, but I knew no hood would come if I returned. Wiping my eyes, I ignored the sharp pain in my chest as I charted my course to Vertime: home to Uncle Allard's Rouge Skulk

             Covered in evergreen pines and leafy oak trees, the plot of land below me bellowed in the soft wind I created. Though smaller than Spareaux's, the wings that sprouted from my back were twice my size, creating lustrous waves of wind with every flinch and flap. As I peered over the lumber and timber, I dove into the forest. Since my eyesight was well below the average, I sniffed the air in search of the Rogue's signature musk: rusted iron and corpse flower, the smell of a tainted wolf soul amid piney air.

Landing on the shallow ground, I took a small shaken breath. As I grew aware of my surroundings, a blinding rage budded from my bodes. Amid my self-pity, self-loathing, and hurt, a sweltering fury flourished and surged through my dull veins. Though faint and sickly, my heart rate seemed to accelerate. Pumping adrenaline through my shaken frame, I could only walk forwards, through the fogged foliage and icy trees.

Igniting every nerve in my body, my rage consumed my vision. Darkened and hollow, my chest grew heavy with pain with every step I took. The weight of my soul taunted me with such derision I couldn't fathom. I needed to extinguish the fire that inflated the weight of my woes, but the rage quenched my thirst: my thirst for revenge.

In a vivid vision, my hurt, my pain, my scorn, and my ache flashed before me. Never had I been charged with such remorse. Never had I grown so disdainful. Never had I yearned to sink my fangs into any creature before my eyes landed on a Rogue.

Though I knew I shouldn't have, my soul was already tainted with darkness. Conjuring the book, I gazed upon the first pages of Tenebris. Any warning I had stumbled upon was pointless. I was tainted, immortally mortal.

I was undead anyway.

"Snake of stealth, dark in wealth, bring to me the gracious gaff, bring to me the Reaper's Staff."

A sharp pain plunged my chest, plucking at my soul with a furious force. Surging down my veins, a purple substance slowly slid into the palm of my hand. A burning feeling spread through the tips of my fingers, yet I could only focus on the three Rogues, barring their teeth in a defensive stance. Spiking, my scorn brought a taunting sneer on my lips as I glared at them. Like a bolt of sharp lightning, a purple staff with a hooked blade. Glowing an eerie purple, the staff was made with the same material my wings were: my cold, tainted soul.

"Uncle Allard!"

            With a growl, the wolves pounced. Twirling the staff, I could only express my utter remorse with a vengeful smirk. With the swing of the staff, I sliced through the mangled mutt. Glowing a brighter purple, the Rogue's stolen soul rested inside of the blade.