Devil of the Swamp Part 2

Read Time: 3mins

Tenebra towered over the broken assassin as tendrils of dark energy bore through his chest and into his very soul. The sounds that escaped his throat were no longer that of a man, but rather a beast caught in a trap, howling and snarling in an attempt to free itself to no avail.

The voice called again ‘End this now! We shall find our answers in his unmaking’
She wanted it more than anything, she wanted this man to suffer for his crimes against her, against her family. Someone should pay, so why not this disgusting creature? A man that weighed the value of a person’s life against a purse of gold.

Take him from this world, leave it a better place for all. She had felt the shadows pull many times before; coming to her as a friend, offering what might seem like sage advice, but she knew whatever it wanted was not for her own wellbeing but to fulfil its own dark needs.

The young woman’s hands began to tremble, this was not right. She was better than this. She would not become the woman her father’s letter had painted her to be. Pulling her hands away in a quick jerking motion the dark energy that flowed from them was instantly extinguished. The voice in her head, gone; back to the depths of her mind for another day.

The assassin lay eerily still, his skin now appearing aged, grey and waxy; like a mannequin after many long years of service. Then with a choking gasp and deep convulsion he returned to the land of the living.

“Where is he, tell me!” Her cry a mixture of sorrow and unfocused rage.

The confidence that once oozed from the man’s words had vanished; what remained was nothing more than a whisper. A voice so soft that even the gentlest of breezes might mask it.

“Louder,” she demanded, a well placed kick delivered to the man’s ribs reinforcing her frustration.

Again he opened his mouth to near silence, whatever damage had been done by the witches magic would not be quickly remedied.

Tenebra moved quickly and with purpose, grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair as his face met with her own. Her other hand dancing an intricate pattern, one it had done many times before as coils of energy began to form in her palm.

“Speak now, this is your final warn…,” then she knew nothing but pain.

Where or when he’d acquired the blade she wasn’t sure, but she felt it as it burrowed into her flesh, a sensation of searing agony blooming from somewhere around her midriff. She hit the floor in an instant as a sticky wetness began to seep into her clothing.

“Final warnings hey?” A Cheshire grin shot across the assassin’s face as he cut through the last of his bonds. “You see the important thing isn’t getting the upper hand, it’s keeping it”

Struggling to his feet, he found his balance against the towering oak that only moments before may have become his final resting place. In his hand laid a blade no thicker than pen. With a quick twist of his wrist the weapon disappeared back into a pocket intricately woven into his tunic, invisible to the eye.

Tenebra struggled to focus on the room, everything around her warped and began to grow dull. The man moved closer to her now, the remnants of his bindings clutched in his hands.

“Try not to die on me girl, I want to get paid and we’ve got a long way to go”

Then darkness…

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