Daimon - DANIELLE BOLGER (best fiction novels TXT) 📗

don't want to die, not yet, not when there is still so much for me to do.”

“Then you need the power of a transcended daimon. If you eat it before the beating stops, you will have all my power: my independence, the rare ability to form a link with victims, and...my loneliness. Take it if you really want to live, but I warn you, once you do, you cannot die.”

His voice was losing definition; my sight blurred so that a gold blanket lay across the top of me. The smell of roses was growing fainter, more delicate and more precious. The heart in my hands drummed fragilely.

“I don't think I have the strength to fight your subconscious,” I muttered, not sure whether the words escaped correctly or not.

“I am not fighting you anymore. Take it if you want to live, and maybe...if you want to understand as well.”

Wanly, I raised my hands, holding the very heavy, slimy object. I opened my mouth and uttered a, “thank you,” as more black tears fell down my cheeks.

I am not dead, yet. I will live and carry out my mission, Dad.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I opened eyes and discovered myself walking along a cobblestone road. The lighting was low, and at first, I could not discern where I was. This was until the blaze of a stationed torch approached up ahead and dimly illuminated a dilapidated single-story home, just off from the road. My legs took me down it.

I marveled at the way I was moving. I had not commanded my body to walk, and though my limbs moved quickly, I was travelling far slower than I would have expected. My feet brushed the ground and almost caught on a stone poking up from the dirt path leading to the house, and I realized that it was because my shoes were too large, despite being the size of a child's.

As little bustling legs hurried me forward, I eyed the home with greater clarity and would have frowned had my body been responsive. The small home was built from oddly arranged stone brick, which held two tiny windows. These were void of glass and were simply veiled by a sheet from the inside. Through the translucent opening, the lowly lit room possessed the faint murmuring of women.

A short, unfamiliar arm stretched out in front me and found a doorknob. I turned it, and I let myself inside.

I walked softly into the humble home, lit only by candles, along uncarpeted floors and cold stone walls. There were no picture frames, paintings, or wall clocks…no nostalgic items at all.

I realized then, it was not the nostalgia that was missing, but modern technology.

My footsteps softened as I approached a wall, clutched the entrance's frame and peeked a head across. There were four women in what looked like a pauper's rumpus room. There were no sofas, just hard wooden chairs discarded to the edges of the room. The women were kneeling on a thin and worn rug on the floor. Their eyes were closed as they muttered a foreign tongue in unison. As my eyes laid upon a pretty blonde teen in a filthy white dress, my heart skipped a beat.

The women were all young, clad in full length encumbering dresses, and were seated to form a circle. In the center, five short candles formed a pentagon. Inside this design was another object, one of far greater interest, and one that could not so easily be explained. I peered closer so that I could see what they surrounded. There was a saucepan, blackened and filthy on the outside, but its contents were what held my interest—a spherical dark-red object. I edged a little closer and lost my balance, stumbling over the threshold. The girls' eyes sprung open at once; the one with the blonde hair sent silent daggers straight into me.

Finding a rock next to her, the blonde pegged it to where I stood just before I hid behind the wall. “Get the fuck out of here, you little maggot!” she spat. It was in another language, and yet I could understand every word of it. “I told you not to come back here tonight!”

I edged just a single eye from the frame and found her at once. I admired the terrible irony of how this almost-woman was so beautiful, and yet so gaunt and sickly in appearance.

“I'm sorry, sister.” I spoke in a meek boy's voice, with the same foreign tongue. “I tried to stay away, but I was so scared outside, alone in the dark.”

The other girls remained silent as they watched this interplay. They did not need to express the rage they held for the interruption; the blonde would deal with the menace.

She smirked darkly. “Perhaps we should teach you a lesson by offering you up to the Goddess. I'm sure she would have greater use of you than I, little brother.” She cackled, the epitome of an evil witch.

Then the scenery morphed. I found myself watching idly in the middle of a forest. It was during the early hours of dawn and the same beautiful, yet ill-appearing girl was slaughtering a goat.

The surroundings transformed again, so that I looked upon this blonde, as she lay asleep in her bedroom. She was soundless, still and peaceful, as she was suspended horizontally, still as a board, a meter above her bed.

Again the scene changed so that I was walking amidst a bustling crowd, wearing conservative clothing. Most were taller than me and missed seeing me as they whispered cruel gossip. I heard some of the words: evil, devil worshiper, enchantress. I knew they were talking about my sister, so when I heard the word cleanse I shuddered.

I found myself in a church hall. I was walking alongside others, and this time, I was taller than most of the women, even a few of the men. I walked up the aisle that was illuminated with the purest of white lights; I thought maybe a flash was going off. However, as the seconds passed and this intense light lingered, I began to think that what I had witnessed was the divine holiness of God. I came to the front of the aisle, knelt and looked up into the face of a kindly man. He waved his hands in such a way that I was sure he absolved me of my sins.

