by

Yanick Champoux (38%)

Lee Watts (18%)

Josip Nað (17%)

Michel Lacombe (16%)

Dorian (4%)

goldkngt55 (3%)

Andrew Avila (2%)

Marten (1%)

Oliver (1%)

Part 27

Yanick Champoux (18/01/2002)

Darkness, pierced only by the tainted crimson bleeding of twin dying stars.

No, not dying stars. Eyes. The Beast was awakening. It was hungry. Soon it would stir itself out of torpor. Its tentacles would begin to writhe, a million snakes dancing a most unholy dance. Already eldritch sentience was gathering in the burning eyes. Soon it would see. Soon it would feel.

Soon it would find her.

Magdalena looked around her. But there was nothing. Nothing but darkness, her, and the Beast. No place to run, no place to hide. A twisted, blasphemous parody of Judgment Day, where no mercy could be expected of the abomination sprawled in the throne of Heavens. There was nothing she could do, but hide her face behind her hands and pray to a god that will not answer her.

Hands. Fingers .

Magdalena raised her hands before her eyes. Her fingers, as she always knew them. Fine, long, nails carefully manicured. No, they were changing. Heavier, coarser. Calluses on the index, and on the side of the thumb. Fingers of a killer. Fingers of a dead man.

Magdalena was dreaming.

She felt as if a heavy veil had been ripped away from her eyes. Gratitude washed over her. The Wheeler, blessed be his salacious heart, had been right.

"Dem?"

No answer. She was alone. Her eyes caught a movement. The Beast, the Kraken, it was wide awake. And it was coming for her.

Magdalena felt fear clutches her heart. Fear, but no terror, no panic.

She wondered for a moment if she could wish herself awake. Then dismissed the notion. The hell with it. Dem asked her to look for clues, and that's what she would do. This was a dream, not reality. She was safe.

Of course, there was still a moon-sized atrocity that was rushing at her with slavering jaws silently shrieking its hunger. Dream or no, this was a problem.

What to do? Magdalena was a simple, unadventurous Reeve. She was not cut to challenge big-assed monstrosities from Beyond. If that was true, it only meant she would have to stop thinking like Magdalena.

What would Dem do?

The Beast was drawing closer, but still a sly grin twisted the corner of Magdalena's mouth. Well, that Kraken wears no skirt nor lipstick, so he would probably not try to flirt with it. No, I think he would rather...

Magdalena shifted her position. She was no longer merely standing in the middle of nothingness. She had her feet solidly planted in the middle of nothingness, and she be damned if anything would make her move from there. A hand came to rest on a cocked hip, while the other raised to point at the Kraken as Magdalena opened her mouth and barked

"Close enough, Buster! Sit down right now, or there will be no treats for you."

Magdalena was ready for almost anything. She, however, had not expected what the Kraken did.

It obeyed her.

Magdalena was feeling like laughing a shrill laughter of victory. "Good doggie," she said aloud to the void monster. Great, what now? Then she remembered. It's a dream. Go with the flow. And she knew what to do. "Hey, Buster, open that great big mouth of yours for mommy, will ya?"

Again, the Kraken obeyed. Jaws strong enough to shatter cerasteel opened, revealing rows upon rows upon rows of razor-sharp fangs taller than Magdalena. The Beast's breath was stale as old death.

Without hesitation, Magdalena walked in the maw of the Beast.

Pretty rocky for innards, she mused. She was in a passage carved out of something that was looking like jade. There was still a head between her and the ceiling, and she had to stretch her arms to touch the walls. There was no light, but still she could see. And while she had no way of knowing, she knew she was in a tunnel carved out by an underground river that had stopped flowing eons ago.

The tunnel stretched for leagues. She met many bifurcations, but always she chose one way without hesitation. She walked, tirelessly, until she was the light of candles flickering far ahead. I am reaching the hub, she thought.

The tunnel opened on an underground cave roughly circular. Diverse objects were littering the ground. At the center of the room, a large table on which sat the candle-holder that Magdalena had seen in the distance. Someone was hunched over the table, his back turned to her.

Magdalena stepped into the cave. The silhouette didn't stir, completely oblivious to her presence. As she drew nearer, Magdalena saw it was a boy. Young, skinny and clothed in dirty rags. A street urchin, most probably. He was mumbling awkwardly, as if reading words he couldn't quite pronounce. Magdalena looked down. He was reading something. An old scroll. She strained her eyes and recognized the text to be Latin. She had been forced to learn a little bit of it when she began to manage the accounts of the local Amalthean monastery. But this was far older and intricate that what she was used to. It would take her hours to decipher its general meaning.

Magdalena frowned. Something was wrong. The text, it was not shifting as her fingers had done. Its characters were unwavering. The cold finger of apprehension ran down her spine. She stretched a hand toward the candle-holder and snuffed a candle. The room went a little bit darker.

Oh shit.

It took her a few seconds to realize that the mumbling had ceased. She looked at the boy. He was staring at her, his mien devoid of any expression. Slowly, very slowly, his hand left the scroll, and he reached out.