Mirrorworld Book 1: Eidolon

Mirrorworld Book 1

Eidolon

Ethan Somerville

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Storm Publishing on Smashwords

Mirrorworld Book 1 - Eidolon

Copyright © 2011/2017 by Ethan Somerville

www.stormpublishing.net

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Chapter 1

On a Dark and Stormy Night

The basement lay in blackness, but that was the least of its single living occupant's worries. Stormwalker had learned Darkvision many years earlier, and now the spell lasted for hours. The wizard sat cross-legged on the floor, his few belongings surrounding him, and removed a heavy golden amulet from around his neck. He laid it on the flagstones with a soft clink of metal.

He had to work fast. Somehow his enemy had tracked him down to this remote colonial settlement. Even now, as he recalled the incantation that would activate the medallion’s power, the mercenary was crouched outside the door trying to diffuse his Magelock enchantment. Stormwalker didn’t doubt that the bounty-hunter would eventually succeed - he had several powerful Magick items at his command.

Time was running out, leaving the wizard with only two options; either he could face the mercenary in hand-to-hand combat, or use the artefact. He had no wish to battle a man rumoured to be one of the world’s greatest warriors. It was the medallion or nothing.

The runes inscribed around the amulet’s perimeter surfaced in his mind as he lifted his hands and curled his fingers. Softly at first, he began reciting the ancient words of Magick. The harsh sounds cut into the invisible mana surrounding him, preparing it for shaping. As soon as he felt the pleasant shivers rippling across his smooth, hairless skin, he twisted his hands into the appropriate movements.

Magick was an art as well as a language. Only the most talented and powerful of wizards could mould Nature’s wild mana. Dabblers knew how to chip and whittle, apprentices could copy, priests were granted the ability to cast spells by their deities, but only mage-kind - those born with Magick in their hearts and souls – could actually create. If they knew the tongue and all of its accompanying gestures, they could accomplish anything.

Stormwalker considered himself a true wizard - as so did the many who’d had the misfortune of encountering him. Because his mind existed on an entirely different plateau to ordinary people, he learned spells quickly and easily. His thoughts were as sharp as diamond-tipped arrowheads, speeding along crystalline paths unsullied by pain and emotion. He had mastered the difficult field of Mental Shaping; the ability to use Magick without the accompanying hand-movements. When he so wished, he could control mana with the force of his mind. This enabled him to do other things while spell-casting, like fighting, running and climbing.

His teachers had found his bloody single-mindedness as frightening as it was intriguing. When he wanted something, nothing stopped him from attaining it. And right now he craved freedom.

Before him the golden amulet began to pulse with light, releasing tendrils of unformed mana into the air. As the spell’s power increased, the glowing tentacles wove into a golden globe six feet in diameter, hovering several inches above the floor. Tiny flashes of lightning began to discharge from its centre, and the mage's concentration almost faltered on seeing the dancing electricity. As his pulse quickened with old, familiar excitement, he found himself wanting to let the lightning carry his soul away.

On the day of his birth, a ferocious thunderstorm had revealed to him the full power of such electricity and how it lay within his grasp. Since then he was unable to resist lightning’s seductive lure. The Storm had given him his name and his first tattoo.

The pleasant tingling in his flesh become sharp, digging needles - the only true pain in his existence. He realised he was in danger of losing control of his spell, with disastrous consequences. Magickal backfire was the chief cause of death among wizards. Hurriedly he asserted his concentration. Later, he promised himself as he wrenched his gaze from the electricity. Right now you must complete this incantation. Concentrate Stormwalker! Or you will die!

He lifted his head and looked inwards, the tiny lightning-bolts becoming a blur. Alien pain drifted away as the mana fell back under his control. Seconds later, the bulb of light expanded, the snarling discharges increasing. With a final gesture and word, his powerful voice ringing off the basement’s walls, Stormwalker ended the spell. Lowering his hands to his knees, he watched a black hole form in the middle of the mana-bulb and grow, forcing the lightning into a narrow ring. As he leaned forward to peer into the gap, he saw a dark forest sleeping beneath the light of a sickle moon and pinprick stars. As the image increased in size, he fancied he could smell the heady scent of fresh leaves, damp ground and teaming undergrowth.

Because the portal would only stay open for short while, he wasted no time in collecting his things. Then he snatched up the amulet, slipping it back around his neck. The bubble remained, fixed for the spell’s duration.

