Within every heart, there was darkness. Within every soul, there was the potential for great, and terrible evil. No mortal, living or dead has been truly free from the corruption influence of the evils that surround them. Some rise to the challenge, steeling themselves and hardening their resolve against those who would try and break their wills. Others crumble, giving in to the darkness that lurks within them and letting it consume them with its endless hunger. Most however, tread the line somewhere in between, grappling with their inner demons, both imaged... and real. It is they who will suffer the most, endlessly torn between two sides of the same coin.

The ashen forest around Sir Gallius was not the one he sat in as he watched the fires burned low at his campsite. Though he did not know it yet, he was already fast asleep by the fireside. No, this forest existed only in his dreams, and these dreams were soon to become his nightmares. The footsteps in the distance sounded nearby, just around the next bend. They were quick, erratic, like someone was running. Fleeing. "Help me!" A voice cried out, it was that of a woman. "Won't anyone help me!" A young woman at that. The panic in her voice clear, her footsteps growing more distant as though she were fleeing from where the knight stood. The ash began to fall more heavily, it reduced visibility slightly and the illuminated shadows of trees shone through the ashen fog like grim shadows. There was no visible sun overhead, and just dim light flooded the grove from seemingly all directions. Like being trapped in a room with no visible walls, endless and ethereal in all directions.

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Word Count: 291
Andrew C. Creed

The witch turned and glared at the knight with hate filled eyes. A look of sheer contempt soon washed across her face, the scorn practically dripping off her. "Those men deserved to die Gallius. You know that, don't pretend otherwise..." The witch leapt back when the knight thrust his spear into the earth, eyes never leaving him as she did. She stood there for a moment, and her scowl slowly contorted into a smile. It grew wider, and more sinister. Lilith let out a laugh, more of a cackle really. It was not like her, and her laughter grew louder and more maniacal. "You damn stood fool." It taunted between gasps for breath as it struggled to breath against its own laughing fit. "Who says I wanted you chance at redemption? Who says I wanted to be saved?"

Slowly the woman began to walk forward, each step as if a ball and chain were tied to her feet. She approached the spear slowly, glancing down at the weapon the way a small child stares at a newfound toy. "You just... don't... get it... do you?" She said with wicked intent, reaching down to wrap her petite hand around the handle of the spear. As she did it sizzled and burned at her flesh, the sound was like meat cooking on a grill. Her face showed no change in motion, as if she simply did not feel the pain in her hands. The witch wretched the spear from the ground, her hand now engulfed in holy fire. It began to work its way up the black sleeve of her robes, scorching her upper arm and shoulder. Lilith prepared to throw the weapon as if it were a javelin, but something unexpected happened as she lined up her throw.

Two beams of red Ki shot out from the ashen shadows, piercing the young woman straight through the chest. "GAAAAaahhhhkkk..." she managed to stammer, blood pouring from her lips. The witch dropped the lance, her unburned hand moving to inspect the two wounds at her chest. Her fingers trembled as they touched the holes clean through her body. Blood did not run from these wounds though, instead tendrils of darkness leaked forth from the woman. She touched at them, struggling to speak but unable to do so. Gasping for breath and choking on her own blood the witch fell forward, hitting the forest floor like a sack of wet concrete. As she did her body disintegrated, poofing into a small cloud of darkness they wafted away into the empty breeze.

A figure stepped forth from fog, a curvaceous figure wearing a long heavy cloak. Four black horns protruded from her head, giving her an unmistakable silhouette against the trees and fog. Amatricina stepped into view, looking around to see if the surrounding were clear before turning to lock eyes with Gallius. "Sir!" She stated happily, letting out a sigh. "You're the last person I expected to see here. I don't know what or where this place is, but there are powerful shadow magics at work." The demoness motioned down at the now mostly dissipated heap of darkness that had once been the young witch. "Did you know her? I've been killing ghosts from my past for hours. We should stick together from now on." The fire demon gave the knight a warm smile, happy to finally have found a friendly face.

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Word Count: 574
Total Word Count: 865
Andrew C. Creed

The demoness glanced over at the knight as they began to walk. "No." She said simply, walking along as Gallius tagged along besides her. "One moment I was back in my realm, the next thing I knew I was here." Her words did not betray any sign of distress, even at the strange circumstances of their meeting. "I'm guessing it was the same for you Gallius?" A curious choice of words to be sure, if one was observant enough to catch it. The demoness folded her arms across her expansive chest, nodding in agreement at the knight's remarks. "You're right again Gallius. This isn't a place of my realm at least, nor the Other World as far as I know." The demoness raised a hand, pointing skyward. "And don't bother flying, I've checked the skies. The ash just grows thicker and thicker, it never ends. You just get lost in it up there."

