7 Realms: Chapter 6

Ron, Michael, and Hedta take shelter in a cave to weather the oncoming storm, but this is certainly no ordinary storm.

7 Realms

Chapter 6: The Storm

      “That looks like a good place to set up camp,” Michael said, pointing at a cave entrance that seemed to be level with the ground, rather than descending at an incline.

     Ron had asked about several other caves, but each of his suggestions were shot down by Micheal’s assertions that the rain would inevitably find its way down into the cave, something which he was adamant about not happening. “Okay,” Ron began, slightly skeptically. “But that's so visible, won't the Dark Ones be able to see us if they pass by while searching or something?”

      “No, I'm going to seal the entrance with rock, as much as possible, but that's to keep out the storm... and what it will bring. As for the Dark Ones, they're not going to come after us right now. Don't forget, from their perspective, you just effortlessly dispatched thirteen of them. Besides, not even they will come looking for us in this storm.”

      Now, Ron was getting curious and slightly nervous for the arrival of this storm. It seemed to have Michael shaken, as well as Hedta, who kept turning her eyes towards it, seemingly checking its progress. “So, what exactly is dangerous about this storm?” Ron asked, gesturing to the nearly pitch black mass, eliminating the sky as it closed in.

      “I'll tell you once we're in the cave.”

      Ron sighed, resigning from asking questions. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that only seemed to exacerbate the anxiety inducing aura of the storm. The rest of the walk towards the cave was shadowed by an eerie silence that no one seemed willing to break; even the slightest stick broken by a foot or a claw seemed a grievous mistake.

      They reached the cave entrance, surrounded on both sides by thick layers of trees that now loomed ominously under the darkening sky. The entrance itself was a little taller than Ron, and it was wide enough for Hedta to fit through without any problems. Ron entered first, feeling the temperature instantly drop to uncomfortably cold as he was surrounded by slime-covered stone walls. The walls were the only detail he could successfully make out, as the cave seemed to extend into an impenetrable blackness.

      Hedta and Michael followed him in, both seeming to Ron, chilled to the bone as soon as they crossed some invisible temperature threshold. Hedta acted quickly, walking a couple of feet past Ron, and letting loose a small, controlled jet of flame at the floor of the cave. The blue flames licked the stone, then latched to it. The stone stayed aflame, even after she stopped exhaling the blue fire, staying in a controlled circular pattern similar to a camp fire.

      Ron's eyes widened and he stifled a gasp as the air in the cave seemed to instantly dry and warm to a comfortable temperature. I have a feeling I'm never going to cease being surprised by this place, he thought to himself.

      He looked around, exploring the cave, after Michael had refused his help putting up the wall, saying his magic wasn't, “fine tuned enough.” The cave walls seemed to be a slimy and green, with some form of slimy moss encompassing the surface. The cave, as it turned out was rather small, it only went about ten yards back before tapering to a hole too small for anything save a dog to fit through.

      He walked back to where Hedta had curled herself into a ball and sat across the fire from her, warranting a brief head nod of greeting. He stared into the depths of the blue fire and began to silently contemplate his new-found power. He had to admit, the idea of Magic had been frightening and unwanted when he had first came to the Realm, but he was beginning to come to terms with it, especially because it made him kind of a bad a*s.

      He looked up as Michael sat down between them. He realized that none of them had their back to the entrance of the cave. He hadn't even noticed that he had almost immediately put his back to the wall. It startled him. He had gone from someone whose biggest problems mere weeks ago consisted of finals and papers. Now he was growing accustomed to expecting an attack.

      He had killed people, and a lot of them. He didn't really know how to feel about this. It was mix of hectic emotions all vying for the most upfront position. He did feel guilty for their deaths, but at the same time he felt anger at the Dark Ones for making him do it, and for the deaths of so many innocent villagers. He also felt as if his choice was being removed: He was forced to kill, forced to come to this Realm, forced to become a mage, and forced to carry this immense weight on his shoulders.