Holding his breath in anticipation, Stormwalker bowed his head and stepped into the stationary globe. For one distressingly brief moment he was surrounded by lightning, his flesh shivering deliciously. Then, an eye-blink later, he was tumbling towards the new realm's surface. But before he could prepare a spell to slow himself, he fell into the undergrowth and tumbled head over heels down a hillside.

My lapse in concentration must have created that discrepancy, he thought as he picked himself up and dusted off his leather armour. He looked up at the golden globe behind him - and saw the basement door burst inwards. A dark form stumbled through it, looking wildly around. Then the orb disappeared in a shower of magical sparks. It had done its work. Stormwalker had escaped. The mercenary would never be able to follow him here. Stormwalker's amulet was one of a pair, and its companion still resided in Shangri La, that unattainable mountain city.

Satisfied, the mage scanned his surroundings, Darkvision allowing him to see as though it was daylight. Trees surrounded him, like the ones in the colony he’d just left. Tall, lean and patched, their thin leaves smelled strongly of the strange herb locals believed was good for the chest. They soared up into the clear night sky, shadowing thick undergrowth and lichen-spotted boulders lurking in the shadows like sleeping monsters. Chirping crickets vibrated the cool air.

Stormwalker lifted his hands and prepared a simple spell designed to check the local area for threatening life-forms. He had slaughtered more than his fair share of monsters, and wanted to be prepared for whatever this new world had to offer. But he realised something was wrong when the soft tingling he usually received was replaced by a voracious roaring - like a fire raging out of control in his veins. It felt good, but it frightened as much as it fascinated. Fearing a magical backlash from the phenomenal influx of mana, he quickly completed the spell and flung it into the atmosphere.

Sudden knowledge pounded into his skull, revealing life-sources for miles around.

What happened? he gasped out loud. Is the mana stronger here?

It had to be. He could not think of a better answer.

However, for all of its intensity, his life-sense incantation had revealed nothing more dangerous than an aggravated possum, shivering up a gum about a hundred yards away. His bizarre arrival had terrified it.

He adjusted his sword belt and shinnied up a nearby tree. As soon as he was high enough he scanned his surroundings a second time. Across the dark hills he noticed distant lights winking, bright and constant - almost Magickal in their intensity. Below wound a snakelike street. Boxlike vehicles, also equipped with unflickering lights, hummed along at impressive speeds.

So many Magick devices - what kind of a place is this? Stormwalker wondered as he climbed down, intending to head for the road. Is the mana so powerful that anyone can control it? Is that why so many strange machines abound?

Curiosity began to nudge his exhaustion back, and as he picked his way through the dense undergrowth a wonderful idea popped into his mind. If the mana was so strong here, what kind of a storm could he summon? He stopped, looked up at the clear sky and smiled broadly, his heartbeat starting to race. Yes - what kind of a tempest could he call with such raw power at his fingertips? How much lightning could he unleash?

Lightning; in Stormwalker's mind the simple word failed to do the awesome power justice. He recalled the tiny, controlled flashes in the mana-globe, and how much they had aroused him. Suddenly he wanted - needed to see more electricity.

Unable to hold his desire in check he threw his hands into the air, flung his head back - and bellowed the first line of Summon Storm. Even before he began the necessary shaping, the uncontrolled mana slammed into his body. He twisted his fingers around the wild magic and it writhed in his grasp like a wildcat.

The sky began to fog over, its unusually faint stars disappearing. As Stormwalker's spell sucked up water from surrounding rivers and streams in misty tendrils, dense clouds formed. It only took them a few minutes to graduate from fluffy cumulus to heavy, water-laden thunderheads. The still air shifted, thickening and filling with the heady scent of impending rain. Now he would let Nature take over. He possessed the power to control the storms he summoned, but preferred to let them run their full course, enjoying their awesome brilliance.

He finished the spell with a flourish and let his hands drop to his sides. The boiling clouds rumbled ominously, and the surrounding forest fell silent. One by one the crickets stopped, sensing the inexplicable change in atmospheric pressure. The air crackled uneasily.

In response, Stormwalker held his breath, waiting expectantly.

Then the lightning started. The first flash snarled across the sky like an angry dragon, breathing flames of blue-white fire. A deafening crash of thunder accompanied it, and Stormwalker's smile broadened in appreciation. His heart galloped with excitement, and a powerful flood of pleasure surged through his body to coalesce in his loins. He cried out, his entire body quivering like a bowstring.

Another bolt seared across the sky. A split-second later thunder seemed to split the world in half. Yes! Stormwalker screamed over the deafening crash, and flung his hands upwards to encompass the tempestuous sky.

