Magic Spawn Origins

Magic Spawn: Chapter 64

by Meredith Skye

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The Unfortunates had surrendered after their terrible defeat. The fighting had ceased and the captured humans had been rounded up and were being guarded near the crypt. All Molan's plans had gone smoothly.

The human-named-Rian still knelt in the meadow. Their warriors had also been captured along with many other Unfortunates who awaited a new form. These would be made into warriors for Molan, serving a higher purpose. Perhaps even the human-named-Rian would be allowed to serve Molan in a new form as he prepared for his war.

As he waited, the-Spawned-One randomly sorted through memories of the Nethermost regions: The Crags of Akragammon on the Misk'ai Sea--terrible cliffs that held an impregnable fortress; Sooteth'Sai, a violent and depraved city of hundreds of thousands of inhuman souls; the Djimonn Wastelands, a place to which Molan was once banished, filled with traps, demons and unearthly creatures.

So many places and so many memories to relish.

The-Spawned-One followed Molan. The human Unfortunates had begun to talk of escape, feeling the direness of their situation. But soon their voices faded away as the-Spawned-One followed Molan through the crypt to the door that lead to the inner sanctum. Molan had not taken the-Spawned-One back to this place since his creation. He focussed on this moment, ready to savor it.

Something was hidden there.

The-Spawned-One followed Molan, as always connected to his mind and aware of the plans forming there. Yet, part of the necromancer's thoughts were veiled. He'd closed part of his mind to the-Spawned-One, a curious move. Carefully, the-Spawned-One tried to break through the barriers to see what the necromancer intended.

Before he had any success, they arrived in the inner chamber, a large, round stone chamber supported by eight pillars. In the center of the room, a fire burned in a firepit. Torches hung on the walls. Three other doors led to this place, one from each direction.

Immediately, the-Spawned-One recognized this as the room in which he was created. Near the firepit stood a beautiful woman, motionless, as though frozen in time. She wore a delicate, long blue dress. The-Spawned-One knew her at once. It was Lauretta: She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Harmed ... the one he'd been searching for. For some reason, he felt relieved at seeing her. He wasn't sure why her absence worried him so much. She was a human--an Unfortunate.

Yet, her safety was paramount--above all other things.

Molan gave commands to his skeleton followers, paying little heed to the-Spawned-One. The necromancer gathered some spell components from jars on a table near the wall to help in casting.

The-Spawned-One stopped in front of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Harmed. Her long blond hair scarcely moved. He saw her breathing. Her face was peaceful, as if in a dream. He admired her perfection.

A thought jarred him back to the moment. Molan must expend someone's life-energy to cast his intricate protection spell. Molan now summoned the woman to follow him. She obeyed, wordlessly. Helplessly.

Strangely, the-Spawned-One felt his heart quicken. A feeling of distress overcame him. Hadn't Molan promised he wouldn't harm her? The memory was elusive.

The-Spawned-One followed Molan back through the portcullis and through the hall that linked the two dimensions. With each step the-Spawned-One became more certain: Molan intended to kill her.

The wrongness of it became the only reality.

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