      He wondered what his friends were doing back home. Probably reuniting with their friends and family from home, drinking and smoking pot. Where was he? In the middle of a cave, as a dangerous storm began to make its way towards him with deadly intent. On the bright side he managed to befriend a dragon, sort of. Jumped from his thoughts by what sounded like a massive explosion that he quickly realized to be thunder, he looked at his companions, neither of whom seemed to be alarmed. “The storm is here, steel your soul,” said Michael, staring into the fire, but not really looking at it.

      “What do you mean? What is with this storm?” Ron asked, his heart quickening in pace with the sudden barrage of rain that now befell the other side of the cave.

      Michael looked up from the fire, and over at Ron with a grave countenance.         “Death, you're going to hear some things Ron, but you have to remember that they aren't real. I don't care if you hear your mother dying, you do not leave this cave. Understood?”

      This storm was seriously beginning to worry him now. “Yeah, but what's dangerous about it, and why does it call out?”

      “It's not the storm that's dangerous per say. It's the Weirkin. Do you know what those are?”

      “Yeah, Bishop and I had a run in with them,” Ron replied, feeling his stomach and clenched fists tighten at the memory.

      “You're lucky you were with Bishop. Packs of the b******s come out and hunt freely in the rain, it's when other creatures are easiest to find, and when they are least prepared. As for the calling out, no-one really knows why, but whenever there is a storm with black clouds, you hear things that can scar a man. Ghosts of the past, fears, loves lost, you name it and it's fair game. They just seem to work together in an unexpected cacophony of evil.”

      Even though the fire still burned bright and warm, Ron found himself cold on some level. He found himself once again staring at the fire, though Michael seemed to gladly embrace the conversation's end. Gloom seemed to be everywhere, spreading through the cave, sinisterly. It looked as if the light was graying, disregarding the fire.

That's when it started; thousands of voices began to converse on Ron's ears, none of them unpleasantly loud. They all seemed to be the faint hopeless whispers of lonely people, weakly muttering on their deathbeds. It felt as if they were surrounding him, visible wisps, tormenting him with a dark mood. It felt as if he was being choked, though he could still breath, the effect was staggering.

      He listened as each tried to push its message past the others in a desperate attempt to drain him of his will. One in particular began to raise above the others, eventually drowning them out, with long moaning words of a hauntingly recognizable voice. His mother's. “Roonnn. Come home. We miss youuu Ron, wee neeedd yooouu,” she alternated between extended words, nearly hissed and short sweetly spoken words, filling Ron with horror and guilt.

      He looked to Michael for help, but his eyes were glazed over by the sudden audibility of his own demons. He even looked at Hedta, but she too seemed distant and unaware of the outside world. A new voice began to worm its way through his consciousness, this time it was his father's. It was deep and smooth, but still his. “Ron, come home son. Give this up, all you have to do is leave this place,” he said. “You can't win this fight, you know that, we need you home.”

      His rational thought was coated with a fog of uncertainty that made his thoughts slow, and he had to fight to make sure that they were his own. He wanted nothing more than to follow his parents' directions, to go home, and drink hot chocolate to fend off the cold nights. To sit and speak with all of his favorite people. To finally just stop for a second. The place he had felt most comfortable had been attacked and burned to the ground.

      What about the Weirkin? He couldn't go outside. He had promised. His parents' voices washed over him again, now speaking together. “You know Magic. You can make it. Just come home to us, forget all this nonsense.”

      “I can't,” his words echoed through the cave, which had previously been silent though neither of the other two seemed to notice the change. “I'm doing this for you guys.”

     “Jussstt coomme home, they can find someone else to carry thisss burden,” his mother cooed. This time it sounded as if she was whispering in his ear.

Longing began to take over his better judgment and he began to stand, ready to walk towards the door. Something inside of him stopped him in his tracks. It felt as if it was in the center of his stomach. No, rather the core of his being. He noticed his eyes were again glowing white, and his head had cleared. “You won't fool me!” He yelled to the storm.

      Suddenly, as if in response, something began to scratch at the rock that Michael had erected to block the entrance to the cave. Terror gripped him and he stood, stiffly staring, unable to move, at the door. Reason told him they wouldn't be able to get in, but reason hadn't done him much good in this Realm. He called, “Michael...Hedta...” No response. They were each too engulfed in their own issues to hear him.