Rain began to fall in wind-slashed sheets, drenching the howling wizard. But his ecstasy eclipsed the sensation of water coursing down his body. He only experienced the sight of the electricity crackling across the clouds - the sound of thunder - and his own sizzling pleasure. The mighty dragon of Nature rejoiced in its freedom, and only Stormwalker knew how good it felt.

A third bolt lanced down. The ground trembled as it destroyed a nearby tree, sending flaming splinters flying. Stormwalker shrieked a sentence of Magick into the maelstrom, twisting his fingers into claws. As the storm discharged more lightning bolts, he took control of them, blasting them at objects he could see; trees, bushes, rocks, fleeing animals. The electricity blew smoking craters in the ground around him, and the burning scent of death filled his nostrils. His pulse beat all over his body - a throb in perfect time with the chaos he’d unleased. This was truly a storm among storms.

Then, as the wind began to drop, the Eye arrived.

And with it came the Voice.

Stormwalker!

The throaty bellow seemed to come from all directions. I hear you! Stormwalker roared. What is your command?

A sacrifice!

Oh yes! the mage yelled. I will, I will! Anyone? Can I give you anyone?

Yes you can! But I need! I thirst! I hunger! Give me blood! Give me flesh! Give me pain! GO NOW!

Stormwalker almost swooned. Yes!

He stumbled down the hillside towards the winding road he’d glimpsed earlier, only one word pounding through his fevered brain;

Kill.

It was following a very well used path.

Dripping leaves and branches whipped his skin as he plunged into thick undergrowth. Through the drenched trees he could see the street, and the strange vehicles speeding along it, their way lit by the bright lamps in their noses. Behind them lay a flat expanse of grass with a wooden fence running around its perimeter. One of the mysterious carriages stood beside it, its lights out and glass windows misted.

Was there someone inside it? Someone he could

Kill!

Kill for the Storm.

Licking his lips in fevered anticipation, Stormwalker emerged from the forest, waited until the road was clear of vehicles, and then started across. He could already taste fresh human flesh and warm, coppery blood.

Maria Casali yawned as she dialled her home number and waited. It was already a quarter past twelve, but Faith would be waiting beside the phone regardless. Sure enough the receiver was lifted after only two rings. But it wasn’t Faith who answered.

H’lo? Netta’s reply lacked its usual good humour.

Hi Netta - it’s Maria! What are you doing up?

I’m watching late night movies with Faith. You know how much she hates waiting alone.

Maria laughed. I should have expected as much. She talked you into staying up all night, didn’t she?

I can handle it. I’m going to be peeing caffeine all day tomorrow, though!

Maria giggled again. Okay Netta. You tell Faith not to worry, and to let you go to bed. I’m outside the Gong at the moment, and should be back in an hour and a half - if I don’t have to stop for a rest. Stop revive survive and all that crap. But I don’t see that happening – I feel pretty awake right now.

Okay, Netta answered.

Maria heard Faith’s excited voice in the background, begging for the phone, but she knew if she started talking to her, she would probably end up chatting for half an hour. She wanted to be back on the road as quickly as possible. The sooner she got home the better. I’ll see you soon.

Sure, Netta answered as cheerfully as her exhaustion would allow. Drive carefully. Don’t pick up any hitchhikers unless they’re cute, and you intend to bring them home to me.

Okay. Maria laughed as she hung up. With her easy-going humour, Netta could always make her mood improve. She whistled as she accelerated out of the truck-stop car park. Fresh coffee in her stomach warmed her tired veins.

She decided to take the scenic route through the Royal National Park, wanting to see how much bush had grown back since the last lot of bushfires. She also hoped the twisting, winding road would help her to stay awake but all too soon her weariness, only temporarily arrested by caffeine, returned. Angrily she upped the volume on Nirvana, but the extra noise didn’t help. She continued to yawn and fidget in her seat. Those bloody ads were right, she thought as she slapped her fuzzy steering-wheel. She desperately wanted to get home, but increasing exhaustion would overcome her first.

She wound down her window in a last, futile attempt to stay awake. Cool night air wafted in, bringing with it the pleasant smell of verdant bushland and the peaceful sound of crickets.

Vegetation had returned to the Royal National Park with a vengeance, and charred trees were now a rare sight. Unfortunately Maria was too sleepy to enjoy the forest rolling past. The long day had taken its toll, and she wished she hadn’t stayed so long, helping her parents at their shop, before leaving. Resigned to the fact she could no longer continue, she looked out for a rest-area.

