Phantom; Blessed by the devil, Cursed by the gods

Chapter 13 Death's Sting

Sal had thought dying would hurt, he'd imagined feeling untold amounts of pain and agony, coupled with the most precious moments of his life flashing before his eyes in red, as though it was an incentive, something that would numb the pain that came with death's sting.

But as the butt of the trident stabbed through his heart and the realization that Casmir had died settled in his mind he felt nothing, he'd had no flashback of precious times past. He had only strained to keep his eyes open, to keep the darkness from engulfing him, until, eventually, the world became nothing but that darkness of which he had desperately strained against.

***

There were voices, different voices, all speaking at once, all from the same lips.

"Not yet Salome", the voices echoed, "not for a long time"

They faded as quickly as they came, and were replaced by a singular, more familiar voice.

"I am not gone Sal, I'm holding on, for you, for all of you"

And then there was silence.

***

Light flooded Sal's vision in an instant, air filled his lungs in one desperate rush and he gasped as each of his senses, both magical and physical, began to work. The trident's butt still stuck out of his chest, the point in his heart sizzling as if it stood in lava. Sal grabbed the shaft and pulled the trident out of his heart, gasping once again as his mark burned and the wound seamed to a close. As soon as it did, everything became clearer.

Sal stood from the floor and his eyes searched the room for his friends. He saw them all, huddled over what was no doubt Casmir's remains. They were all just kneeling and staring, fists tight and eyes shining with tears.

Sal had wanted to believe he'd imagined it, that death had brought his fears to life in the form of hallucinations, but the voice he'd heard wasn't a fabrication of his mind, it was proof that he had failed to protect his friend, proof that Casmir was dead.

It hurt so much more than it was supposed to, he had known him for a few days, and yet it felt like Sal had lost something he couldn't imagine living without.

The pendant suddenly began to pulse against his chest and Sal looked around the room. Stalking towards his friends was one last Atlantian, the one he'd been fighting. The Atlantian watched them like a beast as he walked, weaponless yet just as dangerous.

Sal realized the test wasn't over, the Atlantians hadn't been defeated, and his friends were so shocked over Casmir's death that they were oblivious to the danger lurking towards them.

Sal rose desperately to his feet, reaching out with his hands and calling for Kyrona, but the sword didn't move, for he wasn't the one that named it, and it was so far away that by the time he reached it the Atlantian would be on his friends like a lion.

Then he remembered his wand.

It can also be a decent weapon, Katarina had said. If you know how to use it.

Sal reached into his boot, feeling for the leather strapped handle of his wand and pulling it out as he charged the Atlantian.

There was a dull voice of reason echoing Melchior's words in his head.

Its entirely surrounded by water, which negates magic, so to use it would be futile, whether you're inside or outside.

But there was another, much louder voice, hammering Peter's words as well.

Phantoms are warriors, why they're created is a mystery, but they are always powerful and the things done to them before they are brought into the world are blessings, or curses, that give them unfathomable gifts, and an endless potential.