The Corruption- First Draft

Chapter 6

In the dim but cozy confines of Arkon's office, nestled deep within the dungeon's winding halls, Ciaraidh, Akae, and Arkon sat together in an unexpected moment of warmth and discovery. A soft glow from the hearth cast flickering shadows across the room's worn stone walls, as the air seemed lighter than usual, filled with a sense of newfound family. Arkon leaned back in his sturdy wooden chair, a smile pulling at the corners of his face, while Akae, his eyes sparkling with surprise, exchanged a knowing glance with him. Between them sat young Ciaraidh, swinging her legs playfully from her seat. The weight of the dungeon's gloom had lifted, replaced by a rare moment of connection and joy.
Arkon wished he could scream in joy, but with his mouth stitched shut he could only sign about how he felt.
"Arkon is ecstatic to know we're family," Akae interpreted his sign language.
"How come he doesn't make any noises?" Ciaraidh asked.
"When he was your age, a very mean fae took away his ability to talk."
"What? That's so rude! Was she punished for it?"
"Not yet, they still haven't caught her. But don't worry, we've been searching for her for a long while. We'll catch her eventually.
"Oh good! She should be brought to full justice for her crimes," she said as Arkon's interpreter entered the office, giving the signal to the men.
Akae nodded. "Hey Ciaraidh, how about we go get some lunch? Arkon has a visitor he needs to speak with."
"Okay! I'm starving," she said, hopping off of her chair as Akae led him out.
The interpreter dragged Aldmae in by his chains, sitting him down from across Arkon
{I'm surprised you got here so fast. Teleportation?} Arkon signed, with the interpreter repeating out loud.
Aldmae chuckled. "That's not your business. None of this is- though it should be. You are one of us after all."
{What does me being an ivierae have to do with this?}
"You may be living it up as a noble in the most prestigious city, but I know you still care your ivierae brethren. We're just doing what we know is right. Humans deserve the slaughter."
{Who's "we"?}
"You focus too much on the smallest of aspects, don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough if you're that desperate to know. Once you become one of us."
Arkon eyed him suspiciously.
"I know, I know, I'm being vague. You're going to join me and the others in fighting for our complete freedom against our human oppressors."
{Are you saying that I'm going to become a murderer?} He looked horrified.
"You say that like it's a bad thing! It's not like we're indiscriminately killing- oh wait, we sort of are!" He laughed. "We're doing it for a good cause. Wipe out the humans before they get the chance to finish what they started, with a genocide against us. They've proven time and time again that we can't coexist with them. They may tolerate you, but that's only because they don't know you're an ivierae. Like Akae. That broad chasing after him is going to be his downfall if he doesn't dispose of her soon."
{How do you know about her? Not even the Benoists are aware of her.}
"Let's just say- word gets around. I do apologise for not spoiling everything about our plans, but I'm not gonna say much else until you assimilate," Aldmae gazed directly at Arkon, making his heart skip a beat.
{How, how exactly do you expect me to assimilate?} he signed shakily.
"Like this," Aldmae grinned widely as the putrid scars on his face coagulated.
The rot moved.
It peeled off his skin like it had a life of its own—strips of blackened, dying flesh unraveling from his body and sailing through the air. The marks twisted like smoke, then took form, each piece writhing with purpose as it soared toward him. Arkon tried to move, to escape, but his feet wouldn't obey.
The first piece hit his chest with a sickening squelch. It burned. He screamed mentally, clutching at the spot, but the rotting flesh seemed to meld with his own, sinking into his skin. The sensation spread quickly, a creeping corruption. His vision blurred with the pain as more pieces of his decaying marks followed, whipping through the air, splattering against his arms, his neck, his face.
Each touch felt like fire and ice, searing into him, fusing her essence with his. The blackened scars etched themselves deep into his flesh, dark veins spreading beneath the surface like poisonous vines. His skin blistered, cracked, then settled into the same ghastly texture that had marred Aldmae.
Aldmae gazed lifelessly at Arkon before falling to the ground, unconscious.
Arkon hissed and screamed as the rot began weaving intricate marks all over his body, including his face. He fell backwards in his chair, clawing at his face trying to rip off the gooey corruption infecting his soul- but it wouldn't come off.
Slowly, his struggles subsided. The interpreter watched it all happen like it was normal, scratching at the marks on his own face hidden beneath the mask he wore.
"Do you see what I mean now?" The interpreter asked him.
{... Yes,} Arkon slowly signed, shaking as the weight of his reality hit him. {I understand what must be done now.}