Maria was a tall, slender girl with curly black hair worn in a convenient bob around an attractive oval face. Some people considered her features too severe, but only because she didn’t wear make-up to soften them. She regarded it, along with shaving, as an unnecessary chore. Men didn't have to do such silly, time-consuming things to improve their looks.

She wasn’t as big a feminist as some of her tech friends, but she did believe in female equality. Unfortunately, all of her previous boyfriends had considered her a merciless ball-breaker. Sick of rejection, she decided to experiment by taking a female lover. She hadn’t considered herself a lesbian at the time. But her decision to become involved with bubbly Faith Ramsey changed her life. She discovered that love between females wasn’t simply wham bam thankyou ma’am, but a gentler, more consuming love, and realised that she was actually gay. She found she no longer had to compete. All of her previous insecurities fled, to be replaced by blissful contentment. Of course she and Faith had their fair share of problems, but who didn’t?

The week she’d spent in Eden with her parents had been fun, but as far as she was concerned, nothing beat a good homecoming, the warm comfort of her own bed and Faith’s plump, willing arms.

Maria yawned, long and hard, and tears sprang to her eyes. Why aren’t there any bloody rest-areas around here? she grumbled. "Does the government want us to run into oncoming semis? Is that how they plan to keep the population down?"

But no sooner had she spoken when one such area appeared around the next corner, dark and devoid of life.

Yahoo, she said without spirit. She drove off the road, taking the spot furthest from it. As her old Ford Capri’s engine slowly ticked over, she wound up the windows so only the tiniest crack remained, and locked all the doors. Then she pushed her seat back as far as it would go and stretched out on the uncomfortable padding. She checked her watch. It read a quarter to one. Only a few more hours, Faith, and I’ll be with you, she promised.

The crash of thunder woke her after what felt like only a few minutes later. She sat up, heart pounding. Outside all Hell had broken loose, and rivers streamed down her foggy windows. Where the heck did this bloody storm come from? she wondered as she cranked her seat back up. She looked down at her watch, and it told her 2:34. A whole hour and three quarters had elapsed since she’d stopped. As she shifted position she realised that she needed to go. Badly.

Dammit, she grumbled. If she ventured into that storm she would be drenched in seconds. But she knew if she didn’t she would soon be in acute pain. She’d never had a strong bladder, and holding onto her water for long periods was a mysterious talent only other people possessed. Miserably she wound down her window a fraction. Overhead, lightning and thunder coincided perfectly.

I’ll give it five minutes.

The time passed. The lightning increased, the forest got wetter and Maria’s bladder got fuller. Bloody Hell! She stumbled out into the cold, teaming rain. Kicking the door closed behind her, she yanked down her baggy jeans and squatted on the grass, as close to her vehicle as she could. "Come on - come on!"

But as usual the moody bodily function would not be rushed, and the young woman was soaked by the time she pulled her trousers up. Water poured from her rat’s tail curls down the back of her singlet. Just as well my old bomb’s heater still works! she thought as she turned to open her door. I’m going to need it!

It was then she realised she had company.

She turned, and in the half-light of the storm, she saw a tall figure standing beside her. She jumped, her heart pounding - and lightning slashed across the sky to reveal a very well-muscled man in black leather. He appeared to have something slung over his shoulder, but the illumination disappeared before she could make it out. She didn’t know how he had managed to sneak up on her, but was determined not to let him realise how much he had startled her. Angrily, she grabbed the driver’s side handle and pulled.

Nothing happened. More lightning flashed, and Maria realised that the guy was holding the door closed with one hand. He wore a black fingerless glove with studded knuckles and some kind of metal band around his forearm.

Excuse me! Maria shouted, turning on them and slamming her fists into her hips. Fear made her brash. But in case you didn’t notice it’s absolutely pissing down out here, and I’d really like to get home before I catch hypothermia! So kindly get lost!

He didn’t move; Maria wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her. Hey arsehole - I’m talking to you!

As though in answer, a spectacular bolt raced across the sky, lasting for several long seconds. She got a good, long look at the mysterious individual. But as soon as everything sank into her frightened brain, she decided she would have preferred him remain a shadow.

He looked … insane.

