The Abandoned Chosen

Chapter 3

They say to tame a beast, you must look it in the eye.

That to be free, you must face your demons, conquer them, and chain them.

But what happens when the demons don't just stare back… They crawl inside your skin?

What guide is there for a boy who didn't summon monsters yet bleeds with their breath?

What scripture do you read when you become the curse?

Yeva

Brann's inhuman scream tore from his throat, silencing the very forest around him. What stood up from the earth was no longer a boy. It was a nightmare given flesh.

His skin had stretched out, becoming a ghostly alabaster white. Every muscle in his body seemed to bulge and ripple, almost like a work of art.

Thick veins throbbed visibly across his powerful arms. From his skull, two enormous horns curving upwards and outwards appeared.

Their tips were a wicked blood-red, as if they were dipped in fresh gore. His ears became elongated, resembling those of elves. But it was his eyes that held the true horror.

They burned with a hellish red, glowing with an inner fire that didn't mirror the light of Lumenfall but the depths of a newly forged hell.

There was no warmth or humanity left in his eyes, only a cold and consuming rage. His face was now hellish, framed by long, wild strands of snow-white hair that fell over his shoulders.

He was naked from the waist up. A dark, battle-worn leather trousers and metal-clad boots now encased his lower body.

He had the all-seeing eye, a gift from Indolith, hanging from a beaded chain around his neck and resting against his sculpted chest.

Resting on one of his gloved hands was the blazing scythe of vengeance. It was called Virexion, and it was a gift from Sor Molg.

He was a monument to vengeance. The boy Brann was dead. This creature, forged in the ravine, was something else entirely. A being born of ruin and ready to deliver ruin in kind.

Brann stared at the blazing scythe, examining the structure. Then, he lifted his gloved hands to his skull as his fingers traced the curve of his newly sprouted horn.

He caught a glimpse of his new self in the dark waters of a nearby puddle and he was afraid of his reflection.

The voices of the five demons rang in his head, pushing him to unleash his anger, to destroy, to tear and to kill. Yet, Brann, the boy hidden under all that unnatural power, still pulled back in fear.

He didn't understand this power, this horrifying form, or the insatiable hunger that filled him. He felt like a vessel, a puppet, and the thought terrified him.

He took a step, then another, clumsy and unsure. He needed answers. He needed to understand what had become of him, before the monstrous urges consumed what little remained of him.

Suddenly, he heard a rustle. His head snapped up, and his new senses began flaring. His eyes scanned the darkness.

Something was there, too swift and too quiet. The whispers in his mind intensified, the five servants of Recabither were angry.

Brann felt a presence and he dropped the blazing scythe and aimed at the presence with his fist. But he missed.

Like lightning, the girl which Brann later realized to be, dodged. All Brann's blows struck only empty space. And this made his demons even angrier.

They snarled from inside him like savages. They made him attack again, faster and stronger, mirroring their escalating fury.

But the girl was a phantom. She weaved and ducked, never breaking a sweat, never even seeming to exert herself.

Brann's blows, meant to shatter bone, passed through the space she had just occupied. The frustration of his demons intensified.

They screamed: Unleash us! Crush her! Show her the true might!

Brann's control fractured. He didn't know how to unleash their full wrath, but his body responded to the violent urges.

He picked up the blazing scythe and gripped it tightly. With a growl that was half his own and half the demons', he swung it widely.

Finally, the girl could not completely evade Brann's attack. The edge of the fiery scythe sliced through her arm. And a deep gash of blood appeared on her skin.

Brann braced himself for her collapse, for the satisfying thud of a body broken. But then, the wound began to heal.

Before his very eyes, the cut sealed, the blood stopped, and the skin became unblemished, leaving not even a scar.

Brann lowered the scythe, and tilted his head to examine her. "What are you?" he demanded.

