The Dance had begun!
It swirled within him like a tide of instincts: to move, to dodge, to poise, to attack without mercy, not even with the gratitude awarded to the devoured animals. What were animals? No, this creature deserved the brutality. And for that, for what it had done... What was it?
Merrin went outwards, drowning himself in the flowings of external energies. The thrill, the surging of blood through veins, the pumping of innate fluids for the channeling of muscular power. All that swelled into a singular objective.
The beast sneered. "You think the dark is your friend?" it said, voice hoarse. "No... Learn this, little imp. Learn the beast that hungers for you."
Now!
Merrin slid over the earth, warmth kissing across his legs. The stone knife lay ahead, there. He picked it up, stood, and dashed for a wall. This was a room, after all. The beast, two orbs of glowing red, glared in the darkness, searching for the little prey.
Merrin was above it, his knife plunged into the ceiling of the chamber. Hanging there, he watched. He knew then the likely hue of his ocular state: Crystalline. Still, that thought faded back to the edges of insentience.
There was no knowing of anything. No patterning of one's actions. Only the trust. The trust in one's bones, one's flesh... one's instincts.
He jumped down, plunging the knife into the creature, into its back.
Ah!
A roar shook the chamber, dust spilling down from the ancient stone roofs. Such violence... Such po—The thought vanished as Merrin wrested the blade out, blood spilling onto him. Color, of course, was mostly bereft from this vision—just the shades of duller blacks and whites. That, and the brighter hues—like the burning red of the Bastard!
Why was it called a bastard?
Again, that thought blurred before mentation; he was clutching hard on the fur of the monster, heading form-first into a wall.
Ah!
He collided, the force sending a shudder through his totality. The beast, too, was a recipient of the impact. The fleeting awareness told of the likely bootless harm done to the creature. As expected, it rolled up from the rumble of stone.
Light was there: Hanged lamps burning with a quiet radiance. White.
For a moment, that is, before the shadows crept forward, dragging across the walls, swallowing the light into the murky blackness. All things were once again consumed by that familiar tenebrosity, as was expected. The casted symbols were still in effect. He heaved a breath, through the nose, out the mouth. Recursive. Why was he doing that?
The beast howled, darting towards him. There was no time for ponderings, no time to wonder on the fading of the memories. There was only the now. Now, and the high rage that burned within him, suffocating. Thus, prime and ready, Merrin leveled the knife atop his right elbow, watching.
The Bastard came, Merrin screamed, and chaos took the world!
It started with a quaking, a trembling through the rocks, the stones bouncing slightly above the ground. Then they jolted, leaping inches off the earth. Mad. More chaos raining down into the darkness.
From wall to wall, the beast was hammered, sharp cuts strewn over its form. Its attacker? A smaller, black thing with wide, rage-filled eyes. His weapon: just a singular knife, a cutter that sank into the flesh of the monster with each stroke.
Blood danced in the air, and Merrin was bathed by it.
A dangerous swipe was coming for him. He took a step back, hammered the blade into the arm. Good. The Bastard grunted, swung forward, sending the young Ashman tumbling over the ground. Less painful than he imagined. A moment passed, and he stood on his feet, prime and ready.
The rage burned. What need was distance?
He closed in, the monster looming before him, blood spilling from its maw. Now they watched each other. A final confrontation fitted in that action. Now, he sensed, the battle was to begin... A charge filled the air, a calling of imminent entropy.
Merrin raised his blade, the beast poised its arm, and both came clashing hard. Merrin side-stepped, drilling a knife into the side of the Bastard. A roar as a talon swiped at his chest. Agony, though shallow. Red spilled down his body, a burning present in the gash. That did little for the quelling of that internal rage. A rage that boiled with an unknown origin.
Why was he angry? Why was he fighting this creature?
