A Master Is Born (The Blighted Chronicles Book 1) by Evan Bollinger & Evan Bollinger

Author:Evan Bollinger & Evan Bollinger [Bollinger, Evan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Dark Niche Publishing
Published: 2020-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two

A Great Awakening

I

The cold figures huddled in the dark, their whispers like hisses of a snake.

At the center of the gathering, on the slab on the floor, the latest prostration. The latest offering twitched and moaned, already depleted as the voices rose. With moments and minutes, the whispers became greater, stronger.

Incantations of design.

The man at the center was no longer a man. No longer a human. The flesh began to gleam like ink. Pores open, as the mana swirled, as the air directly above began to form. Cyclonic. Demonic. A literal suctioning of the incarnate spirit.

The being at the center ripped apart, the fingers of coruscation appearing. Twitching and flaming; dangling, jagged like teeth. Pulsating, ceaseless and glacial in hue; blue, intertwined with skeletal white and cutlery silver and blood lust ruby—bursting with energy.

The bolts curled and weaved, like pulsing fibers. They twisted, they snaked, they ballooned and coalesced. The bursts continued as the voices rose. The utterances were now morphed, no longer guttural chants, no longer grating groans and twisted moans—but now higher. They were shrieks, howls.

The being in the center shook. Shook. Shaking and shaking. Shook and shaken.

Then popped.

The hooded figures were rising. For seconds they searched, amongst themselves, before deferring to a single man.

Pushing his hood aside, the hair dangled. A deep-seated black flow with an almost metallic sheen. The reflection of the Nether Moon, at the perfect zenith above them all, cast on his exposed head and face. A sharp jawline. Thick eyebrows. A single, hollow eye socket.

He breathed, as the curling smoke—like coils of a snake—pulled through him. His eyes, his ears, his nostrils, every orifice, filled. The tendrils sucked, vanished, fully absorbed by the one.

In time and in place a connection most when it is least

The hooded figures, all around, seemed to sway.

“The Unseeing approaches,” came the monotone voice. “But these gifts, my brothers and sisters in shadow, will be ours and ours alone. Not for the privileged tyrants of the North, and their mindless henchmen, not for any feeble fool who is false in claim.” His single eye, like a gleaming sphere of flames, shone for all to see. “This prize is ours, my brothers and sisters. Together, we will make him bend to our will. Together, after centuries untouched, we will bring to Prim Ordal its first true Master of Insidia...”

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