The Ruler's Rift

Broken Memoir

Through pink and purple and blue arrived the angry, hungry sorceress. She emerged from her magic into the darkness which surrounded the colorful tents. Not one month ago did she call them home and yet they spit in her face? Their contents were even fouler. She yearned to purge them before they spread any more of their malignant rumors.

Celeste did not know this world. Rocky formations of dark sediment surrounded the shallow pit where the clownish caravan rested. Above twinkled many stars, but not a tree or shrub to admire them.

No one would admire this troupe, either - not anymore. This poor world would be deprived of the performances it wanted, not that Celeste cared. What luck they'd had - already landed another gig without her skills.

Boldly, she marched past the curtain and into the network of tents. She ventured deeper, eyeing familiar props and tools that meant nothing to her now. The worthless supporting performers were absent, but was Lance around? Surely he lazed about and sent his workers on some stupid pursuit. And as Celeste neared his tent, as that dreaded curtain drew closer and the hallway narrowed, every molten drop of her pride oozed down from her heart and hardened in her veins. It solidified into smoldering coals of hatred, bloodlust, and vengeance. From that charcoal rose smoking desperation and embers of anxiety. She wanted to stop him and she needed to.

Head held high, she cast a horned shadow as she whipped the curtain aside and stared down her old boss. "We need to talk," she snarled.

Lance's shoulders drooped and he expelled a deep sigh. "It's only you," he huffed. "I heard footsteps and thought we were gettin' robbed."

Celeste's eyes narrowed. She contemplated his demise.

"What do you want? Come to grovel for your job back? It ain't happening," Lance scoffed. He poured a dark liquid into a glass.

"Why have you been speaking poorly of me? I've kept you out of my mouth," Celeste snapped.

"You couldn't keep glass out of my head!" Lance retorted, pointing to a bandage around his skull. "You're damn lucky it was fixable."

"And you aren't lucky," Celeste hissed. She stepped closer. "That would've been a far quicker death than what you're about to get..."

Lance's eyes widened. Where he once would've mocked her threat, he now cowered. After their last encounter, he knew her capabilities and the extent of her anger. "Whoa, whoa, easy," he pleaded.

"Sorry, Lance," Celeste chuckled. "I have to kill you now; you've given me no choice."

"You'd stoop to murder!?"

"I'd rather be your murderer than let anyone believe I'm what you've claimed." Celeste stalked closer with perfect silence save for her words. He was no more than prey. "And if I have to do this, I may as well enjoy every second."

Glass screeched when Lance smashed the bottle onto the desk. Booze oozed onto the floor. Gripping the neck of the bottle's remains, he held the sharp edges forward. "Don't come any closer...please..." he prayed.

Blue and pink shot like lightning and, in an instant, the demonic tongue flicked the weapon from its wielder. Lance flattened against the wall as the beautiful fiend approached. She watched his neck pulsate faster, the wires under his skin quivering, taunting her.

Lance ran. He sealed his fate as he tried to bolt past her.

Celeste hissed and snatched his shoulder; she slammed him into the wall, his sudden movement having triggered her chase instinct. He thrashed and screamed, spitting and begging. Her claws dug into him and spilt blood; sweet, sacred blood.