Chapter 5: Dark Revelations

All the preparations were complete. Lucius Lurranna would make one last bid for power by hijacking a train full of hostages. Chissler had already made arrangements for me and what remained of my followers to escape from our Elemental captors. In the midst of the hijacking, which the Elementals would be held all but responsible for, Chissler would send his special militia unit. The Militia, equipped with anti-Elemental weaponry, would make a miraculous rescue of all the hostages with zero casualties, and kill every last Lurranna follower, including their leader. We would be required to kill a few of the militia members just to make it more believable, but as soon as the hostages were away, our fate was all but sealed. To ensure our compliance, the younger generation of Lurrannas would remain with Chissler, including my own son.

Amelia Wilson was in hell. That was quite literally the best description for her current situation. Suspended between two realities, one a benign room of lights and peace, the other a raging inferno of screams and black flames, Amelia saw a myriad of images rush into her skull. She saw a man with no eyes lash her over and over again with a whip made of darkness, all the while speaking encouragement to her. He told her she was so strong to bear so much pain. He said how proud he was of her ... how proud their master was of her. His praise nearly balanced the pain to her back, making the agony almost akin to pleasure as she smiled amidst the lashing.

She saw another man, this one had both his eyes that shined in the deepest brown she had ever seen. He was handsome, much more so than Eramar with his one robotic eye and scarred face. She felt her heart leaping for joy at the sight of this man she did not know as she caressed his cheek lovingly. He brushed a strand of hair from her eye and she shuddered in pure bliss almost as potent as the lashing the eyeless man had given her.

More pain. More lashings. More beatings. More encouragements. More loving caresses. More pleasure. With the pleasure came her own opportunity to teach. A new initiate untrained in the ways of pain and pleasure. She raised the whip – the whip made of darkness – the beautiful darkness that originated from their lord, the Desolate One. The handsome man she had been ready to kiss moments before now lay kneeling before her, his back exposed to the lash she would soon deliver to him. It would almost be a shame to ruin such a pretty, muscular back. But the pleasure that would come after the pain would be so great that he would surely thank her as she had thanked her own teacher.

Then after the pleasure came fear. Fear and dread that was misplaced in this current vision of hers. This wasn’t her. This was not Amelia Wilson. Doctor Amelia Wilson, medic of the Ministry of Fire was no masochist. She did not feel pleasure in pain. She did not feel pleasure in delivering pain to others. She was a doctor. Her place was to heal injuries, not inflict them. She was a doctor. SHE WAS A DOCTOR!

And this man ... this man she had apparently loved, and then tortured. She did not know who this man was. She didn’t need to know him. She loved Eramar. She only needed Eramar. He may not have been beautiful like the brown-eyed man, but he was good. He was wounded. He was strong and brave and broken. He needed her and she needed him. Their pain resonated with one another. Their ... their pain? What was it about his pain that resonated so deeply within her? What pain had she suffered that she felt the need to seek out someone who was suffering just as profoundly? What pain did Doctor Amelia Wilson know that could even compare to what Eramar endured at the hands of the Demon? The infamous Demon that had killed so many, including his student. This Billy whose name he’d often wake up screaming in the night in their bedchamber.

Wait, that didn’t make sense. Doctor Amelia Wilson had lived a relatively pleasant life within the Fire Ministry. She hadn’t seen that much combat. Why would she? She was an operating physician, not a field medic. Oh, sure, she’d seen men die, but she was not a warrior like Eramar. She did not make men die. She tried to prevent their deaths. What pain did Doctor Amelia Wilson suffer that made her feel so drawn to Eramar?

The answer was obvious, and world-shattering. Amelia almost shied away from the truth, but her training as an Elemental – as a scientist – taught her to seek out the truth no matter how painful. Doctor Amelia Wilson didn’t have any particular pain relatable to Eramar’s pain because she had led a rather pleasant, if mundane, life at the Ministry of Fire. But this other woman. This other woman that had somehow always been there but only now became apparent ... she had experienced pain. More physical torment than the human body should’ve been capable of enduring. She knew of wounded, broken souls. She had helped wound those souls. She had helped break them. This woman, when she no longer had the pretty, brown-eyed man at hand, felt lonely. This woman wanted to be near Eramar because his anguish made her feel less lonely. His anguish made her feel ... human. This woman who took pleasure in pain was not Doctor Amelia Wilson, but she was still somehow Amelia just as much. Maybe more so.

