The Ouiums Journey: Hell Broke Loose (book 1)

Chapter 11

The darkness was buried, and it was with him. He could feel it, creeping in towards the dimly lit candles that surrounded the room. Akin watched them, the shadows constantly flitting underneath his eyes as he did. He gestured them away. Not yet, he thought to them, but soon.

Akin closed his eyes, ignoring the flickering lights around him and retreated somewhere deep inside his mind as he chanted, "Incendium." It became a subconscious thing as he explored the darkness inside him.

He opened his eyes to see the surrounding space brighter, the candles glowing more noticeably. The cold altar in front of him was full of trinkets he needed, from vials and salt to knives and his sword. He picked it up under the watchful red of the pentagram painted on the wall above and sliced his hand open, ignoring the sting and instead of letting the blood that dripped down enchant him. It shone on the blade as it slowly made its way to the altar.

He twisted open a golden vial and watched a glowing orb float out of it, full of screams and innocence that disgusted Akin. He tried not to cringe at the soul trying to break free from the place where it was trapped as he chanted a new spell that trapped the orb in the pentagram. More vials came open, all the spheres going to the wall and staying in place. He smiled at them, unable to keep the gleam from his eyes as he watched their suffering. He did this until there were none left in the altar. For a long moment, he sat there on his knees and waited, listening to the pathetic screams echoing around the room. Eventually, there were so many that their red glow was changing the colour of his surroundings. He didn't mind the red.

Again, he started chanting, and this time they were words that he didn't even know. Thegon was helping him in a gesture of good faith after Akin had sacrificed all of those souls to him. He laughed aloud, unsure of how he managed as the chant kept coming out. He couldn't contain the joy he felt that his master was a real god, that he wasn't one of the phonies others seemed to enjoy worshipping and believing. Thegon was real, and Thegon would come.

The souls started swirling around the room in an aggressive dance. Some of them crashed into each other, causing their suffering to grow even louder, but Akin stayed focused on the words. He wanted to feel the entirety of Thegon, and he didn't want to miss an ounce of this god-like feeling that Thegon had instilled inside him.

Suddenly, a burst of flames appeared, and Akin fell backwards, covering his face. They were bright and reaching far from the pentagram, scorching the room and some souls, but still, they continued screaming.

Just when Akin thought the flames couldn't get any brighter, the pentagram started screeching, coming away from the wall in one small section as it did. The noise was unbearable, but Akin relished in the pain. It made him feel alive, far more so than he had ever felt before.

Once the pentagram stopped, the flames became ash that fell down the wall, leaving behind a gap. The souls fell, all at once, back into the altar, and everything got dim and quiet. The only sound was Akin's heart racing, the sound bouncing off of the walls as it beat faster than it ever had before.

He looked around, surrounded by the darkness. This felt like home once more, before standing up and slowly moving towards the gap in the pentagram.

Just then, he thought he saw Esa in the room with him.

His facial features were sharp, his eyes dark and slanted from his heritage of being from the orient, and they all squished together as he raised a hand to cover his face.

The dark magic shone on his fair skin to reveal how smooth and healthy it was. He had medium-length black hair that was sleek, straight, and neatly cropped up to the ears while the rest was trimmed and faded closer to the skin.

Esa had a lean frame and physique, one that was accentuated by his well-fitted clothing, the turtleneck top he had on clinging snugly to his torso. His pants were black as well, matching his jacket.

The witch had a peculiar habit of occasionally flexing each finger individually on each hand, the muscle memory from years of practice for casting spells which seemed odd to onlookers yet was mesmerising with one that had such soft hands as he.

But just as quick as the vision of Esa was there, he was gone. Akin shrugged it off as he slowly descended into madness.