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[Villian] Chapter 70: Roselyn
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 10:20:14 +0000 UTCThe cavern trembled as an ancient being once again made its presence known on this mortal plane. Mary’s body was suspended in the air by a thick column of black vines emanating from her hair; her abyssal eyes gazed at Damien, and her twisted smile sent shivers to all who bore witness.
“For years, I have been trapped in these walls of stone, awaiting my ascension! Yet, who would have thought that the gates of the beyond would bar my entry due to negative karma? Centuries went by while I gathered my powers, and finally, a worthy vessel has presented itself before me!”
Everyone trembled at the ancient voice echoing out of Mary’s gaping mouth, except for a stoic-faced vampire. “Are you done?” Damien said with impatience as he tapped his foot.
Mary’s face twisted in disgust. “Impatient for death, are we, little mortal?”
Damien frowned. “Mortal this, mortal that. Drop the act, o spirit of death, for you are but an infant. Return my employee, Wiggles; I shall not ask twice!”
Mary screeched like a banshee upon being called that infuriating name. “You dare refer to the wandering soul of a Necromancer of my caliber, revered throughout the human lands from an age long ago, as Wiggles? Before your death, I shall impart my true name upon you!”
Damien’s face became serious. “Know your place, faded spirit; I do not wish to learn your pitiful name nor your history.”
“IMPUDENT!” Mary screeched like a dying cat; the hundreds of black vines making up her hair became enveloped in death attribute mana, transforming them into tendrils of darkness. Numerous arachnid skeletons rose to fight for their master, their empty eye sockets conveying a sense of hatred.
While leaning heavily on his cane, Damien used his Perception Field; intense vertigo almost overcame him, but he remained firm. He could see Mary’s soul within the outline world he had become familiar with over the past few days.
Mary’s tiny, candle-like soul flickered within an endless sea of black. The Necromancer’s spirit was attempting to consume and assimilate Mary, to become the true owner of the body.
Damien scoffed. “Wiggles, if there is something I cannot tolerate, it’s having something taken from me, especially a leashed pet.” He looked within his sea of consciousness. Floating ominously above a crystal-clear lake was an enormous ball of light burning with endless vitality. Golden chains extended like walkways into the void, connecting Damien to his many enslaved souls.
One particular chain had begun to dim in its golden brilliance as a hint of darkness gnawed on it like some cursed type of rust. Nevertheless, this faded Necromancer’s soul was strong if it had even spread its evil clutches to Damien’s chains.
Deciding enough was enough, Damien glanced at his star-like soul and smiled.
“Transfer.”
Selecting the desired chain, a tsunami of vitality radiated out of the sunlike soul and cascaded down the golden chain-link with Mary. The void trembled as Damien’s soul shrunk slightly in size.
Damien opened his eyes and gripped his chest. He had expended many days’ worth of vitality for that attack, and he felt his body protesting. Thankfully if there was one thing vampires had little care for, it was vitality, as it could be restored with a couple of extra feeding sessions.
Within the outline world, Damien witnessed Mary’s soul transform from a fleeting candlelight into an unconquerable blacksmith furnace that ravaged the darkness without mercy.
Yet despite the ferocity of the flames, the darkness refused to yield. That’s no simple wandering soul… Damien’s eyes widened in shock. It’s a death spirit!
Damien gritted his teeth as he fell to one knee; his soul whirled and churned like a star forge pulsating energy down the golden chain, fueling the conflict between the fire and night.
Like yin and yang, the two forces refused to surrender, nor could one emerge the victor. Sweat drenched Damien’s forehead as his breath quickened.
Mary’s puppet-like body flew around the cavern screaming in agony, with only the vines emanating from her head keeping her grounded. Black tendrils dripping in decay shot at Damien, but his natural Deflection shield kept him safe from the onslaught.
Damien fell to both knees, his various passive traits faulting their functions. Before he cut off the vitality supply to save himself, he felt a weight pressed on his back, two arms wrapped around his shoulders as Fay’s ocean-blue eyes met his.
She muttered while shifting her raven black hair behind her ear with a smile, “I always wanted a potted plant…”
Damien returned a fang-filled smile. “Now that you mention it, I think a rose would look beautiful in our castle’s courtyard.” He then unhinged his jaw and began draining that sweet nectar with a swift motion.