All these images flooded into Amelia’s brain as the Light Wielder, the enemy of the woman who inflicted pain, held her protectively cupped in his arm like a babe. He had grown twice to his original size, appearing as nothing less than a god of light as he stood in his full-body armor of silver-white, four blazing eyes of bright green shining from his feathered helmet’s slits. He held a weapon before him. A silver spear with a white blade as long as a sword shining even more brightly than he was. A bright green jewel shined in the center of the blade with glowing green symbols of the Light Wraiths flowing down the length of the sword staff, leaving curving afterimages behind whenever he moved the weapon. A cape of white light flowed behind the giant knight, billowing in the darkness as he stood resolute in challenge of the hell that they found themselves trapped in.

While the white knight held her in his grip, she held the orange-glowing metallic Cosmic Core, an object that she had set out to steal. He told her to hold onto it. That it would be her only anchor to the corporeal world. The Core seemed to glow brighter in her grasp. She felt like she was drawing strength from it, though not enough to quiet the terror that penetrated to the very marrow of her soul. She squeezed it tightly as she clutched it to her breast, pushing herself deeper into her protector’s grip, and wishing that he and the Core could somehow take her far from this place.

Their surroundings were not nearly as inspiring as the knight made of light. Black flames surrounded them. Screaming apparitions of distorted, mutilated faces that seemed to be made of black smoke occasionally flew up from the burning fires towards them, only to be smitten to nothingness by the Light Wielder’s massive weapon. Running and crawling in the flames, Amelia could see figures more tangible than the faces of black smoke. Corpses of every race, humanoid or otherwise shuffled forward straining to come near the light, yet at the same time afraid to do so. With their skin still burning, melting beneath the never-ending flames, they scuffled just out of reach of the white knight’s sword staff while moaning in agony.

From the memories of the woman who enjoyed pain, she knew these to be recently deceased souls that still retained some semblance of their identities from their time living. Their memories of their past lives gave them nothing but anguish, but they still held on to those memories, refusing to relinquish that last bit of humanity they had left. They would succumb eventually and become as incorporeal and soulless as the other Crig Cortan that lived in Shaivere Groguul. When that time came their pain would not end, but they would begin to alleviate their burdens by feeding off the pains of others. And then, they would forget that they ever were mortals at all. Such was the fate of all who had rejected the Caretaker’s Light. Such would be her fate as well one day.

The screams and roaring inferno seemed to be growing louder. Amelia closed her eyes and covered her ears, but it was no use. One did not see Shaivere Groguul, the Shadow Realm, with one’s eyes. One did not hear this place with one’s ears. It was like trying to close her eyes while in the middle of a nightmare. The things that frightened her wouldn’t go away because her eyes were already closed.

And yet, hope still glimmered somewhere in her soul. It might’ve been the Light Wielder’s presence so close to her, but a part of her knew that this was not to be her fate ... at least not yet. A circle of white light appeared above them, and the Light Wielder gently raised her up in a single hand towards the door. But he wasn’t able to reach it completely. Something kept him from lifting her further. Why didn’t he just jump for the hole? Then she looked down at his feet, and saw tendrils of darkness holding him in place. The dark tentacles burned and sizzled at the touch of his glowing white armor, but they still held stubbornly in place, pinning the Light Wielder to the blackened ground.

Then Amelia saw it. She looked passed the flames and the smoke faces and the burning corpses, almost skinless skeletons for all the flesh that remained on them. It was all black. All darkness, and yet she could still see it. Planets, and stars. An entire universe. She could see the entirety of the Realm of Shadow spread out before her. An endless sea of chaos. There was no way she should be able to see an entire universe, but she could. She could make out every detail of every soul and Shadow Wraith trapped in that endless darkness. There were billions of them, Trillions of them. Too many to count.

And all the planets and stars, each one a mirror of the Physical Realm, they all circled around a single being. A giant man made of darkness. He was endless. He was infinite. He was he that went by many names. He was the Lord Corrupter, the claimer of the damned. She couldn’t see where his arms and legs ended, but he was in the basic form of a man ... a man made of nothingness. A shadow somehow even darker than darkness. Planets and stars spun around his fingers. Galaxies floated around his arms and around his head. He was connected to everything, every soul in the Physical Realm was a part of him, and him a part of them. She could see tiny points of light all over his black body, and knew that each light was a soul that held a tiny piece of the Lord Corrupter inside their heart. Occasionally, a light would go out, becoming part of his body completely. Souls like the woman who loved pain and had surrendered to their darker impulses. However, she did see souls that had gone out suddenly come back on again. They were still a part of him, but they had chosen to fight the darkness rather than succumb to it. The giant made of shadows, who spanned entire star systems and galaxies, seemed engrossed in his routine, moving souls and planets about his fingertips like a conductor at an opera. Then the giant stopped, turning his massive head. Solar systems and galaxies flew away from his head as if he had lost interest in them. He did not have eyes to speak of. He was only the vague shape of a man. And yet, she knew ... she knew he was looking at her.