      Another loud blast of thunder seemed to shake the earth. Then came the lightning. It hit the stone cave entrance, splitting the rock in two, and revealing two dark, soaking, snarling faces staring at Ron with eyeless sockets. He felt as he had the first time he saw them, as if he had just stared death itself in the face.

     He had to do something. He had to think quickly, but what could he do? Even Bishop wanted to avoid fighting these things in their last encounter. He extended his right arm, desperately trying to do something. He couldn't remember how he had used Magic last time. It had been pure, spur of the moment improvisation. He tensed every muscle in his arm as he drew it back.

      It began to grow hot and he noticed a blue light dancing around it, from the corner of his eyes, which were fixed on the creatures, now trying to squeeze through the entrance. He pushed his arm out, shooting a bolt of lightning at them. It hit one of them, but it seemed to brush it off as if it had been a simple jolt of static electricity. The creatures began to growl, but it moved up and down in pitch. If he didn't know better, he'd say they were laughing at him.

      His horror only grew as they tore at the rock, and half of one of their bodies had gotten through. He had to think quickly, he had come to far too die here. Looking around he surveyed his environment, if only he knew how to do specific acts with magic, he could summon a boulder like Michael had... Then it hit him, he was surrounded by rock. He charged another bolt of lightning, this time putting both hands together.

      The lightning lit up the entirety of the cave as small lines of it worked their way around Ron. One of the Weirkin had made its way into the cave, and it seemed to look in Ron's general direction, even without eyes. Its lips gave way to a fierce snarl, showcasing its teeth that held evidence of a fresh kill, in the form of a layer of skin caught between two of them. It let loose a harsh growl that made the hairs on the back of Ron's neck stand, as it reverberated through the cave.

      Just as it primed to attack, Ron watched as the other one began pushing its way into the cave. Now was the time to attack. He hurled the lightning ball at the roof of the cave, with everything he had. It left his hand, still a small connection of electrical current between himself and the ball. As it made its way towards the ceiling, it grew larger, reaching a diameter of two feet before slamming into the roof of the cave above the Weirkin.

     The whole cave shook with the impact of the ball, staggering Ron. The Weirkin halted their assault to look up at the ceiling, watching as it began to crack and leak water from the storm. To his dismay, Ron's attack was breaking the ceiling, but too slowly for it to collapse on them, as he had intended. He looked over at the Weirkin, now moving once again.

      He desperately tried to think of what to do, but just then the crack gave way to the force of the rain above it. Chunks of rock began falling on the Weirkin, slowing their attack. The one that had been entering the hole in the rock was pinned by part of the roof that fell on its back. The other was only getting pelted with smaller rocks that only served as a minor annoyance.

      Something inside of Ron urged him to back up, so his followed his gut with the knowledge that it had yet to lead him astray where Magic was concerned. As he did so, the entirety of the roof in front of him began to collapse. The Weirkin disappeared behind a wall of falling rock and water as it was crushed.

      Ron fell backwards, exhausted from the fear he had been caused and from the further use of Magic. How am I supposed to do this everyday, he wondered. Neither of his companions had been awoken from their waking slumber by the commotion, so Ron just sat there content to stare up at the leaky ceiling. He saw a small piece of rock break away and fall towards him, but his movement was too slowed to dodge it. His attempt at sitting up only brought his head into contact with the coconut-sized rock faster. He felt but a moment of pain, then his consciousness surrendered to the hard surface of the rock.

""""

      Ron woke laying down on his queen-sized bed, furnished with the ornately patterned quilts that his mother had made him as a product of her hobby. The walls of his room were the familiar greenish-brown color that he had picked out in his sophomore year of high school. Looking over, he noticed that his TV was still on, for some reason it was on a Spanish soap opera channel in which a woman was looking horribly offended in a coffeehouse. “The Hell?” he mumbled to himself. He felt some discomfort, coming from his lower back, and after further investigation he realized that he had been lying on the remote again, a reminder as to why he had stopped keeping it on his bed.

