zombies clawed away at his body and the channeled rage overpowered, the shackles slowly fell from Jor's mind and one happy thought filled him:
Orummagh sees me! I'm worthy! He sees me!
*
"...disposing of it would be a waste; demonic blood of this quality could be worth a small fortune in the right market. Maybe the techs can find use for the rest of the body, too."
"Understood, sir. Should we quarantine the area?"
"No need. Notice the irregular blast pattern and the slight charring of the corpses? This was demonic, not biological. A wave of internal pressures blasted the mindless ones from within, followed by a large, fiery explosion originating from the possessed channeler. The energy is still thick; by its texture I'd guess it belongs to one of the elder demons. You - send for a demonology expert!"
"Look! Sir, it might still be alive!"
With great effort, Jor opened an eye - only to see another set of eyes staring back at him. They belonged to a large man, whose frame didn't hide too well the heavy grafts and localized mutations.
"I'm security chief of the Midflower. Speak, demon spawn! Who sent you, and what hell did you unleash here?"
Jor tried to move his body, but succeeded only in turning his neck. Yet, his mind was clear and observed his present state with calm detachment.
"Maybe it's one of the mad ones that wander in from the desert-"
"Silence!"
Jor's throat was sore and dry - not to mention half of it ripped out - but he tried to speak nonetheless. The words came out as whispers:
"Orummagh... he's smart... Run, run!.. Others will come..." He coughed up blood, but even the strength to cough quickly diminished.
"Who's coming? Speak!"
He warned them to spite Orummagh, but whether they'd heed his warning or not didn't concern him - he wasn't going to spend his last breath trying to explain.
Jor closed his eyes, and with this act, outer sensations stopped reaching him.
His mind retreated, touching up on the memories of the many years he and his beloved Connie spent under the demon's shadow. They lived in nomadic camps, all their waking hours spent in work and devotion to the demon. They endured ash storms, starvation, and the burning sun.
At least we had each other
- but the thought didn't fill him with romantic notions, only with regret.
If only we had the strength to end our lives... instead of succumbing to misguided purpose and false hope. We should have died together with dignity.
As Jor's body has shut down, so did his mind.
I'm going first, love...
* * *
Want more stories like this? Sign up for my Storyletter! Whenever I finish a short story, I send it out for free.
(Go to my website and enter your email address!)
Visit my website at: www.DawnHarshaw.com
Orummagh sees me! I'm worthy! He sees me!
*
"...disposing of it would be a waste; demonic blood of this quality could be worth a small fortune in the right market. Maybe the techs can find use for the rest of the body, too."
"Understood, sir. Should we quarantine the area?"
"No need. Notice the irregular blast pattern and the slight charring of the corpses? This was demonic, not biological. A wave of internal pressures blasted the mindless ones from within, followed by a large, fiery explosion originating from the possessed channeler. The energy is still thick; by its texture I'd guess it belongs to one of the elder demons. You - send for a demonology expert!"
"Look! Sir, it might still be alive!"
With great effort, Jor opened an eye - only to see another set of eyes staring back at him. They belonged to a large man, whose frame didn't hide too well the heavy grafts and localized mutations.
"I'm security chief of the Midflower. Speak, demon spawn! Who sent you, and what hell did you unleash here?"
Jor tried to move his body, but succeeded only in turning his neck. Yet, his mind was clear and observed his present state with calm detachment.
"Maybe it's one of the mad ones that wander in from the desert-"
"Silence!"
Jor's throat was sore and dry - not to mention half of it ripped out - but he tried to speak nonetheless. The words came out as whispers:
"Orummagh... he's smart... Run, run!.. Others will come..." He coughed up blood, but even the strength to cough quickly diminished.
"Who's coming? Speak!"
He warned them to spite Orummagh, but whether they'd heed his warning or not didn't concern him - he wasn't going to spend his last breath trying to explain.
Jor closed his eyes, and with this act, outer sensations stopped reaching him.
His mind retreated, touching up on the memories of the many years he and his beloved Connie spent under the demon's shadow. They lived in nomadic camps, all their waking hours spent in work and devotion to the demon. They endured ash storms, starvation, and the burning sun.
At least we had each other
- but the thought didn't fill him with romantic notions, only with regret.
If only we had the strength to end our lives... instead of succumbing to misguided purpose and false hope. We should have died together with dignity.
As Jor's body has shut down, so did his mind.
I'm going first, love...
* * *
Want more stories like this? Sign up for my Storyletter! Whenever I finish a short story, I send it out for free.
(Go to my website and enter your email address!)
Visit my website at: www.DawnHarshaw.com
Similar Books