Suddenly, I sat in a room surrounded by children who were busy scribbling onto tiny chalkboards. One girl, in particular, took my attention as she giggled merrily. I approached her and questioned what had her so bemused. She responded that her pet doggy looked more like a horsey, and she laughed with great mirth. She showed the image to me and it proved to be a very probable splice of dog and horse, so I laughed alongside her.

You cannot create a new creature like God, my daughter, I cautioned the girl, but in your mind and in your dreams you are encouraged to explore your creativity, for from that, lays the fruit of innovation, the seed for greatness. With our lord's guidance, we can achieve tremendous feats, both men and women, and provide a world of greater illumination and happiness. Just don't let these imaginings distract you from your studies, dear Lizzy.

She smiled sweetly before she faded away into another frame. The world grew darker, and I saw my sister grinning just as sweet as Lizzy had been, but with heinous blood dripping from her mouth.

I was immediately surrounded by noise: people yelling and cheering so loud that they muted the sounds of fire crackling and eating away at wood. From behind me, I could feel the wrath of the flames. They were growing quickly, proving eager to consume the pile of timber, and racing swiftly to reach the woman bound at its center.

I turned back around, fighting the urge to shield my eyes, and gazed upon the blonde. She wore a yellow dress that covered all but her face. Jeers of whore and temptress ran throughout the crowd. I knew these to be false claims, but that was not all that was being said. Words such as heathen, Satanist, and witch, also roared. These were true; the young woman had fallen to the devil's darkness, and the only way to purge that evil from her was with holy fire.

“Vermin!” the blonde screeched crazily from her stake. “You are nothing but cattle. You think these flames will end my divinity, but you are wrong.” She smiled. “It will only amplify it! My blood will not be so easily quelled by such an insignificant act as death. My goddess will resurrect me; she will not see this blood spilled in vain.”

A hand crept onto my shoulder. It was a town priest. “My son, as an initiative of the clergy, your actions are to be commended. Today, you did something that very few would be capable of. You did it because of your love of God, and for that, you should never regret your actions. I know this time may be tough for you, but know that God is by your side, guiding you always and seeing your sacrifice.”

I nodded, hearing the words, but was unsure whether they held any value. My sister was upon the stake, embers spreading thick and fast, licking at her feet. She was silent now, as stubborn tears poured down her face. The flames grew greater still, to creep up her legs. When her mouth sprung open, I hoped it would be her plea for God's forgiveness, but only screams erupted from her frail, scolding body.

“You did the right thing,” the priest reminded me. “The devil must be eradicated in all its forms, even if that means cleansing loved ones.”

I nodded, though hesitantly. I agreed with my superior's words, but they did nothing to ease the pain in my heart. “My sister paid the price for allying herself with Satan. I do not regret my actions.”

The father's comforting hand was still on my shoulder as I reached up to my own white collar. “I know that this is the way it has to be. My sister is the physical realization of evil. She is the embodiment of hell's wickedness. The fact that she does not repent now is a testament of her corrupt soul and the very need for purification. My sister has been transformed into no more than a demon, and for that, she must be driven into the depths of hell.”

The blonde's screams escalated as long flames licked all along her body. I could see her flesh melting from her pretty arms and legs as she stared back with hateful eyes. She yelled, groaned, and screeched; she suffered immensely, but not once did she plead for her life. She was too proud, even in the agony of death.

Little Lizzy appeared at the front of the crowd with something in her hand. She threw a small stone forward, hitting my sister's scolding leg, and shouted, “Monster!”

The blonde's shrieks transformed so that they were analogous with mad laughter. “You think I'm the monster? He is the monster!” she roared, as her blue eyes seared into mine.

Other bystanders took inspiration from Lizzy's actions and started pelting my sister with food, rocks, whatever they could find. After a while, my sister's cries stopped, but the tall flames and barrage of projectiles continued on.

I closed my eyes snugly, but it was too late. A single tear trickled down my left cheek. I raised the hand that once held my sister's so tenderly in youth, the one that had combed through her silky blonde hair—the one that ignited her bonfire. It was still shaking as I used it to wipe away the salty drop.

Lizzy appeared before me, bearing a smile that was far too broad. She raised her hands up to me, offering a bloodied object. When I reached out, it was with my own slender, female, hands that I accepted the human heart.

****

Lying on the ground, I turned my gaze to the side and watched red blades of grass sway in the wind.

Rose, you killed your sister in the name of good, but by cleansing the wickedness from her, it was empowered to change forms, jump hosts and take seed inside of you. In your pursuit for God's love, you embraced the Devil. There was blood spilled as its host's flesh melted away. This was not spent in vain, it was resurrected, but as another creature. One that refused death, one capable of murdering a person it loved, and one