Forsaken Ties Read online

but Jacob quickly completes the ability.

  With his sword raised, a white glittering orb shoots up from the blade, and hovers above us. Saskoran freezes in place as it is lunging toward Jacob.

  The orb shines as a brilliant sun, and halts time, allowing for me to meet with Glen.

  “How were you able to enter the contest?”

  Glen reveals his entry piece: it appears to be the front plating to a lock, with a keyhole and latch.

  Certainty insists that is where the key Stratton gave me, fits into. I study Glen as he continues:

  “Jim told me about this place one night when he and I were still living together.

  “He and mom took these artifacts from a project being worked on here.

  “Jim told me he was part of the general maintenance for the facility. Mom was in the research program. That’s how the two of them met…

  “You do know that mom’s still alive,” Glen plainly states.

  In the back of my mind I don’t trust my stepbrother. He may be lying to sway my focus.

  I’ve never known him to be trustworthy. Looking up I notate that the orb’s down to half its size.

  I can’t resist the temptation of asking. “If you know that she’s alive, then tell me where!”

  “She returned here to this realm.” Glen solemnly responds. “Now she’s my guardian angel.”

  When I signed up for the tournament, I was promised the opportunity to reunite with a missing family member. The details on which one of these lost loved ones was never clearly stated.

  Seeing Glen in the forest, I feared this was a fulfillment of the binding contract.

  Don’t get me wrong, I care about my stepbrother. But I had hoped I would find Mom or Dad.

  The small metal plate held in Glen’s hand glows a radiant orange.

  Retrieving the metal X plates and the small round stone, I confirm that the grain of sand is gone.

  In addition to telling me his name, through Jacob’s touch I learn that the artifact is a device.

  The grain of sand is a representation of my guardian angel, while the device is a power conduit.

  The rare metal each contestant has is a means to transfer power to our holy guardians.

  Contrary to this marvelous feature: evil Aspects, like Glen’s demon, thrive on the surplus of wicked energy that all humans produce.

  Second guessing what Glen has shared with me, I don’t understand.

  If what Glen tells me is true, could Mom’s essence be locked away in that mechanism he has?

  And why would she leave us when we were young, to come here?

  “I switched the artifacts, Garrison. This is the piece you were supposed to inherit. The one with Mom’s spirit trapped inside it. What you hold in your hand is mine. After I defeat your guardian angel I’ll have the power to call on Mom, and then I’ll have her defeat your demon.”

  A part of me’s moving around, pulling away from muscles, tissue, and bones.

  Pain migrates through my organs to my stomach.

  Disgust escalates to extreme nausea. Dropping to my knees, I retch out a flood of black sludge.

  It’s difficult to breathe, like I’ve been punched in the stomach and the wind’s knocked out of me.

  My body aches all over. It feels like I can barely move while as I expel more oily vomit.

  If I don’t get this all out I’m going to die. One more gripping spew, and I can breathe easier.

  Jacob’s light is fading. He has been using his energy to keep the orb from diminishing.

  The vomited goop seeps into the cracked earth. Jacob’s essence is a mere glow. The orb has diminished to the size of a marble. The light of day is gone. The environment is dark again.

  Now I must face my stepbrother’s demon.

  Other than granted with the ability to call on my Aspects, I’m only allowed the use of the weapon I hold for my offensive or defensive turns.

  With the dual barrels held at point-blank range, I cock both hammers--then try to squeeze the trigger at the head of Glen’s motionless demon puppet.

  A crippling pain shoots through my wrist and forearm.

  My entire arm goes completely numb, then my body from panic. My right arm is paralyzed!

  I grab hold of the shotgun as it falls…with my left hand…and point it at the creature’s head.

  If I’m not on point, then this right here--will be the tragic ending to my journey.

  I knew the rules from the disclosure.

  The special ability I used as part of my attack turn, to stop time, must be finished before additional action can be taken.

  My reflexes are no match for Glen’s Mounter (the specific classification of his demon Aspect).

  In a split second the gun-barrel is swatted aside as Saskoran flies from out of the air.

  Despite me standing to the side, the demon reaches to swat at my raised left arm.

  The loaded shotgun round fires off into the dark forest as I’m pushed down.

  “I win,” Glen calls out. “You lose. Ah, ha, ha, ha. You lose!”

