The Mother of Monsters

The first man went down without much of a fight. Teyva could hear the other men shouting as they tried to regroup. It wasn’t hard to make out just how confused they were. She could sense the aggression pouring off of her Mockeries, the strange link between them giving her a feeling of heat and hunger as they scuttled over their attackers; searching for purchase and a place to bite. Teyva squeezed the handle of her knife and shut her eyes tightly— trying not to think, trying not to process what was happening just a few meters behind her.

Steel struck steel, weapons finding purchase as somewhere Azrael put up a fight on her own. That thought drew a tremor up Teyva’s arm. Could she just sit here and wait for Azrael to fight them all off? What more could she do with her knife and no tutorial protections? The Mockeries were serving as distraction enough, causing what damage they could with their tiny mouths. Yet it was still one woman against five men, and according to Azrael, one of them could use magic. Teyva looked down at her hand. She had her chill touch power, but it required touching someone for it to even work.

Someone grunted and metal ground against metal— there was a clatter and a gasp. Curiosity grabbed hold of Teyva and she shifted her weight, trying to get a good look without exposing herself to their attackers. She felt her blood pound in her veins as the enemy came into view. She could see four of them, each holding short rusty swords in their right hands. Two of them were still struggling to peel her Mockeries off of them. There was a fifth man but he lay on the ground, his head tilted at a disturbing angle and a pool of blood forming beneath him. Above him, Azrael was pacing to the right, heading in the same direction as Teyva.

She felt a sudden vacuum in her chest— a spot of emptiness, as one of the men peeled a Mockery off of his shirt and threw it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. The other man to his left shook a few off of his arm and hurled one at a column where it fell still. They looked harried, but still fine enough to fight, perhaps angrier than they had been before. She cursed. What good had summoning those things been?

One of the men looked up and met her eyes.

“Shit!” Teyva swore.

“There’s another one!” He shouted, pointing at her.

The other man who had been fighting with the Mockeries scowled in her direction, kicking at one as it scuttled back toward him. “I bet she let these things loose on us! Get rid of her!”

Cold dropped into Teyva’s stomach as her eyes turned on Azrael. The warden took three quick steps to the right to put herself between the attackers and Teyva. Teyva’s face fell. Is she serious? We've just met! Two of the four men charged at Azrael, one dipping low and one coming in high. Azrael shouted something that sounded like a poem and threw out her hand. A thin blade of what looked like air pressure ripped out from her fingertips and caught one of them in the chest, a bloody gash forming beneath a suddenly torn shirt.

How the hell did she do that? Was that an aspect ability?

“Damn it! Teyva!” Azrael shouted, grunting against her latest foe.

Teyva looked up and quickly rolled out of the way from another swing, jumping back on her feet before she knew what she was doing. She looked down at her legs. She’d never been that agile. She looked back up at her attackers, one of them eyeing her with surprise. She smiled; only to receive looks of revulsion as they saw her needle-like teeth. She frowned. “Way to make a girl feel self-conscious, boys.” She quipped, taking a few more steps back as they looked at one another. One gestured to the other and the second gritted his teeth; charging at Teyva.

Teyva dove beneath his blade, avoiding the attack and feeling the air rip behind her. This was way too close. She awkwardly tried to lunge with her knife only for the man to parry her, knocking her blade away and getting into her personal space. She pushed against him, he shoved back, and one of her legs gave beneath her. She staggered, her back striking the podium the sarcophagus had been on. The sound of steel against flesh broke their momentary focus as another gurgle sounded behind Teyva.

Teyva breathed a sigh of relief just as Azrael started to turn to help. There was another shout and a roar filled the room— a crack of thunder. Teyva covered her ears and crouched, trying to avoid the pressure. She could barely make out the pained shouts of the two men in front of her. They had been caught up in whatever that was. One of them staggered backward and up against the tomb wall while the other moved to her left and out from his position above Teyva. Tiny feet moving over Teyva’s shoulder drew a relieved breath from her.

She wiped tears from her eyes and pointed at the man against the wall. Several little Mockeries rushed to climb up his legs. This time she gave them specific orders to attack his face. They rushed across the ground and up the stunned man’s leg. Teyva tried to stand, only to feel her legs tremble beneath her. What was happening? Was this from the magic? She tried to concentrate on moving her legs but found that nothing worked. Instead, she raised her voice; “Azrael! You good?”

“I’ll kill that mage!” Azrael cursed in response.

“You do that!” Teyva shouted back. Azrael didn’t respond but the sound of hastily moving feet gaining distance from the podium said enough.

A scream of pain drew Teyva back to the moment and she turned to see the Mockeries had climbed onto the man’s face, biting and chewing, their acidic saliva causing small bursts of steam to rise off of his face. He howled, reaching up to try to peel them off but the pain was too much for him. He clawed desperately, falling to his side and struggling. Teyva was glued to the sight, growing sicker by the moment as he slowly stopped moving. Teyva’s hands felt numb. She turned to the right to puke, only to be met with a pair of cruel eyes staring back at her.

The other one!

Something cold and hot at the same time plunged into her gut. She looked down, eyes wide and confused. Something metal was sticking out of her abdomen. The man bared his dirty, twisted teeth in anger and looked her in the eyes, wiggling his weapon a little bit to make sure it plunged all the way through. Teyva felt a chill wash over her, a numbness that overrode the pain. Time seemed to slow. She felt her back press against the podium for a second time. Not again.

Anger boiled under her skin. How many times am I going to have to die before I get out of this damned tomb? She snapped her hand out, grabbing him by the chin. Her expression screwed up into something between agony and focus. If she was going down she’d take this son of a bitch with her.

Teyva activated [Chilling Touch].

The first thing Teyva felt was cold racing up her arm. At first she thought it was from blood loss. Then the chill increased, almost becoming uncomfortable. What followed was a growing look of horror on the man’s face as something hissed sickly beneath her grip. He gasped, trying to pull away from her hand. She gripped harder, determined to hold him in place. Her other hand snapped to the hand holding the sword in her belly and grabbed on, rooting him to the spot. The hiss grew louder, steam rising from his flesh as something turned black around her fingertips. He let out a cry of pain, his body trembling as he shook his head trying to break free.

“No. You. Don’t,” She hissed, bearing her teeth at him. He flailed, wide-eyed, his movements becoming sluggish as warmth began to spread across Teyva’s abdomen. There was a sudden painless jerk of motion as he pulled his weapon free, breaking from her free hand as his skin went pale underneath the Chill Touch. He screamed, his weapon clanging on the ground as both hands reached up to try to pry her fingers from his face. He didn’t expect the pain when he touched her hand, and momentarily flinched back. He redoubled his efforts, but his grip weakened as his own fingers turned to black. She kept at it, maintaining the power as she pushed him to his knees, her eyes locked with his as they became wider and more frantic.

The heat of the moment swept her away, the feeling of power inuring her to the foul stench of rotting flesh that had begun to pour off of his body.

Finally, the man fell limp. His eyes rolled back. His body began to drag her down.

Teyva dropped him from her fingers, standing over his corpse.

“Teyva! Teyva are you alright?” Came a shout. The voice was strange. Familiar?

She turned, scanning the room blankly to look for the source, and found a woman running in her direction, eyes wide.

“Oh hey Azrael,” Teyva weakly laughed before everything went black.