      He slowly turned to the side and put his feet over the side of the bed, dragging the quilts, and throwing his neatly-made bed into disarray. His eyes felt heavy, and hurt when he tried to wipe away the crust in their corners. His body felt as if it weighed at least twice its normal weight, slowing his actions with sluggish exhaustion. Grabbing the remote, he turned off the TV as he stood, unsteadily. He was acutely aware both a need to use the bathroom, as well as an opposite need to get a drink.

      He decided to make his way to the bathroom first mumbling, “out with the old, in with the new,” as he did so. He turned towards the door and began to make his way towards it, yawning several times in a futile attempt at waking up a bit more thoroughly. He entered the hallway, white walls on one side, wooden railing with  open space to the living room below to the other. His feet slid against the soft surface of the red and black-checkered carpet, as he walked down the right side of the hall, hand sliding against it to brace him in his current state.

      He was too tired to think properly. What did I do last night? Christ it feels like I got hit by a train... it definitely wasn't legal, I remember that much, he reflected. His hand suddenly hit open space, making him realize that he had reached the bathroom door, which was always kept ajar, when unoccupied. He turned into it, putting his hand on the threshold, he quickly looked around checking for his mother. She'd be pissed if she saw that, thank god she's not up here, he thought to himself, conjuring memories of her yelling at him for it constantly. She wouldn't stand for fingerprints or any oils from the hand getting on it.

      He walked into the bathroom, avoiding the blue tiles, and stepping directly to the blue rug that conformed to the edges of the bottom of the toilet. He closed the door, noting that for once, the hinges didn't creak. Hmm, he thought, Dad must have oiled them, finally. After relieving himself, and washing his hands, slightly spilling some of the purple antibiotic hand-soap, he re-opened the door, once again letting loose a silent roar as he yawned, largely.

      He made his way back down the hallway, this time going the other direction, and using the handrail for support. He followed the railing as it turned and began to descend down the stairs to the first floor of his house. At the bottom, he took a left into the kitchen, walking towards the fridge, craving something to satiate his thirst, and exhaustion. Please be iced coffee, please be iced coffee, he thought, as he opened the fridge and eyed the red pitcher, on the center shelf. He smiled and took it knowing it was coffee. He smiled as he took his first sip of the cool, light-brown liquid. He closed his eyes and sighed, with enjoyment of the drink as he leaned on the counter-top.

      He turned, looking around the kitchen for further signs of life, as he noticed the smell of something baking in the oven. No one else seemed to be there. He looked around, perplexed. What time is it? he asked himself, realizing that it was the middle of the day and neither of his parents were home. His eyes turned to the window, checking for either of their cars. They were both parked in the driveway.

      Where are they? Why are their cars here? he wondered, as he began searching other rooms of the house: The living room, their bedroom, and the dining room were all empty. He gave up, coming to the conclusion that he must have been the only one home. He walked back up to his room, when a question occurred to him: Why was he home and not at school? He didn't know why, but at that moment a strange feeling made itself known it the pit of his stomach. Fear. Something wasn't right.

      He jogged up the stairs and back into his room, abandoning the remains of his coffee on the kitchen table. Once inside, he grabbed his cell phone off of the white table next to his headboard. To his surprise it began vibrating as the name Rory came up across the small screen. He flipped the phone open without hesitation and said, “hey, man. I was actually just gonna call you.”

      “We were wondering where you were, we've been waiting for you for an hour,” replied Rory, in an unusually emotionless voice.

      “What are you talking about? Did we have plans today?”

      “Just come outside Ron, I'm in the backyard with your family,” Rory said in a strange tone that Ron couldn't place.

      “Uhh OK, I'm on my way,” Ron said before hanging up the phone with a sense of alarm. He had never heard his best friend speak this way. It was disconcerting to say the least. He ran out of the room and down the stairs, taking them two at a time with long strides that almost caused him to fall towards the bottom.

      He took the corner to go outside with practiced precision, jogging through their living room and towards the glass doors that led to their dark wooden porch. When he got to the door he pulled, but the door stayed closed. He cursed at the door for sticking whenever it was shut too hard and gave it a mighty pull, using both hands this time. With a loud pop that was reminiscent of a suction cup being pulled off a glass window, it gave way and slid open.