The duo continued walking for a bit, aimlessly wandering in a straight line. There was no way to get a compass bearing, no sun to find east or west, no stars to find true north, not even wind. Just falling ashen rain, and more endless grey forest. After a few minutes, Amatricina stopped suddenly, placing her hand in front of her companion. Her arm lacked the radiant heat it normally exuded. "Do you hear that Gallius?" The demoness said in a low voice. "Footsteps." Out from the mist could be seen the forms of a dozen individuals. They walked shoulder to shoulder, weapon in hand, shield in the other. Horns and feathered displays atop their helms became clear as they walked. Their armor was as that of Gallius, the soldiers were men of his order. Long lost comrades thought perished years ago.

Amatricina raised an eyebrow questioningly, stepping behind her companion. "There! Men do you see it or do my eyes play tricks?" One cried out.

"No, I see it too Darius... Brother Gallius!" Another called out, waving his sword over his height to signal the to the knight.

"Stand your ground men, who is that witch?" One of the knights cried out, raising his shield defensively.

"She is no Ferrosian, look at her horns!" Another bellowed, gripping his mace tight.

Amatricina glared in rage, raising a hand and channeling her crimson ki. She hurled a blast of ruby energy that struck one of the knights, knocking him to the ground and badly searing his breastplate. The other knights drew back defensively, shields locked as they formed ranks. "They are creatures of shadows Gallius." The demoness practically snarled, fangs bared as she leapt back. "They are not your brethren. It is some kind of illusion, I've already slain the phantoms of my brothers. Strike them down so we can be rid of them!" The demoness fired another ki blast, then darted off into the depths of the woods.

"Damnations!" One of the knights cried out, helping his wounded comrade to his feet.

"Gallius consorts with demons! He has fallen to their ilk!" Another shouted in rage, his blade in hand.

"Slay this traitor, he is not fit to wear that armor!" A third roared in anger, battleaxe gripped tight overhead.

"You five, after the demon, show it the Fires of Manus. The rest of you, with me. I want this heretic's skull!" The leader of the men cried, drawing his blade and rattling it against his shield. His men yelled in battle crazed frenzy, half departing into the depths of the woods, the others forming ranks and charging at their former comrade in arms. Swords, maces, and axes in hand they rushed the knight, ready to best him with superior numbers in their frenzied assault.

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Word Count: 622
Total Word Count: 1,487
Andrew C. Creed 1d100+45·1d12+1·1d100+45·1d12+1

The knights screamed out in agony at the assault. The first one run through by the warrior's blades howled in agony as is his life slipped from his eyes. His screams were silenced only by the breaking of his neck. The other men rose to their feet, taking a step back in fear and raising their shields in defense. "It is true." One stammered out in shock. "Brother Gallius consorts with daemons, he is lost to us!" Another cried out, only to be silenced as one of the spectral blades ran him through the throat. His armor did nothing to stop the weapon, and he died gurgling up the foul black liquid that composed his body. The knight slumped over in a heap, turning to ash with a weighty thud. The knights seemed ignorant to their false nature, acting in earnest despite now being clearly known facsimiles.

The remaining knights of Manus fared little better against Gallius' retaliation, suffering grievous wounds from their opponent's blades. Their flesh rent by the cruel energy of his swords' attacks. They reformed their ranks as best they could, though two fewer than they had been in number before. "Together brothers!" Their leader cried, raising his blade high above his head. "TOGETHER!" His knights cried in response, raising their blades as well. "For Brother Darius, and for Brother Tychus! Slay this heretic! Manus guide us!" The leader cried out, calling upon his holy wrath. His men channeled their energy together, forming an enormous golden lance of energy above their heads. Moving as one they hurled the massive weapon directly at Gallius. Fires danced in their eyes, eager expressions spreading across their faces as their combined missile of righteous might flew towards their traitorous brethren.

