Darkwood: Circus Inferno

Dancing with Demons

...

Onyx's breath quickened as he stumbled through the maze of twisted circus tents. The air around him was thick with the rancid smell of decay, and in the distance, mocking laughter echoed, closing in on him. He could feel the malicious eyes of the clowns watching his every move, their grotesque faces half-hidden in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Suddenly, they were upon him.

A relentless swarm of clowns descended, their laughter a high-pitched, cruel mockery. They circled him, taunting, mimicking his struggles, and sneering with grotesque grins plastered across their painted faces.

“Oh, look at the poor boy trying to stand on his own!” one of the clowns jeered, its painted lips stretched into an unnatural smile. “Still fighting a battle you’ve already lost!”

Another clown, juggling blades that gleamed wickedly, chimed in. “Can’t do it without him, can you? Poor little Onyx. Always weak. Always helpless.”

Onyx gritted his teeth, trying to fight them off, but they were everywhere—grabbing, pulling, cutting. Each taunt, each cruel word, felt like a blade carving into him. They weren’t just mocking his strength. They were mocking his very existence, and more importantly, his deepest fear.

Achelios.

"You'll never escape him," one of the clowns hissed, slinking closer, their face warping into a grotesque version of Achelios’ sneer. “He’s in your blood. You’re nothing without him.”

Onyx’s hands shook as he tried to summon his magic, to fight back, but their words cut deep into his mind. They were right. He couldn’t shake Achelios. No matter how much he resisted, how much he tried to be his own person, that shadow—Achelios’ shadow—always loomed over him.

The laughter grew louder, deafening, as more clowns joined the circle, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of mockery. His heart pounded in his chest, fear crawling up his spine like icy fingers. He couldn’t take it. The walls of his mind were closing in.

“You want me?” Onyx snarled, his voice breaking with desperation as he stumbled backward. He could feel the darkness inside him stirring. “Fine. I’ll give you what you want.”

The clowns’ laughter faltered for a moment, sensing a shift in the air, but they pressed on, unaware of the storm they had provoked.

“I’m not weak,” Onyx spat through gritted teeth, his voice growing darker. “I have more power than any of you can imagine.”

With a final scream of frustration, Onyx closed his eyes and called forth the one thing he’d sworn never to rely on. Achelios.

A surge of dark energy coursed through him, violent and wild. His skin prickled, and his vision darkened at the edges as the presence of Achelios filled his mind. The clowns, once so confident and relentless, now hesitated as they felt the shift in power.

The air around Onyx crackled with an otherworldly energy. His eyes snapped open, glowing with an eerie, golden hue, and his voice echoed with a chilling resonance. Achelios was no longer lurking in the background—he was here, in control.

The clowns froze, their laughter silenced by the oppressive weight of Achelios’ presence. The once mocking faces of his tormentors twisted into terror as they realized what they had awoken.

“Is this what you wanted?” Onyx—no, Achelios—spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the nearest clown was flung across the room, slamming into the far wall with a sickening crunch.

“Run,” Achelios whispered through Onyx’s lips, his voice like velvet laced with poison. “Run while you still can.”

The clowns, their mockery now turned to screams, scattered in all directions, their fear palpable. But there was no escaping Achelios. With each step, Onyx—driven by Achelios’ power—moved with lethal grace, cutting down his enemies without hesitation.

As the last clown fell to the ground, twitching in agony, Onyx stood in the center of the chaos, his chest heaving with the raw power coursing through him. His mind was a battlefield, struggling against the grip Achelios had on him, but in this moment, he couldn’t deny how much easier it was to let go. To let Achelios take control.

Onyx stared at the bloodied remains of his attackers, his glowing eyes fading as Achelios retreats back into the recesses of his mind. But the damage is done, and Onyx knows that every time he calls on Achelios, the cost will grow higher.