Nameless Ghoul

Papa Santos

The ghoul hissed and spat and made to lunge at him. A dark look of pure hatred burned in his mismatched brown and green eyes. He meant to launch himself towards the man who stood stock still, unaffected by the raging creature before him. The ghoul stopped short of his target, however, when he hit the edge of the holding circle. The magic shimmered like heat rising from the asphalt on a scorching hot day as his body slammed into the invisible barrier.

"That won't work, baby ghoul," the man said with amusement, "but I will let you have your little tantrum before the binding spell is complete. This will be the last time you will attack me like that, so get it out of your system."

The ghoul roared in despair and threw himself against the barrier again and again, screeching and clawing to get to the man. The pain of the spell was like the sting of a thousand insects on his skin and it only spurred him on and ramped up his anger even more. He tried and failed to shift into his shadow form. The collar on his neck sparked and shocked him, preventing the transformation from happening.

It felt like hours had passed before he slumped to the floor once again in complete exhaustion. The breath from his lungs came out in shaky wheezes and his upper body was screaming. His skin sizzled from the repeated collisions with the perimeter of the circle. His eyes slid to the man, and he was not alone. Two women stood behind him, one red headed and one blonde, and dark magic bled from them.

"Well, now that we've got that unpleasantness out of the way, I should introduce myself. I am Papa Santos, and these are my witches, Sylvie and Elise. We are in the Catacombs and we serve our Dark Lord in the way He intended here, not like those pompous Clergy usurpers..." he chuckled and then sighed as he walked over to the wooden workbench behind him. Various bottles, bowls and ancient-looking scrolls scattered across its ancient surface. "We may as well get this over with little shadow ghoul, and then the real fun can begin!"

The ghoul looked up, his shuddering breaths echoed from the walls of the chamber. He watched as Santos retrieved a bunch of herbs from the bench, lit them and began chanting in some ancient form of Ghoulish that he barely understood, save for the odd word here and there. The witches joined in, and it felt like a punch to the gut as the chants grew louder. The heady fragrance of the smoke from the burning herbs filled his nostrils.

A suffocating sensation overcame him, like someone was squeezing his ribcage with powerful arms and then he felt a squirming in his chest. It was like some foul parasite was trying to work its way in there. He choked and dark spots danced in his vision, threatening to overcome him once again.

It was as if a bolt of lightning hit the centre of his chest and he thought that his heart would explode as he fell to the ground once again.

As he came aware once more, he looked at Santos and he suddenly knew him. He could feel the anger and the hatred at the heart of this man, could feel the menace coming off him in waves as if it were his own. His skin crawled as the cruelty seeped into him through their newly formed bond like crude oil dripping into his soul.

Santos shuddered in ecstasy as the bond slithered into place.

"There we are, my pet... All done. Now, what shall we name you?" He tapped his chin in thought. "Itzal, my shadow ghoul."

Santos gave a flick of his wrist and mumbled an incantation. Itzal felt a gentle breeze on his chilled flesh as the magical barrier dropped with a soft whoosh.

He found himself nose to nose with Santos as he crouched down to put their faces level. White hot disdain burned in his eyes as he warred with himself. He willed his claws to reach out and rip the throat from the man, who was frustratingly only inches away from him. He tried and tried, yet nothing happened. His hands remained where they were, no matter how much he wanted to move them. Sweat broke out on his forehead from the effort.

Santos grinned, his black eyes gleaming with malevolence as he leaned in close. He dragged his tongue up the side of his cheek, leaving a hot trail of saliva there. Itzal closed his eyes in disgust.

"Oh, how delicious. The hatred leaks from your pores and yet you cannot act out your desires. You will realise you belong to me now. You are mine," he growled. "I will do with you as I wish and we shall certainly make a magnificent partnership, you and I. Now come, you need to clean up and familiarise yourself with your new home before your training begins."

Itzal stood through no volition of his own. His legs blindly staggered after the robed figure, who beckoned him to follow. His mind screamed for him to get away. It raced in a panicked frenzy, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control over his body, but his efforts were futile. He was completely at the mercy, or apparent lack thereof, of Santos.