Fay hardly reacted and instead enjoyed Damien’s warm embrace.
A waterfall of light fell from the heavens within his sea of consciousness and refilled the dying star’s fuel. With renewed vigor, the battle continued.
With his vitality restored, Damien shrugged Fay off, much to her disappointment, and restored his noble demeanor.
Seconds turned to minutes, which ultimately became hours. Finally, Fay fell asleep on the cavern floor, shielded from the falling debris and thrashing tendrils of decay by Damien.
Reaching his limit, Damien could only watch the turmoil from afar. He was somewhat afraid; a spirit was far more powerful than a simple wandering soul. Although this spirit was merely an infant with meager power, it took everything Damien, Fay, and Mary could muster to mount a defense.
A raspy voice cried out through the clouds of dust and destruction. “Damien Nightshade.”
A moment later, Mary emerged. Her abyssal, daisy-shaped pupils eyed Damien wearily. “Have I become a monster?” she asked, mouth finally moving rather than gaping open. Skeletons surrounded their empress in a defensive formation, thorn-covered black vines around Mary’s feet like vipers waiting to strike.
Damien shook his head. “Depends. Are you in control? Are you, Mary?”
The woman that resembled an eldritch horror eyed her hands, clenching them before shaking her head. “I can’t think…or control any of this. It’s too much information; my head hurts.” Mary then reached up to the lone vine connected to the rose on her head.
Ripping the vine from her skull caused her abyssal eyes to return to their calm brown—she collapsed to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings.
She then just lay there, quietly sobbing and shuddering.
Damien decided to give the poor farm girl some space as she had just experienced a fearsome battle for her soul.
Instead, Damien looked around at the mess; pink spiders drenched in goo huddled in a corner behind a collapsed part of the ceiling. He was surprised the fight hadn’t caused a cave-in; shaking his head in regret, he used psychokinesis to move the larger boulders into a pile.
After a few minutes, he had constructed a small mountain of rubble and perched himself upon it. Mary was still shuddering on the floor, but the color was slowly returning to her face, showing an improvement in her state.
“Although it was traumatic, you gained a great gift,” Damien calmly said. “That thing was a spirit, something all mages dream of obtaining…even me. As it stands, you have the potential to reach A-grade in the Death affinity, assuming you can control it.”
Mary muttered in between sobs, “The power…it’s gone.”
Damien found her statement odd, so he levitated down from his temporary throne of stone and placed a gloved hand on Mary’s forehead and after a moment broke the silence. “So it has.”
Damien eyed the vine Mary had ripped from her head. “Currently, only the Life affinity is weakly pulsing through your body. If my theory is correct, I believe you have to plug yourself in for you to access the Death element.”
“Plug me in?” Mary weakly whimpered. “I don’t want to let that darkness inside me again.”
Damien looked over at the motionless skeletons and unmoving vines. “The spirit no longer resides within those vines but instead resides,” he pointed his finger at Mary’s head, “in you.”
Mary shuddered. “I can hear its whispers in the back of my head; how can I make it stop?”
Damien’s serious face scared Mary. “You cannot escape your inner demons, only learn to live with and eventually overcome them. So, instead of running away, make that power kneel before you and wield it as your own.”
He patted Mary with his gloved hand. “First lesson of magic, power comes at a price; the question is if you are willing to pay. There’s a reason all A-grade mages are a little nuts. It’s hard to think straight with a spirit trapped inside your head.”
Finding Mary’s state a little too miserable, he decided to brighten her mood. “With such a drastic change, I find the name Mary far too common to describe a future Archmage in the Death affinity.” With a chuckle, he added, “I can’t imagine anyone running and screaming, ‘Mary the Necromancer is coming, everyone run!’ It just seems a little silly to me.”
Seeing Mary’s mood lighten up a little with the joke, Damien continued. “You have such a beautiful red rose on your head and unique black vines for hair…maybe something plant-inspired? Hmmm.”
Mary whispered, “I always loved roses…maybe Roselyn?” But then she quickly added with a smile, “But you can call me Rose for short.”
Damien returned the smile. “Roselyn…indeed, what a fitting name.”
Noticing that Rose was shaking from the cold, Damien suggested, “Let’s grab you some appropriate clothes from the stash upstairs, and then we can both grab some rest; tomorrow will be a long day.”
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Marin Schmidt
TFTC