Slowly, the giant made of shadows reached down towards them. Even as tall and as powerful as the Light Wielder was, next to the Lord Corrupter, he was nothing but a candle floating in an ocean of shadow. Even he, with all his wisdom and strength, was nothing to this all-consuming force that was the Lord Corrupter. More an entity than a sentient being, the Lord Corrupter was said to be the culmination of all malevolence in the universe. Every misdeed. Every murder. Every sin. It all fed him. And he, in turn, fed the cycle of evil. Not even the Light Wielder could be a match for the combined evil of the entire universe put together.

However, just before one of his planet-sized fingers touched them, the Lord Corrupter froze. Suddenly, he jerked back his hand as if burned. The Light Wielder became brighter. The hole above them grew in size, forcing all the burning corpses and screaming faces to retreat in fear. Another hand appeared. No. Not a hand. It was more like a claw. A clawed paw similar to a human’s hand, yet covered in scales. A Dragon’s forearm. But a Dragon unlike any that Amelia had ever seen. Its scales were pure white, sparkling like diamonds.

The Dragon’s claw had reached down through the doorway made of light. Amelia covered her hands, feeling even more afraid of the White Dragon’s arm than she was of the Lord Corrupter. But the Light Wielder was not afraid. He put his weapon down, and it disappeared in a sparkle of green flurries. Now with both hands, he gently placed Amelia in the Dragon’s paw. She tried to wriggle free, but as soon as her body touched the scales, such a feeling of warmth flooded into her like she had never known before. If contentment were something tangible, something that could be touched, it would have to be the feel of those smooth, glass-like scales against her skin. The scales appeared to be very sharp, but they did not cut her skin. The Dragon’s paw slowly lifted her up from the Shadow Realm. The Light Wielder jerked free of the tendrils attached to his boots and floated up with them. Even as big as he was, his whole body was smaller than just one of the White Dragon’s fingertips.

A bellowing roar ripped through the Shadow Realm, causing all the creatures within it to cringe in fear as they covered their warped, twisted bodies with bony arms. The Lord Corrupter was angry now. Angry that a soul he had claimed was being protected by his enemy. The cosmic giant then lurched forward with both galaxy-sized hands, bringing his full power to bear as he intended to crush them all.

Amelia closed her eyes again. This time, the Lord Corrupter went away. This time, the nightmare went away. But the memories remained. The memories of the woman who loved pain.

“Amelia,” said the voice softly. Eramar’s voice. Hard but comforting like the feel of freshly cut wood beneath her skin. His grizzled voice made her feel safe and welcomed.

“Amelia,” said the voice again quieter. This time, it sounded more like the brown-eyed man’s voice. Mysterious and inviting. Sultry sweet like the scent of a burning candle.

The voice spoke again. “Sister of the night?” This soft-spoken voice elicited fear in her, and beyond that, a desire to please that went beyond all logic.

The voice spoke one last time. “Amelia.”

This time, there was no mistaking the voice for that of the Light Wielder, the white knight that saved her. The enemy of the man who had carved out his own eyes. They were back in his pocket dimension, the white crystal room that floated in a black void filled with tiny stars. He had pried the orange-glowing Cosmic Core from her while she lay unconscious. She remembered him telling her to hold on to that Core as if her life depended on it, and she did just that. Now, she wished she had dropped it. She wished she let those things in the Shadow Realm take her before she realized the truth. The Prime Minister set the object on a pedestal of white crystal which soon sank into the floor, vanishing from sight.

Amelia sat up with a jerk. She could remember. She could remember all of it clearly. The conditioning she went through. Readjusting to her life as an Elemental after she met the Mages. Even the times that she went out of herself. Those rare times within the last few decades that she sent coded messages on her communicator, alerting the High Mage of the Elementals’ dealings.

She even sent one last message to him before she came here, telling him of their impromptu journey to the catacombs. A perfect opportunity to steal the Core guarded down in the catacombs. An item that would’ve been nearly impossible to access without the help of a Wielder of the Fire Council. In fact, one of the main reasons that she had gone undercover within the Ministry of Fire in the first place was to steal the Core. She could’ve been sent to any number of Fire Ministry outposts throughout the universe, but she was sent to their headquarters in order to steal a Core. But she had failed. The Light Wielder had tricked them, seen their plan coming. And while she was with him, she never had a chance to warn the Mages of the impending attack to their coven. Not that she could have gotten a signal out on her wrist communicator even if the Light Wielder wasn’t watching her like a hawk.

