In Your Shadow

Beast of Lores

Avid Creator
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
  1. Speed of Light
  2. Multiple posts per day
  3. 1-3 posts per day
  4. One post per day
  5. 1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
  1. Give-No-Fucks
  2. Beginner
  3. Elementary
  4. Intermediate
  5. Adept
  6. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
Genres
Fantasy
Therein a stone hall stood the Hellborn, Balem, clad in demonic steel with a massive blade lined with serrations in his grip. Behind him, an open door poured out a pale light defining his silhouette. Ahead him, a darkness that seemed to crawl to him. The Hellborn's brows furrowed deeply, Balem thrusting his blade to the darkness.

"I... reject you. I shall not claim to be your spawn. I shall not claim to be your kin. You will not make me one of your evils!" Balem breathed sharply, bearing his teeth.

Two crimson beads appeared in the depths of the darkness, the sounds of hooves thudding against stone echoing from the depths, the hall shuddering with each. The beads of crimson wavered with the steps, coming forward before stopping where the light and the darkness met. A silvery mist soon plumed from below the beads.

From the darkness, a voice bellowed forth as a thrummed string of a bass, "You... You shall receive my Power, my Will. You were not born to make your own decisions. You were born to carry out the ones determined for you. I do not care for this rebellion. Continue, and I shall rectify your attitude. You will inherit what you are destined for, Balem."

The Hellborn shoved his blade to the beads amidst the dark, setting his foot firm to the floor and crying out, "No! I shall do no such thing! I reject you, I suffer you no longer! I am my own body, my own soul! I choose to do as I will, and my will is to serve the Almighty! Now, you will cease your threats of rectification, for hollow is all they are!"

A chuckle rumbled from the thing in the dark, its voice bellowing once more. "You say this, yet do you not wear the armor of your kin? Do you not wield the blade of your kin? Balem, my child, you are neither mortal nor immortal yet fall within the same hypocris-"

"I SAID CEASE!"

The hall shuddered as the thing in the dark growled, the crimson beads turning and disappearing in the dark.

Balem awoke by the dying fire of his camp, his breathing violent, disheveled, beads of sweat dripping off his chin.

(The second draft of a short story involving one of my OCs.