  I imagine Glen dancing as my face is pressed against the ground by Saskoran’s mandible.

  Glen’s creature waits for its next command. A flaring pain burns through my left bicep.

  In the process of the tackle my left arm was sheared off at the elbow by Saskoran’s sharp claws.

  Feeling returns to my right arm, like warm blood rushing into cold veins.

  The slightest move I make and the demon is hissing at me. I’m shocked to still be alive.

  Neither of them notices the sludge rising up from out of the ground over by my severed limb.

  The connection is weak, and yet I still understand the relationship this being and I share.

  I don’t see any other way. I clench my right fist then whisper “Nousver.” (Devour.)

  With decisive alarm both Glen and the creature realize what I’ve whispered.

  It’s the second special ability I’ve used. This time it’s to gain energy rather than waste it.

  Glen commands Saskoran to attack the glob my severed arm is covered by.

  It’s the worst sound anyone could hear: the crunching of your own bones while something feeds on your hand’s flesh.

  Saskoran leaps off away from me, lunging at my ooze-covered arm.

  A split second before Saskoran’s claws come down, a thought occurs to me.

  I breathe the command “Visti” (return), and no longer feel weak from loss of blood.

  Glancing over at my left hand it looks just like my arm, except its black like tar.

  It mimics my desired hand gestures, reacting and moving as though it were my own.

  I wonder if any of my hand remains, or if my creature has consumed it all?

  The array of attacks that my prosthesis offers, flash though my head.

  Glen’s in shock as I manage to stand, and size-up Saskoran.

  My stepbrother knows if he were to order an attack, that I now have the advantage.

  I consider my options. My desire is to launch a harpoon into Saskoran’s heart.

  After that we’ll feed on its brain. My creature’s ruthless thoughts are becoming my own.

  I have no idea the meaning of the command Glen uses as Saskoran remains still.

  Its eyeball sinks back into its forehead, and then suddenly launches out at me from its mouth.

  My reaction is to catch it and then squeeze it till it pops.

  Gripping the eye with my prosthesis I realize the horrible mistake I’ve made, yet again…

  012: A Pact with the Devil

  The eye dissipates into my prosthetic hand.

  Sharp pains pierce into my heart as I’m unable to move or speak.

  Contamination seeps into my brain. It feels worms are squirming from inside my skull.

  My nervous system is truly failing from this ruthless attack; one organ at a time shuts down.

  Hot liquid oozes from my left ear.

  The
pus constitutes on my shoulder, forming into Saskoran’s renewed eyeball.

  The optic nerve wired into my brain instructs me to move toward the crouched demon Mounter.

  It plucks its eyeball off my shoulder, the stem slides loose from my brain through my ear canal.

  My dark arm shapes into a javelin, and shoots toward Saskoran’s empty socket.

  Seconds from bludgeoning its skull, an overwhelming pain pierces into either side of my spine.

  The retched sting spreads through my body as though it were freezing acid.

  I’m forced down onto my knees.

  The dual blades (protruding from my chest) retract, and Glen steps into view in front of me.

  I take two short breaths to speak aloud “I’m sorry, Glen,” but slump to the ground onto my back.

  I spot a Reaper, circling in the dark sky overhead.

  Expecting death’s cold grip to capture my soul, as my life hangs by a thread, I realize my skin is woven to the outline of a bright and fiery pentagon, that’s etched into the hardened earth.

  My black arm is gone. The end of my severed left arm tingles.

  Delirious, I hear myself say, “Glen. Will you stop talking. I’m trying to get up.”

  The sweat I’ve broken covers my skin like a film.

  Images around me distort into darkness. Brilliant patters tumble before my mind’s eye.

  My spirit is being pulled into a black vortex at the center of my being.

  Reality clarifies.

  I’m sprawled on my back, staring at a sky filled with black smoke clouds.

  My body’s free to move. I sense neither pain nor comfort, only an empty loneliness.

  The area reeks of the vomited ooze.

  A sickening intuition suggests my creature was responsible for bringing me here.

  Beyond this twelve-sided platform of earth (that I rise to my feet and stand in) there’s dark nothingness.

  A massive, molten-red triangle burns from the front of the polygon, emanating immense evil.

  From behind me another triangle forms. There’s a calming presence