His pale eyes were as cold and flat as a snake’s, contrasting with his demented smile; the broad grin of a lunatic. He had no eyebrows; either they were too blonde for Maria too see, or he’d removed them. Rings glittered where they should have been. He’d also shaved his head, save for a blonde Mohawk strip that he’d pulled back into a long, neat braid. Both ears bristled with jewellery, and a weird scar ran down his right cheek. At least Maria thought it was a scar. It could have been a tattoo - his upper arms and chest were covered with brightly coloured dragons, rearing snakes, flames, savage demons and skulls. He looked like Ray Bradbury’s illustrated man. That thing slung across his chest was some kind of a scabbard, the hilt of an evil-looking sword protruding above his right shoulder.

As the light faded, Maria took a deep, shaking breath. Oh boy – do you have a few too many toys in your attic! Do you even speak English? She thrust her arms out to push him away from her car - she was tall, and still did serious self-defence. The bastard might have been a bigger than her, but as far as Maria was concerned, the larger they were, the harder they fell. And this maniac was going to make a dent!

Her palms met his hard, flat chest - and before she realised what was happening, a pair of wet, gloved hands had locked around her wrists, squeezing mercilessly.

Hey! she shouted, now genuinely frightened. Let me go! Angrily she twisted her arms. In class she’d learned to free her wrists from unwanted grips by turning them against her opponent's thumbs. The guy’s hands felt like two cold vices, but with a supreme effort Maria managed to tear free, probably leaving skin behind in the process. His strength didn’t matter; no-one had the power to hold onto someone who knew that special trick.

What the Hell d’you want? She jumped a couple of steps back, hands fisted.

He pointed at her. She heard a click over the sound of falling rain - then the light of another electrical discharge gleamed off something metallic. A switchblade! It must have been concealed in that metal band around his wrist. Maria took another step back. The maniac held the knife in front of him as he approached. Maria continued to retreat, the safety of her car now several metres away. Her adrenalin-enhanced mind searched frantically for a solution to her problem. Got to incapacitate him somehow! Next time he makes a grab for me, I have to knock him down!

The light vanished and he moved quickly - too quickly. Before she could react, he had sprung forward and grabbed her wrist again. Alright - you asked for it! Trick number two; when all else fails, go for the goolies!

Because she couldn’t see him very well, she had to guess the location of his privates. One slightly scuffed Doc Marten slammed into his balls with a satisfying thud.

Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of falling to the ground in a whimpering heap, her attacker simply tightened his grip on her arm. She yelped in pain. His fingers felt like steel bars. With a sweep of one leg, he kicked her feet out from under her. She fell painfully on one hip. Then he dropped his weight onto her, pinning her down. Fiery heat pulsed into her from his heavy body. Gasping for breath she tried to push him off, but the icy touch of something cold and metallic against her neck froze her, blood running like ice in her veins. Terrified, she stared up into his face. In the wet darkness she saw the thing on his cheek glowing; scar, tattoo, whatever the Hell it was.

It looked like a tiny lightning-bolt.

Another electrical discharge roared across the clouds, revealing him straddling her body and still smiling his wicked grin.

The light disappeared again, and delicately he caressed her cheek with the icy point of his knife. Her skin crawled. She couldn’t see him, but knew that he could see her. Shivers shot up and down her spine.

What? she wheezed at his face - at that lightning-bolt scar hovering like a disembodied spirit above. What the Hell do you want? I’ve got money! My sister gave me the three hundred dollars she owes me! It’s in my wallet in the car! I’ll get it for you if just let me go!

In answer the lunatic climbed off her, but kept his fist locked around her wrist. He began dragging her towards a gap in the fence surrounding the car park. He moved strongly, relentlessly, her dead weight not affecting his stride.

Can you fucking well hear me? she shrieked, struggling to rise so she could pull her wrist free.

If he could he didn’t let on. Maria wriggled and kicked, but the lunatic made sure she couldn’t get her feet under her. Her jeans ripped on hidden rocks, but in her fear she didn’t feel the pain from bleeding abrasions.

Help! she shrieked, looking pleadingly towards the suddenly distant highway. "Please! Someone help me!"

The driving rain swallowed her words at the source. A truck rumbled past, its windows misty, and Maria realised with a sinking feeling that the chances of someone noticing her predicament were zero. It was too dark and the storm too heavy.

But she’d tried all the tricks she knew, and failed to make a mark on the maniac. Her ball-kick would have crippled a normal man. This guy hadn’t even flinched.

Wet leaves slapped her cheeks as the maniac hauled her into the bushes. More lightning lit the sky, and Maria finally managed to get up. Frantic, she grabbed the psycho’s knife-hand, fingers closing on the cold metal band around his wrist. She tried to force his arm back, but might as well have tried to push a falling tree. Again he hurled her to the soaked ground and straddled her. In the dancing light she watched his arm descend until his knife’s point hovered a centimetre above her staring eye.