A part of her was aware from the start of the dangerous situation she was in when she came into his presence. A part of her was always aware deep down who she really was. That part had been buried deep into her subconscious, making it next to impossible for any telepaths at the Ministry to see her true intent. It was a new tactic they were employing. So many Mystics had been caught because they knew they were traitors, and telepaths could catch their treachery even in passing one another down the hallway. So the logical solution was to create spies who didn’t know they were spies, or at least who didn’t consciously know.

For the most part, her time at the Ministry of Fire had been spent simply as Doctor Amelia Wilson. It was only during rare moments by herself that the other side would take over, and she would enter a sort of trance-like state which she would have no recollection of later. A flawless system, and one which allowed a Mage Coven to operate unhindered right under the Light Wielder’s nose for the past five years. She even contacted a few Mystics at the Ministry herself. Though most of the Mystic operatives – like that fool Hamma Steele – had already been discovered; or otherwise, were too low down the totem pole to be even remotely useful to her. Just as well as none of them, not even Hamma, knew anything about her. Though, until a few moments ago, she didn’t even know about her.

”Amelia,” said the Light Wielder again in concern.

She ignored him as she jumped from the crystalline bed that he had erected for her. Though made of crystal, the bed still felt soft and warm like a mattress. No doubt some kind of construct of his cursed Light Elemency. A part of Amelia wanted to vomit just from touching the object. A part of her, though, was still in a state of confusion and fear. She had lived most of her life as a doctor. Had made friends at the Ministry of Fire. Had made a life at the Ministry of Fire. Had fallen in love with Eramar Razor.

But who was that other man we loved? asked the part of her that was always buried in the dark corner of her mind.

Don’t you know? she asked back, in disbelief that she was having a conversation with herself.

Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin when the voice answered her back, I thought you did.

I am the part of us that heals people. I would’ve balked at taking a whip made of Shadow Elemency to a man’s backside, she answered her sadist side snidely.

The voice did not respond.

“Doctor Wilson?” said the voice of the Light Wielder, much closer than she thought he was.

Amelia spun around in fright to find him standing a few paces from her. He looked as he had before, like a kindly old man with green eyes and spectacles, a well-trimmed white beard, but no mustache. His white hair was done in a tasteful ponytail, and he still wore the silver armor and white cape, but the helmet was gone. Nothing had changed in his appearance, and yet, with her recent revelation, everything had changed.

As if she could feel the taint of his pure light on her darkened soul, Amelia backed away from him until her back was against the crystalline wall. He raised his hands as if to soothe her, and she covered her face with her arms. Part of her recoiled on instinct, awaiting an attack of Light Elemency that she was sure would come.

What are you doing you stupid sadist? Amelia spoke to the Mage side of her that had taken complete control of her bodily functions. He’s not about to attack us! He just saved us!

He knows! screamed the Mage side of her in terror. He has to know! Why else would he bring us here?

If he knew, he would’ve sent us to be interrogated, not had us translate from the ... the...

Amelia’s head swiveled over to the Grave Tome, the legacy of the Shadow Realm itself, sitting quietly on the crystalline table where they left it. It just looked like an ordinary, primitive book now, with no indication that it had just tried to suck them into Shaivere Groguul itself. At the moment, both sides of Amelia didn’t know which she was more afraid of ... the Light Wielder or the Grave Tome. Her eyes jerked from the half-opened book to the kindly-looking old man who still stood with his hands up as if he were being arrested. Within the last hour, she’d seen extraordinary feats beyond mortal comprehension exhibited by both. Or at least, she thought she had if the memories of getting sucked into the Shadow Realm were to be believed. Were all the images and memories flooding her brain just a sign of some elaborate delusion? By the Caretaker, was she going mad?

You dare utter the name of that lesser god? The Desolate One will have both our hides at this rate!

When Amelia heard the voice of her Mage side, a part of her wanted to weep at knowing that though madness could surely be part of the equation, it was only just a part. She really was a Mystic spy. She really did torture people. She really did lead Eramar into a trap within the Catacombs.

Oh, Eramar. Forgive me, my love.

The Light Wielder, though holding up his hands, spoke to her gently. “Amelia, please. Let me help you. No soul is too far gone. No one is beyond redemption.”

Amelia’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. So that was it. He did know. He’d known all along.

KILL HIM NOW!!!

Before she fully realized what was happening, Amelia summoned her weapon to herself. She was a surgeon, not a warrior, so she didn’t have a Psionic Weapon in the conventional sense. But she did have a surgeon’s knife. It enhanced her Medical Elemency, allowing her to do things with healing most Elemental Healers could scarcely dream of. It could also do terrible things to a body if it touched the skin, even a body as mighty as that of the Prime Minister’s.