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Word Count: 298
Total Word Count: 1,785
Andrew C. Creed 1d100+45·2d12+2·1d100·1d100+45·2d12+2·1d100

The knights panicked, screaming in terror as they attack proved to no avail. The lance flew back into their ranks, exploding violently and scattering them on the ground. They had thrown every once of their collective strength behind their desperate attack, and all for naught. Their god had abandoned them, or so they thought. Little did they know, their very existence was a facsimile, the fabrication of Gallius' thoughts and memories. They were as real as anything else in this place, but it was all too real to them. As the men fell one by one, slain by their corrupted brethren's continued assault, they shrieked in agony and cried out their last bitter declarations against the traitor. "Heretic, Craven, Daemonspawn." Insults of every color flew from the men's mouths, their lasts bitter bloodied insults before they were run through by the once gallant knight's cruel blades.

One managed to escape, avoiding Gallius' blows as he moved quick on his feet. His sword unsteady in his hand, fear in the eyes beneath his helm. He whispered to himself, more of a pathetic whimper as his wits faded. He prayed to Manus, he begged him for the strength he had forsaken them, he begged to be free from this nightmare. But alas, his nightmare did come to an end. He could not dodge every blow, and his stamina failed the brave knight. His surcoat bloodied and his armor soaked in his false black blood, he too fell victim to the barrage of blows from his foe's twin blades. As he fell to the floor, the life fading from his eyes, black liquor spilled from his wounds and he too turned to ash.

The forest grew deathly quiet, until footsteps began to echo in the distance. Soft footfalls slowly growing louder as the sound of mailed boots became clear. From the fog and the ash emerged the remaining knights, and their newest companion. Amatricina stood at the head of their host, a malevolent smile on her face. Several swords and a broken spear jutted from her back, slashes and wounds across her once flawless body. Several of her horns were broken clean off, one was lodged through the chest of a knight at her side. A thick, black miasma seeped from the demon's wounds. It clung to the knights, moving their bodies like puppets on their strings. The knights themselves were no better off. Many were severally burned, beyond what should be survivable. Their charred flesh clung to their seared armor like rags, broken or severed limbs telling the tale of how sharp the demon's claws had been. The ruby fires that burned in Amatricina's eyes had been replaced by a haunting onyx glow. It was an empty light, a dead light. The stuff nightmares were made of.

"So you live?" The demoness spoke, though it was not her voice. It sounded disembodied, foreign. As if the words came from nowhere, simply moving her lips like a ventriloquists doll. "Did they die in agony?" The voice asked, motioning to the ashen marks where the knights had once rested. "Good." It spoke without waiting for an answer, "Let their suffering guide you. As it does now." Amatricina raised a hand, pointing to Gallius as she let out a rasping wheezy laugh. "Avenge your brethren, go forth my soldiers." The undead knights were compelled to reply, they moved forward like grim phantoms, clutching their burned and blooded weapons in hand. They opened their mouths, firing cruel blasts of spectral energy at the armored knight. Their powers in undeath would replace the skills they had held as the living.

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Word Count: 603
Total Word Count: 2,388
Andrew C. Creed 1d100+45·2d12+2·1d100·1d100+45·2d12+2·1d100

The undead knights were raked by the spears, being torn into little more than scraps of flesh and steel. The false life faded from their eyes, and their broken bodies turned to dust. A few managed to avoid this fate, flung through the air by the blast, they landed upright albeit no better off than they had been before. The demoness cackled in disembodied delight at the displays of violence before her. The ruthlessness with which the knight fought, the malice in his actions. It was all so deliciously decadent. Amatricina licked her once ruby lips, now blue and splotched with congealed blood. "Are we not all apparitions, oh great knight?" Her words taunting, unconcerned with the state of affairs before her. "What are we if not our memories? Does anything truly exist if not in the past?" It asked questions for which it cared not for an answer. "Who weaves the threads of fate if not the one who wills destiny?"

Like a puppet master the demoness lifted her arms, pulling tight on the threads of smoke that wafted to the knights. The corded shadows grew taught, and with a sickening pull the woman ripped the very shadows from the walking corpses. They fell limp in a heap, turning to black ooze and grey ash. The shadows retracted into the demon, pulling into her form through the wounds on her skin. She let out a short gasp, and the dim light faded from her eyes. Then a pillar of hellfire erupted around her body, rising high into the trees as it masked her form. There came a roar, an unearthly bellow from within the pyre. Out of the flames lurched a massive arm, black and covered in oozing pustules and gnarled skin. It slammed into the ground as it tried to pull its great weight forward. A second arm reached out, this one without a hand. Only the shattered stub of a bone protruded from it's wound, it dug into the ground for purchase as it wretched its body forward.

