Airel - Aaron Patterson [115]
He stood over eight feet tall when hunched over. His eyes were dark red and glowing. A black fume fell constantly from his mouth. Two horns curved downward from the top of his skull, and protected his face from the edge of the sword. The thin tail twitched and bobbed like that of an excited dog. The tip was barbed with a mace-like hook. Thorny scales ran the length of his back ending at his short neck.
The Seer took the red stone from the sleeping weak husk of a man and held it. He looked into it and frowned with thin black lips. He sneered, and yellow and brown rotten teeth exposed themselves in a menacing grin.
“You have come at last, my daughter. Now I claim and take what is rightfully mine.” The voice was guttural. The stone throbbed, humming, and he watched through it as Airel opened the door to the garage, finding her best friend. The gasp that escaped her mouth made him smile, revealing crooked and gnarled teeth as he crossed his arms and embraced himself, shivering with excitement.
Then the stone showed him something else in the house. Airel’s guardian companion. The Seer howled in a shriek of delight and fury. Thick smoke vomited out from his mouth as he crouched, then he threw back his massive head and roared, “You return to me! My old friend—Kreios! KREIOS!”
The cry of the beast woke Stanley from the sleep of the dead. The house shook from footing to rafter. Dust rained down on the Seer, and Stan sat up in utter horror—he had never quite gotten used to it—as he saw what was standing next to his bed. Before he could gather the breath to scream, the Seer dove at him, grabbed his frightened face, and looked into his bloodshot eyes.
“Look at me, you sniveling slob. Look into my eyes. You will bring Airel to me; do not kill her, do you understand?”
“Do not kill her; yes master, I understand.” Stan’s voice was low and droned on. He was a man who had lost his soul and replaced it with nothing but darkness. He stood up and clawed at the open sores that refused to heal, covering his body from head to foot.
He was already dead; his body was trying to tell him so, but he would not believe it. As his body decayed and rotted, he still moved, he continued among the sentient, he was autonomous—this was evidence enough of his power, at least to him—which made him useful enough for the demon who pulled his strings. The Seer unfurled his ragged wings, enclosing his slave within them. A boiling pool of blackness collected at his clawed feet.
Stan smiled as he felt his strength returning. He felt unstoppable once more. Stan is the man—true master of the Brotherhood. It was his destiny to destroy Airel before she could discover anything more of her true identity. Michael had done a wonderful job. Stan swelled with fatherly pride at the thought of his only son. He would move quickly through the ranks, indeed.
The Seer placed the bloodstone into Stan’s hand. Stan replaced it around his neck. He felt like he was naked without it. Of course, he had plans of his own that did not involve the Seer. He would keep it. With it, he could do anything, go anywhere, and rise to be the most powerful being in the world.
Slave would be master.
The demon withdrew the shroud of his iniquitous wings, discharging Stan to his work, newly empowered by the unnatural. Stan fished out an ancient dagger from under the bed. He had stolen it; from where, he could no longer remember. These days, he could not remember much—his memories had been mixed and adulterated with those of a thousand hosts before him. In the final analysis, he had no idea who he was anymore. But it didn’t matter. Stan was the new Seer, de facto, and soon he wouldn’t need the wretched lizard to call the plays, to direct and control