      He walked into the yard feeling a cold rush of air hit him. He didn't know why, but he felt as if he had been away from the cold for a long time, even though it was the middle of fall, and he remembered it being cold the previous night. Realizing how dim the world seemed to be, Ron looked at the sky. It was red. Black clouds worked there way across the sea of crimson, ominously. If it had been for the urgency of Rory's phone call, he would have stood to marvel at it, but his family was more important and would probably want to discuss it.

        To his surprise, they weren’t on the porch. He took the stairs toward the grass portion of the back yard looking for them. Seeing Rory's back towards him at the edge of the house, he began walking towards him, expecting him to turn and wave at any second.

      “Hey, man, what's wrong? Where is everyone?” Ron asked, waving and making his way towards him.

      “Nothing is wrong. We have been waiting for you, Ron. All seems to be right at the moment,” his friends words were coming out flatly, the only emotion showing seemed to be a threatening undertone. He turned slowly.

      Ron stumbled back as he noticed something very wrong with Rory... his eyes. There was no white, no blue, they were completely black. “Rory, what happened? Are you all right man?”

      The figure barked with laughter, then spoke with many voices, some of which were deep and foreboding and others were light and deceptively friendly, “Rory is gone. We have taken him. He is only the first of many in your pathetic Realm! We will spare him, but only if you cease this foolish quest and join our ranks!” Black tentacles began to pour from Rory's eyes and engulfed his face as he spoke.

      Ron's memory began to come back in short flashes: Bishop, the Village, Gacim, Magic, Hedta, Michael, all came flooding back into his head, and he stood. “No,” he said, defiantly, looking at Rory. His spoke more confidently than he felt, watching as his oldest friend had, in an instant, been taken over by the Darkness. How is this even possible? He asked himself. What can I do? I can't fight him... it's Rory.

      He looked for a second at his friend's familiar face, looking for some sign of his friend: The friend that had always been able to make him laugh. The friend that Ron knew everything about and who knew everything about him. His most loyal friend. The friend who was, now taken over by a creature so evil, that Ron felt, for the first time Ron felt a true blood lust. He would not let them get away with this. They had harmed one of the people that he had fought for.

      The possessed Rory, taking advantage of Ron's examination, hurled himself forward. His right arm extended, he clawed at Ron with it.

Ron dodged, rolling to the left. He quickly charged a bolt of lightning with his right hand, feeling a sharp tingling as his hairs stood. Somehow it felt as if he was in complete control of his abilities for once. This time he didn't throw the lightning, instead holding it in place hovering over his fist. Rory lunged again, his black sweat-shirt and jeans bluring from the sheer speed of his movements.

      Not this time, Ron thought as he ducked the blow. He brought his right arm upwards, trying to catch Rory with a blow to knock him out before he could recover from the missed hit. However, Rory's increased speed allowed him to roll to the left in mid-air.

      Now they both had composure and began to circle each other, each trying to gain an advantage. Ron knew, for some inexplicable reason, that the charge running along his arm would be enough to knock Rory out, but not to kill him. Though he knew that if Rory hit him, it wouldn't end quite so well for him.

      “Come on, Ron. It's me Rory, don't...” Rory began.

      “DON'T YOU SPEAK HIS NAME!!!” Ron roared, his anger fueling the magic affecting his arm and making the lightning suddenly grow to touch the ground and extend ten feet over Ron's head. The whole right side of his vision was blured by the glow, but in his left eye he saw only red, a product of his rage.

      Even the creature possessing Rory seemed taken aback by the sudden increase in Ron's intensity. “Easy now, you wouldn't want to hurt Rory now would you?” said the figure, an undeniable unease worming it's way into the voices.

       “I won't, hurt him” Ron replied looking directly into the blackness engulfing Rory's face, directly into the eyes of the creature controlling him. “But, you... you will suffer.”

     Before he had moved any further, three fizzing noises behind him made him turn around. Three Dark Ones had materialized and each bore a staff and dark black tattoo across every piece of visible skin. Last time he had seen them none had tattoos or hooded cloaks, but he simply didn't care at this point.