He continued to smile crazily, thin lips skinned back from crooked teeth.

No, no, she mouthed, too scared to scream. Her bowels began to loosen.

He got up and spoke for the first time, his voice rich and deep. But the words which emerged from his lips were stilted - foreign. Almost like Latin.

Before Maria could scramble to her feet, cold, hard fingers had tightened around her upper arms, digging sharp claws into soft flesh. The man stepped back as the hands yanked her backwards, legs flying out. She had time for one scream before a hard tree-trunk slammed into her spine with heavy thud. Who the Hell is holding me? she thought twisting, trying to locate the source of the hands.

The fingers felt hard, brown and knotty - like branches - and Maria couldn’t see anyone behind her. The arm connected to the hand around her arm appeared to disappear into the tree.

Oh God, she croaked, shaking her head. She decided that the lightning was distorting things. She looked again, trying to find her second assailant - and realised that she’d been right the first time. The four hands had come from the tree - shot right out of its trunk!

The man repeated his strange words, and Maria felt the rough bark writhe beneath her back, as though big worms were burrowing through it. Then more knotty limbs exploded from the wood, their clawed fingers ripping into her sodden clothes, tearing her flesh. She struggled frantically, but the skinny digits were inhumanly strong, and quelled her attempts with ease. This simply couldn’t be happening! She lost control of her bladder in terror, but hardly noticed the release. She eventually concluded that she was still asleep in her car, caught in the throes of a bad dream. Something this bizarre couldn’t be real!

Soon the woody hands had locked onto her, their abrasive fingers hooked around arms and legs, and biting into breasts, thighs and stomach. A pair of claws even clutched her head, digging into her temples. She could only stare at the strange man as he approached, knife still upraised.

Who the Hell are you? Maria croaked. What the Hell are you?!

Of course he didn’t answer. She began to wonder if he could hear her. She realised he wasn’t deaf when thunder crashed overhead and he looked up in response, his lunatic leer broadening. So what was his problem?

He stepped in close, so his body touched hers. Gently, he caressed her cheek with the point of his knife, running it from below her eye to her jaw line. For the Storm, he whispered, his flinty eyes staring intently into her own. Yes ... for the Storm.

He took hold of one of her bound hands and lifted his knife. Maria honestly believed that he was about to cut the claw from her when a sudden pain flared in her finger. He wasn’t cutting the branch - he was slicing into her! He was hacking her bloody pinkie off! Mouthing silently, she tensed all the muscles in her arm in a vain attempt to pull it away. Blood poured down her hand, but the driving rain quickly washed it away. The pain felt woolly - distant, happening to someone else.

Then he spoke some more words of that strange, alien language - and the pain blazed up inside her hand, exquisitely intense. Somehow her shock had been pushed back. Again she was lucid - horribly aware.

The psychopath stepped back and held something up so Maria could see it.

Her finger.

She stared, and then started screaming hysterically, pulling at her bonds and tearing flesh against the wood.

He lifted the end of her pinkie to his lips and licked the blood from it, his tongue probing the stump like someone exploring the hole left behind by a missing tooth. He made sure Maria could see his every move. The light was almost constant now; electrical discharges following each other in rapid succession. The young woman gaped as he put the entire finger into his mouth and began chewing the flesh from it.

Oh God, she moaned, twisting against her cruel bonds. "Oh God! Nooo!"

He spat the tiny bones out onto the ground. For the Storm, he said again, and laughed. Then he reached for her other hand.

Perched on a fallen log trying to catch his breath, Stormwalker watched the tempest march towards the eastern horizon. Lightning and thunder diminished and shifted apart. A deep sadness rose inside him. Even though he knew he would call countless more storms, the passing of one always left him depressed. The retreat of that one especially upset him - it had been the most powerful one yet. His hunger had been sated ... in more ways than one.

And so had the Storm’s.

Stormwalker watched the lightning until it disappeared. He allowed his mind to drift back over what had just passed, and another shiver of excitement pulsed through him. The woman had put up a valiant fight. Even after he shackled her with those tree-spirit hands, she continued to struggle, believing in hope until the last. Unfortunately shock set in relatively early, marring the pleasure of destruction. He cast a mental subversion spell to keep her body’s natural reactions back, wanting her to experience pain in its full, glorious intensity. Then he and the Storm feasted on her agony.

As the rain died to a gentle background patter, he clicked his switchblade back into the sheath beneath his metal