Everlast

Chapter 12; The dream haunter.

Dagon paused at the edge of the bone forest, nostrils flared as he attempted to catch the scent of Jareth through the overwhelming stench of death and rot.

He had come through here, most definitely, and though Dagon was not yet sure how, he knew it had been recent. He was close. Now the goblin prince simply had to walk the path of the dead without dying.

Easier said than done.

A journey such as this would require a spell powerful enough to keep the mist warriors at bay, a task that was easier to fail than succeed in. For while most mist warriors in the Darkling wood could only attack you while you were lost in the land of slumber, the guardians of the bone forest were more than capable of reaching for you when you were awake. The only way to pass safely was through a spell known as Dream Haunting; allowing its user to walk the thin line between the 'awake' world and the realm of sleep.  Either way, it was cheating in a sense, for the mist warriors could not attack oneself seeing as you were neither fully awake nor asleep. The only drawback was that the spell was rather hard to cast and sometimes even required more than one person to achieve such a feat, so as not to drain the lifesource from them both. And here Dagon was, on his own.

Sighing, he looked back toward where he had come, toward the way out of the forest where he had left his faithful horse. There was no turning away now. He could practically taste Jareth's sweet blood already, filling him with power. So, gathering his strength deep within his body he let the magic spring from his core, feeling it course through his body, crackling like lightning, burning his skin with a passion. Then slowly, he muttered the spell under his breath and stepped forward.

Vaguely, he could see the mist warriors materializing all around him, grasping for him with fingers that could not reach through the veil. They passed through him as though he were the ghost.

However it was not long before his energy began to drain, his body growing weak as he struggled to stay on the path, the magic being sucked rapidly from his body. The mist warriors' fingers would brush against him here and there, their icy, rotting skin sending shivers up his spine. Dagon's breathing came in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep the spell holding him on the path. He felt as the power slid from his fingers, fading, fading, slowly dying... he was slowly dying. 

No. He would not die like this. Not without revenge.

With a strangled cry, he fell forward, his face hitting soft earth, the breath leaving him in one whoosh. Never before had he felt so drained, so vulnerable, so quickly. And as he lay there, flickering in and out of conciousness, all he could smell was Jareth's blood. It seemed stronger somehow, closer even. Then, just before Dagon's eyes closed, he thought he saw a shadowy figure on the horizon, no doubt a mist warrior coming to carry him to the Underworld.

Then he saw no more.

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