Merrin lowered his head, shoved to the side, eluding the talons that would have claimed his noggin. The world was spinning—sounds, even the darkness, were blurring into a mixture of jumbled hues. Vertigo gnawed at the mind; the indignation was unrelenting, never calming. He allowed its lording—its control over his totality.
It marshaled motions out from him. Precious actions that saved his life repeatedly. The beast was mad now, screaming, cursing, and slashing. All of which faded before procession. There were no thoughts now, just the flowings of actions.
Merrin was overwhelmed by it all. Again, he pierced toward the monster; in a flash of blackness, it dripped into the earth, fading as a pool of murky darkness. An elusive Bastard.
Where is—
Instincts took hold, and Merrin jumped to the side, a glistening claw swiped down. That would have severed him from head to foot. Best to avoid that. Not that he could. The soul surged within him, a spread of chillness trailing through his totality. Not the calming he expected... no... The rage.
He screamed. A hand clasped around his throat. What? He met the floor—pain flashing into his skull as it was planted into the earth. Rocks clicking in accordance. What was happening? Again, he was hammered down. Over and over. Recursive. Ah, the beast had found him.
Am I going to die?
He heard a rumble in the distance... no, not that... Above?
The beast cared little for the phantom sound. Why? Again Merrin was battered into a boulder, bones crushing. That much was clear: the shifting of the knee, the arching of the elbows. Ah, he was being unmade.
And then he looked up. He was lying in a bed of stones, some poking hard into the depths of his flesh. Over him, looming, the monster snarled. What a creature that was! So... monstrous. Merrin stared, absent-minded, raged, yes, yet unaware. Just the awareness of the moment remained in cogitation, no longer the thoughts.
Nothing was left. Even the Bastard... Now that one was a mash of shades, visual inputs scattering faster than they could be grasped.
What kind of death would this be?
Angry, yet confused as to why. A monster he could not remember as his enemy. Too much; all of it was drowning.
The creature said something, pride-filled. What was it?
Unknown.
Yet there were words, though: Mordrask? Sin? Little Imp?
What did those mean?
That rumble again rushed into his ears.
Merrin tried to converse, but instead mouthed a series of unintelligent sounds. Would the creature understand it?
It didn't!
"You....d...imp...kill..." The beast screamed, his claw sinking. Into what? Merrin looked down, dazed, and saw, sticking out from his stomach, a hand. A large, furred hand with talons that glistened in the invisible light.
Hmm.
There was not even the awareness of pain anymore. Just a numbness.
Again, that rumble.
The beast lifted him to the sky, its claw still buried in his stomach. What oddness. He knew he was gritting, wide-eyed, likely screaming in fury or something. Reflexive actions? Should I continue?
Then..
Something bright flashed in the sky... Sky? There was no sky. Not really. More like straws of violent white streaming down from holes in the chamber's ceiling. That light, however... it was strangely familiar.
He knew it.... Had felt it before.
And then... Merrin heard the sound of thunder!
He panicked!
It was a first—that emotion, yet it felt so real, so true, so primal. What was it? He recalled something—a piece of data crawling out from the depths of that dense darkness.
It was a scene: A vast black chamber with a cruciform slam bang in the far center. There, a figure was roped, rain drenching him in its violent falls. There, that man waited, afraid, yes, yet powerless to motions.
Who is that?
Again, the sky screamed that imminent light.
The beast grunted, mouthing things... Not that it mattered. Nothing did. Still, there was once a time...
Who was that in the memory? He reached for it, finding the scene like smoke breaking apart through his fingers. He tried again, racing hard towards the fleeting things. There, he knew, buried in the depths of insentience, was something that beckoned a need... A fear. What was it?
The ceiling trembled as dust drifted down... the beast looked up, something screening across its features. Hmm?
Fear!
It roared, talons pulling out from the innards of the hanged man. Merrin reached for it, both hands clasped tightly on the clawed paw. The beast screamed, attempting a frantic retrieval of its hands. Merrin held on, dazed yet strong.