Part II
Something shines blindingly in Typhon's periphery, then he winces as his nose crunches and flattens. The being responsible curses and shakes their fist, slinging blood into Typhon's locks and showering poor Theresa.
The sapphire-encrusted, golden-haloed being hugs Theresa closer then grabs Typhon by his long, shaggy beard. He does not bother to cry out, for despite the being's ferocity they only stand a foot or so taller than Theresa.
He thought that the being might eventually tire of dragging his 300- pound, ten-foot-tall frame through the thick mud and grime. Not to mention that she still cradled a comfy and content Theresa with her other arm. Her muscles barely flexed with the exertion. It was not an unusual sight in the Underworld. Power is often not distributed straightforwardly amongst groups or even individuals.
Typhon summons his inner strength: he sleeps as much light energy from the being as she tugs him along, not the least bit flustered or faded. That is... until...Pop!
"What was that god-awful snapping sound?" inquires Typhon with a cursory glance and the seemingly too-close couple that is the sleeping Theresa and panting sapphire being. Typhon now manages to catch up to them as the being pauses. He realizes that they possess a feminine, floral scent and their long, thick electric-raspberry locks are restrained in hundreds of thin, intricate braids.
A dark veil conceals most of their facial features and thousands of sapphire gems adorn their thick, chrome armor. Their hands are dressed in caramel-colored gloves and their feet are protected in doc martens. Human-made products are rare and valuable and therefore reveal that this being is either highly skilled in the trades, or has some sort of intimate connection with Death, himself.
The being runs their right arm gingerly over their left and attempts, with extreme effort, not to wince. Still, they manage to keep Typhon from advancing any further using some kind of compelling force. Ah, so she is a Repellant. Repellants are an all-female group of warriors with superior mental manipulation skills. Even the strongest of combatants fail to lay a finger on them. Repellants often lack physical strength or are born with frail bodies. Yet, obviously, these "rules" don't apply to this particular Repellant....
"Youch! I'm an idiot! Why did I believe that I could maneuver my devil-arm back into place without subluxing the other one? Arghhh!" Typhon tries to avoid getting caught up in the Repellant's frantic meltdown, but she suddenly wilts into the mud, a sunken and desperate lily looking for water.
Though, Typhon proves that he is certainly not the nourishing crystal-clear lake she needs. He is but a tainted, stagnant pond: useless liquid, unless pushed to utilize that potential energy. He puts his all into aiding the stranger, yet her arm won't budge. Thick clouds appear overhead and Typhon concludes that they probably won't survive the night at this rate.
They may have managed to land near the center of the walkways when they fell through the portal, yet a storm in this region always stood for an omen. A myriad number of demons and ghouls gain strength from such gloom and moisture. Also, the geyser rains below could push the toxic mud and sludge up to walkway levels, resulting in numerous injuries and fatalities.
"Why are you idiots just standing here?!" grumbles a cracking, discontented voice. Theresa raises her head indignantly. She then pulls herself free of the sapphire Repellant and skillfully maneuvers her arm back into place. She strides forward, then stumbles to a halt when she realizes no one is following her.
"I assume your place is still open, no? Or am I not welcome anymore?" teases Theresa with a twisted grin on her face. The Repellant ruffles Theresa's hair and then attempts to move her gloved hand toward a more intimate locale. However, Theresa sears her hand away and maneuvers the Repellant's other arm back into place.
"Why, you are always welcome to join me in my humble abode, your highness. For I am Eliza Elder, the Auto Administrar of The Marked Lands'' touts Eliza with her head held high. Theresa snickers and elbows Eliza gently.
"Ah, yes, Typhon. Let me introduce you to the wild child Eliza. What she forgot to mention is that she owns the Underworld's most prized locale: Demonic Donuts. A quaint, yet well-established, coffee house that sits on the furthest edge of The Marked Lands" explains Theresa just as flaming beams shoot up from the sludge below.
YOU ARE READING
The Swift Anomaly
Fantasy" 'The common fallacy in thinking is that there is only one correct way to crash a car without harming yourself or the surrounding areas. It is true that we must consider the terrain and avoid a rollover crash, but it is far more complicated than th...