The flames dissipated, and the beast came to rise some forty feet in height. Black, writhing with shadows and a body like congealed blood packed onto a muscled frame. Its mouth was a nightmare of dagger like teeth and whip like tongues. Most sickening of all was the creature's face. Its eyes were gone, bleeding profusely as if they had been freshly gouged out. In the center of its many eyed gaze was the torso of a man. Only and wiry, with gaunt features and pale white skin. His limbs were shattered, ripped clean and replaced by grim looking scythes of bone that jutted from his shoulders. He was missing his jaw, his tongue hanging free from his bleeding mouth. The great colossus of shadow opened its wide mouth, bellowing forth the words of the man sewn to its forehead. "We are all nightmares in here. Some of us, more real than others." The mouth laughed, before a violet light erupted from deep in its throat. It belched forth a great beam of energy, carving a trench through the ground before it as it seared its way towards Gallius.

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Word Count: 530
Total Word Count: 2,918
Andrew C. Creed

1d100+45·4d12+4·1d100

The beast roared out in agony, unable to shake loose the knight with his vast lumbering bulk. Foul black blood seeped from its wounds like a river of viscera, great meaty chunks of flesh sloshing from bone. It raised its good hand in pain, trying with all its might to swat the knight away as he burst forth from its ruined eyes. There were no words from the monster, it was consumed by bestial rage and driven by sheer instinct. It's collosal lower half driven only by pain and the will to survive. It thrashed violently, trying its hardest both to shake the knight lose and to escape the terrible pain that wracked its body. Seared flesh burned along the creature, the stench of burning hair and skin filling the air with the sickening aroma. It was a miserable display of the grotesque, with the horror fast realizing that it met its mental match.

Instincts kicked in, and the behemoth let out a guttural roar that shoot the ground. It summoned forth its last waning vestiges of strength, whatever foul reserves of power still lurked within its black heart. It looked down at the knight before it, human eyes seething with rage while foam frothed at its monstrous maw. This time both mouths opened wide to fire, both unleashing beams of corrupt energy that leaked out like pus from a wound. They aimed for Gallius, though the beast strained against its wounds and its own physical limitations.

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Word Count: 247
Total Word Count: 3,165
Andrew C. Creed 1d100+45·4d12+4·1d100·1d100+45·4d12+4·1d100

The shadow abomination scream its dying screams as the barbed weapons dug deep into its rotted hide. It clawed at them, ripping them from its body only furthering their wounds. It was an animal the frenzies of its death throws. No amount of trying to dislodge the source of its agony succeeded in numbing the pain. Blood poured from great gaping gashes along its torso, its leg was split wide open and could barely support its weight. A tendon snapped, and the behemoth toppled forward. It tried to stop its fall with its unmangled arm, but the weight of its own bulk was too great. Its arm dislocated from the fall, snapping sickeningly out of its shoulder. It tried to crawl towards Gallius, even with its dying breaths. The chest of the monster heaved, great weighty heaves as it breathed its last. Its arm reached Gallius, enough to make one last pitiful attempt at an attempt.

The beast swung wildly with its last ounce of strength. Even if it connected, it knew it had not the strength to win this battle, much less live to see it through. The human apparition sewn to the top of the beast's head opened its mouth. It was hard for it to speak, most of its jaw hanging freely by nearly severed musculature. In its eyes were only rage and malice, even pain driven from it in its last moments. "You... win." It spoke, barely above a whisper. "Make... us... proud." With those last words it began to cackle, but the exertion was too much. The creature heaved once, spasming violently before dying. Then at last the forest grew silent. No footsteps, no breathing, even the ash had ceased to fall. High above the sun began to shine through, burning brightly through the dense fog that obscured the lands. The veil of ash was lifted, though the forest was still boundless and without limits.

In the distance could be seen what appeared to be Gallius' own campsite, right down to his empty rucksack and pack. The fire in his fire burning bright. The flames danced and turned, a small beacon of light against the fading twilight. The seemed to take shape, forming four great horns that crowned a mane of long flowing hair. Then in an instant the fire burnt out, the wisp of heat turning to cinder and dancing away to join so much ash.

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Word Count: 394
Total Word Count: 3,559
Andrew C. Creed 1d100+45·1d12+1·1d100+45·1d12+1