Warlock Ch. 02

John felt his magic slip inside the woman. She gasped as it raced into her and did what it did best, arousing her toward him to the point where nothing else mattered. He chuckled and held out his hand. Free of focusing on the woman he directed his magic to his spear. It flipped up and spun as it caught on the lip of the wagon's side. Then it rushed through the air and passed within a few feet of the bandit leader before slapping solidly into John's hand.

The bandit jumped to the side and then chuckled. "All right, I see. Well now, maybe you are a threat. Arty, put a bolt in his leg and teach him a lesson."

"I don't think so," John said. "If she shoots me, how am I going to reward her by fucking her when we're done killing you?"

The bandit leader's laugh died the moment it began. Or, more precisely, the moment a crossbow bolt struck the boiled leather cuisse tied to his thigh. The hardened leather redirected the quarrel just enough so it punched through the flesh and muscle on the outside of his thigh as it passed through.

He stared down at his leg and staggered as the shock of the injury rattled him. "You traitorous whore!" he hissed at her. "Terrence, kill the slut! Azamos, cut that wizard's tongue out of his mouth and I'll rip his fingers off one at a time!"

John heard the woman, Arty, cry out and curse. Steel struck steel but he wasn't able to pay attention to her, he had two men rushing toward him. He turned away from the leader and kicked the burning logs toward Azamos. When he turned back he found the leader was snarling and almost upon him.

John swung his spear, forcing the man to bat it aside. The bandit lunged forward after but his wounded leg slowed him. John was able to jump back and bring his spear between them before the bandit could run him through once and for all.

John knew his time was running out but the burned logs were sputtering and without the firelight it was hard to see under the trees. Hard for them, that is. John saw the bandit's foot scuff on a stick. He wrenched his leg to keep from slipping or losing his balance, drawing a grimace and fresh blood staining his leg.

The bandit leader bided his time. John was thankful until he realized it meant Azamos was coming up behind him. John faked a lunge but the leader didn't buy it. John hopped to the side and spun, keeping his spear between them and stopped the leader from going after him. He saw from his new vantage that if he'd waited much longer Azamos would have been able to stab him in the back.

Now the he had both of them in front of him John realized he had no idea what to do. He felt for his magic, desperate to find some way to use it. He could not seduce them— even if they were attracted to him he was not interested in them. The magic wouldn't work. That left a few other tricks he'd learn, summoning objects or minor manifestations. He could create lights— not the phantom globes above them, but actual light drawing from the magic within him.

Wait! Lights... they still had the globes dancing over their heads. John relinquished one hand from his spear and drew a quick pattern that disrupted the form of the original spell. They blinked out of existence, startling three of the four by removing the distraction above them.

The fourth was the woman. She slashed across as Terrence cringed from the latest display of magic. Her sword smashed his aside and hit his hauberk hard. He grunted and staggered, bruised across his belly and gasping for breath. She smashed her sword down and drove his hastily raised sword down. A second chop knocked it down again and let her blade glance off his shoulder. She raised her sword a third time but he was recovering and braced his sword in both hands.

So she kicked him between the legs instead.

John's opponents both swung at him instead of panicking with the elimination of the lights. He hissed as he had to swing his spear and jump back at the same time. Everybody missed but John had barely avoided having his arm chopped off at the elbow. His opponents were adapting rapidly to the darkness.

The vision of his Mistress's hands wreathed in dark flames filled his mind. John stepped back again to keep from letting his foes press their advantage while he sought the significance of the flames. They'd been dark and they'd burned inside of him, opening his core to her and letting her fill him with her power and change him. That was the physical manifestation of his pact with her. That was when she'd twisted him so that he'd become part infernal.

And, damn him for being a fool, he didn't know enough about demons to know what all he could do with his magic outside of influencing woman. The flames then... there had to be a reason he'd though of them.

John kept his spear extended, using the reach to keep the bandits at bay. His other hand he held back and up. He reached for the magic again and willed it up into his hand. It began to manifest around his hand as a non-light aura. He focused on shaped it even as both of his opponents cried out and rushed him.

John flung his hand out swung his spear wildly. The black flames shot forth from his hand and struck Azamos on the top of his head. It writhed and covered him, crawling across his head like an insidious living thing. Azamos howled and let go of his sword as he jumped back. The sword didn't fall, it was stuck fast in John's side.

The bandit leader was shuddering and swinging his sword back and forth. He clutched his right hand to his stomach, his hand balled into a fist while blood poured from it. He blinked and snarled and limped further and further back until, at last, he was able to straighten again. He lifted his hand and opened his trembling fist. He had a gash across the his palm from John's wild slash, crossing from thumb to the meaty bottom. The flesh was spread to the bone. He clenched his fist shut and tucked it back against his belly.

John grabbed the sword in his belly and grunted as the shock of it rocked through him. The magic in his hand raced up the blade but John pulled it back before it could reach him. It was his magic, but he wasn't sure if it would obey him. Would it help, or hurt him?

John collapsed to his knees as he pulled the sword out. It hadn't even gone all the way through him, but the pain was intense. So intense he swayed on his knees and nearly passed out.

Mistress's voice drifted through his mind. She wasn't speaking to him, he was remembering something she said. He focused on it and made out her words, "Pleasure and pain are one and the same."

John snarled. How would anyone find pleasure it being stabbed?

"You're going to pay, wizard!" the bandit leader spat as he staggered forward. His leg was stained red and now so was the thick leather covering his belly.