       He heard what sounded almost like a sigh of relief from Rory's possessed form. The three men lost no time in pressing their attack. The one furthest to the left slammed his staff against the ground causing it to spout a five-foot jet of white flames from the tip. He charged at Ron spinning it around his body, creating a sphere of deadly light around his body.

      Ron lost track of the others as he jumped backwards to avoid the sudden attack. He extended the lightning from his arm and tried to look for an opening, but the man was so fast that he could barely see him behind the whirling staff.

Just as he had an opening and tried to lunge, the ground beneath him began to rumble violently. He jumped back once again, narrowly avoiding a barrage of spiked rock shooting from the ground from one of the other Dark Ones. Man, these guys are on a whole different level from the ones at the village, he reflected.

       Before he had time to even gain his balance, he looked up just in time to see a barrage of small, needle-like ice shards shooting at him. He swiped at the sky with the his right arm, melting them with the electricity.

      Just as he finished the move, the one with the fire staff swung at him, making him fall on the ground backwards to avoid the fire. As he stumbled, a shard of ice came from his right, and the ground once again began to rumble. He rolled out of the path of the fire and stone, but the ice caught him under the right cheek, drawing blood almost instantly.

      “Gah!” Ron exclaimed as he struggled to get to his feet without stopping his movement. How can I win this, they're so fast!? he despaired. Ron dodged another ice attack, but soon realized that Rory was running at him from the right. He turned towards his friend, waiting to counteract the movement.

       He was hit from the side with a bowling ball-sized rock, knocking the wind out of him, and likely he thought cracking a rib. “AHH!” he cried, falling to the ground.

He looked up in time to see all of them converging on him. “That.. is... ENOUGH!!” Ron yelled. He felt every muscle in his body tense completely, then loosen as a burst of wind shot from his entire body, knocking all four to the ground.

      The one with the fire staff was the first to stand back up, he sprinted at Ron, once again twirling it as the flames shot out. Ron didn't move as he approached, his anger... and confidence increasing with each moment.

       Once the man's fire was within range, Ron used the current on his right arm to stop the fire, and he reached out with his left arm, snatching the staff from the man as if he were a child. Still holding it with one hand he spun it around and slammed it down on the man's head, breaking it into several, splintering pieces, knocking him out instantly.

       One down, he thought, as he turned his eyes towards the second and third. The one who seemed to specialize in stone sprinted over, his hands glowing as he raised them, no doubt summoning more ground spikes.

      Ron stomped the ground, shaking it and breaking the spikes and the magic controlling them before they had even reached the surface. He kicked the man in the face, using the force of his dead-on sprint against him and knocking him from his feet with a crack, as his teeth went flying.

      The ice user showered Ron with spikes from above, with extended arms and billowing robes, showing a glowing golden medallion hanging from his neck. Ron let loose another burst of air, knocking the ice shards from their paths and allowing him time to reach the man. He ducked a punch from the man, realizing at the last second that the punch extended into a huge shard of ice that would have killed him.

       He grabbed the medallion from the man's neck and ripped it off with his left hand, forcing his head closer to Ron, then punched the man in the face with all the force of his electrified right arm. The blow knocked the figure onto the ground a few feet back, unconscious.

      He turned just in time to see Rory running at him, one arm covered in blackness, drawn back in preparation for a punch. He turned and punched Rory's blackened fist with his own, covered in lightning. The force was enough to blow them both backwards. By thee time Ron hit the ground his vision was blocked by a vivid white light, and then it seemed the world was suddenly gone.

"""""

       Ron woke, still standing, though it was in a different place than he had been. He was breathing heavily and in immense pain, from his head. Looking around, he realized that he was in a forest, and to his horror, it was raining.

      He felt his head bleeding as the hot liquid mixed with the cool rainwater, washing the combination down his face. What the hell just happened?! How did I get out here?! He wondered. Feeling a tugging at his left hand, he looked and saw the medallion he had ripped from the Dark One's neck. He looked around for them, or for Rory, but instead as he looked at the ground around him, he saw the unmoving bodies of six full-grown Weirkin.

Author's Note

Sorry, the tab button doesn't work on the uploader for some reason, I'll go back and fix that when I'm not sleep deprived. I do think this is the best chapter so far, though it isn't quite finished. Any opinions welcome.