The girl, Yeva, finally stopped. Her skin was like dark chocolate. Cascading over her shoulders was a mane of stark white hair, glowing faintly as if starlight had taken root in each strand.

Her full lips were dark plum, and it parted slightly in amusement or curiosity. Brann couldn't tell.

A small silver ring adorned the curve of her nose. Her eyes were like pale galaxies, glowing white, pupil-less and impossible to read.

She wore a midnight-black garment that shimmered. Around her neck hung layered necklaces, one of which bore a strange, crystal-like pendant.

Small, sparkling star-like markings dusted her cheekbones. And for a long moment, she simply studied him.

Then, she spoke with an ancient-like wisdom tone. "Follow me."

Brann hesitated. Follow a stranger who could dodge his monstrous attacks and heal wounds? Go further into the darkness with a being he didn't understand?

But where else could he go? He couldn't return to Lumenfall like this.

Yeva raised a slender hand and magic sparked from her palm, drawing ancient lines in the air. A circle formed, and a portal was created.

She stepped into it. "You coming?"

Brann followed her and in seconds, they stumbled into a world that assaulted every sense. This was definitely not Lumenfall. This was a dark place, filled with beings that were both beautiful and terrifying.

The sky above swirled with storm clouds, deep purple and burning gold. All around him rose black towers, twisted mountains, rivers that flowed uphill, and houses built into the skeletons of beasts long dead.

The people… if they could be called that, were not human.

Some had horns like demons, some had ears like elves. Some had scales, others had wings. Some had no faces at all. They passed him without glancing, as if monsters were nothing rare here.

Yeva walked beside him like she belonged. He struggled to keep pace.

"Where are we?" Brann finally managed to ask.

Yeva glanced back. "Volatia. Your home for the next few weeks."

"What?"

The demons within him raged at the thought of being so far from their target. They broke loose in his throat as all five voices poured at once, "TAKE US BACK TO LUMENFALL!"

Yeva stopped, raising her hands in the air to calm him down. "Calm down, Brann. I know what you want. I was there when you were conceived."

How did she know my name? Brann thought to himself.

"You want revenge," Yeva continued. "And you'll get it. But you can't go back to Lumenfall without fully understanding what you've become."

Slowly and gently, she reached out and touched his sculptured alabaster chest. His blazing eyes simmered down, and the blazing scythe he still clutched faded.

Yeva sighed a soft sound of relief.

"What is your name? And where are we going?" Brann asked. "What is this place?"

"I'm Yeva." She withdrew her hand from his chest. "And Volatia is a hidden realm. Where we're headed is to a sanctuary where you can begin to understand."

Brann stared at her. "A sanctuary?"

"In due time you'll understand. Trust me."

They continued their walk through the strange, dark beauty of Volatia until they reached a dwelling. It wasn't exactly a stone house like those in Lumenfall.

Instead, the structure looked like it had grown from the earth itself. Made from shiny obsidian and dark wood, wrapped in glowing vines. Its windows were as dark as a raven's eye.

Inside, the place was surprisingly simple yet had this ancient and wise aura about it. The walls were lined with shelves, but instead of knickknacks, they were packed with scrolls and books.

Yeva pointed to a low cushion. "Rest. I'll be right back."

She moved to one of the shelves and neatly selected a book. It was larger than any book Brann had ever seen.

It was bound in a cover that felt like hardened, scaled skin, and it was fastened shut with metalwork. She carried it back to him, and it was pretty heavy.

"This," she said, placing it in his hands, "will begin your understanding. It is the history of what now resides within you. The five servants of Recabither, fallen and despicable sons of Kelvathar."

Brann stared at the book as his gloved fingers traced the dark symbols on its cover. He carefully unlatched the metalwork and opened the heavy cover.

The first line, written in an old script that almost seemed alive on the page, read:

"Anyone who harbors the five servants of Recabither carries the doom of realms within their very soul, for their essence is the seed of cosmic horror, and their hunger knows no bounds..."