John clutched his spear and drove the butt into the ground. He wasn't going to enjoy the fire in his belly, but he'd be damned if he was going to stay on his knees for the thief in front of him.

The other man shook his head and clawed at his eyes, scratching his forehead and cheeks raw and bloody. The black flames had receded and died when John pulled them back. Now Azamos could see again, though his face stung and blood dripped into his eyes from the damage he'd done to himself. He spotted his sword on the ground near John's feet. He drew his dagger and then staggered as a crossbow smacked into his shoulder.

A crossbow. Not a crossbow bolt. Arty had thrown her crossbow at him. She howled as she charged after the hurled weapon. Azamos deflected her sword with his dagger and drove his fist into her side. Arty grunted and drew back, gasping for breath.

John pressed his hand tight against his side, the pressure helping him focus. The bandit leader swayed as he walked forward, sweating dripping down his face and running along the creases in his face caused by his savage sneer. He swatted hard, driving John's spear out of the way and advanced a step while John managed to back a half step up. They both had their weapons back in place before the bandit could strike again.

John winced as the man's blade struck the shaft of his spear just behind the blade. He was hitting with all his strength, trying to drive it out of John's hand. John hauled it back up but the bandit leaned back to let the four-edged blade slip past him and then he swatted at it with sword again, twisting John as he refused to give it up.

The tension in his side made John stagger to the side, sparing him from a reverse chop that would have cloven his face and shoulder. John recovered and brought his spear back around. The bandit was too close though, the spear shaft struck him on the arm, doing nothing but leaving John exposed.

John's growling opponent hit the blackened shaft so hard it was ripped out of John's fingers. John went with it, falling to his knees again and feeling the fresh agony the impact caused in his side. He reached for the spear but the bandit leader kicked it away just as his fingers brushed it.

John lost his balance and crashed forward on his face. He struggled back up while the bandit reversed his grip on his sword so he could plunge it into John's back. John lifted himself up, his dagger pulled from the sheath on his left arm and clutched in his hand. He jammed it into the inside of the bandit's thigh and released a feral laugh when the tip struck bone and grated off.

The bandit leader tried to jump and twist, but his leg was doing its own thing independent of his will. He crashed to the ground and rolled, then howled at the renewed against in his hand. When it hit the ground.

John reached for his spear and called it to him with his magic. He used the butt of it to help him rise again and he continued to use it as a staff to stagger over next to the spitting and cursing thief.

John snarled at him and lowered his spear until it was touching the man's leathers over his heart. "This... this is justice," John said.

The man spat at John.

"Your soul is mine now, cur. Mine to torment for as long as I live. Mine to punish. Mine to rip apart for decades."

His snarl faded as he digested John's words. He shook his head and opened his mouth. John thrust his spear home before the man could speak. The blade parted the leather like it was water. He sheared through bone like they were twigs. He struck the thief's heart and cut it in quivering quarters by the crossed blades of his spear.

John lost sight of the man as his soul was yanked from his body and drawn up through his spear. The raw power flooded him and burned away the aches and the agony before it swirled and settled into his body, feeding his magic on its way to a special place deep inside of John where his magic imprisoned what remained of the bandit and began a slow and maddening torture that would last for years, if not centuries.

John blinked and his eyes, which had gone black as midnight, returned to their normal sapphire blue color. He turned and lifted his hand from his side. His robe was whole again and he knew without looking that the crippling belly wound was no longer life-threatening. He still ached, but the wound had closed and the worst of the damage had been repaired.

Arty was on the ground, her sword lying several feet away. She bled from a cut along her cheek and had more blood on her hands as they clawed at Azamos's throat. Her legs were wrapped around him, trapping him against her.

Azamos had lost his dagger during the fifth too but he'd grabbed a log that had been part of John's fire. He swung it, ignoring the still-glowing parts the burned his flesh, and struck his former thief in the side of the head with a solid thump. Her eyes crossed and her hands went limp. Her head struck the ground and her legs relaxed around him.

Azamos sneered and tossed the log away. He found his dagger in the grass and leaned over to pick it up. He pulled it to her throat, ready to slit her from ear to ear, and then stiffened as John's spear was thrust into his back. The blade burst through the front of his hauberk and drained a river of blood onto Arty's chest and neck.

John shuddered as a second soul was absorbed through his spear and added to his collection. He guided it into the same pit the bandit leader now existed in and hoped they would suffer all the more for being in each other's eternal company.

John ripped his spear out and kicked the body aside. He stared down at Arty and tilted his head as he took her in. She cut a fine figure in her hunting leathers. Not large breasted, but still womanly. He hungered to add her soul to the mix, but a moan followed by a cry lifted his head. The first man she'd fought, Terrence, had risen to his knees. He held his head and stared at the scene before him made all the more horrific by the darkness.

The man gained his feet and staggered. He swayed as he tried to run and made it nearly a half dozen steps before black flames enveloped him. He howled as his vision was taken from him. He stumbled and fell, crying out and digging at his eyes to try and scrape the darkness away.

The man gasped when he found he could see again. He saw the ground before him and reached out to crawl forward. John's hand grabbed his shoulder and flung him over onto his back. He hit hard enough to knock his breath away and leave his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. He stared up as John towered over him. He stopped trying to reclaim his breath, he knew if he had it he'd only use it to scream.

John, eyes black as midnight and wreathed in unholy dark flames, spun his spear around and drove it into Terrence's belly and up into his heart. Terrence didn't even have time to stiffen or curse as John drained the brigand's soul from his body and left his body broken, lifeless, and forever banned from life.