Mikal

The Dark Battlemind

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The dirty, worn from time, walls of the city dungeon were around Mikal. He didn’t seem to know why he was in there-the madness within him dictated that his actions were not wrong at all.
What little members belonging to The Sacred Spark were now lying dead at the clearing. The moon had risen up in the sky when it all happened-so fast, so furiously. In absense of a temple the heraictics had reduced their worship of their twisted faith to rituals in the woods, asking the two gods for guidance, the two forces that were supposed to drive the world forward. One thing was sure, it drove them insane. Such insults to one of The Six are not dealt subtly or with indifference. The Fury is the god of wrath for nothing. As a fitting punishment he decided to drive the people in the clearing insane. And there he was, Mikal, who from the time he can remember himself was growing up with those blasphemous lunatics. If he was a slave, or a supposed son for them he didn’t know. He knew that he hated them with all his heart. His big difference from them was that the became insane at that instant. He was insane for a very long time already.
Filled with divine wrath, he unleashed that well kept beast inside him, taking those lunatics out one by one, in a way he longed to try. Stabing his fingers into their necks and oh what great fun it was. Their screams must have reached out, extending far, even to the halls of The Six, where they watched him with great interest, even though he didn’t of cource know that at the time.
Alas, it reached up to the local patrol, not too far away from the site. Stupid as they were, they couldn’t understand that they should stay far away from him, from that unleashed beast. Three of the four patrolmen were now lying there dead as well, the fourth one barely escaping to alert the officers at the city.

It took two more days for them to finally capture him and it costed some seven guards more. After that night, Mikal wandered around, spreading havoc, having his twisted, gruesome fun at the expense of vilagers and cattle. When the unit found him at last, by following the body trail left behind, he still had enough strength in him to keep on killing, but was at last overwhelmed by the numerous, well rested guards.
And now here he was, thrown in a jail for, what? Having fun!

What would come to happen for him he didn’t know. He would propably be a public show, an execution for the townsfolk to start their miserable day.
As the minutes became hours, and the hours came to be a day, he though he almost lost his sight after his mind, so much was the absolute darkness. He could hear the rats and other nasty things crawling around there, he could make out the water drops, hitting the floor somewhere for hours now and even some prisones could be heard weeping now and again, something that greatly annoyed Mikal.
At that point he could suddenly make a sound- it was footsteps!
“Prison Guard” he said to himself, as he listened to the sound one more time. There was something unsettling about it though. To begin with, it was too clear to be ousite his cell, and it was not the sound of the boots of a brute, but the elegant sound of light shoes hitting stone.
And then, at the sudden realisation he sprung to his feet, his arms ready to defend him against this invisible foe that had appeared in his cell. The the sound of the footsteps had, just as suddenly as it started, stopped, and the stone room was once more silent.
He told himself it was his fantasy, his twisted mind playing tricks on him. But he didn’t let his guard down. Instead, he stood there waiting. For what, he didn’t know.

“You may relax now Mikal” came a voice behind him, calm and with a hint of irony in it, echoing in the all-stone room.
“What the…”, Mikal started saying, as he turned to hit the strange man. His fist tight, he launched an attack that could make a medium sized man lose his balance, if not daze him for a minute of two.
All his fist found was hard, uneven, cold stone.
“I though I told you to relax, Mikal”, came the voice, once again behind him. This time however it was from calm, far from even or ironic. It was clearly angry, each word carrying a violent, definite tone.
Mikal, his hand now fully feeling the pain from the hit to the wall, felt it spreading through his body. No it was not that pain, it couldn’t spread from his hand to his limbs, torso, back, head. Each bone was radiating pain, every bit of his flesh feeling like burried under a pile of hot, burning coals.
It was only for a moment, but to him it was like hours, like a whole day spend in an everending torture. And then it stopped, as quickly as it started.

“Good, I think I made my point. Now turn around, it is neither polite, not safe to have you back turned around to a stranger, is it?”. The voice had again that calm quality, sounding as if the man enjoyed this with all his heart.
Slowly, Mikal turned around to face the man, wondering how he could see him in the pitch black room, how he envaded his hit, how he got in there in the first place. Before having time to think the answers to those questions, the darkness was gone, banished by a light that seemed to have no clear source, illuminating the walls, the runs running wild by the commotion. Eyes half closed, not used to the light after a day underground, he tried to make out the figure standing in front of him.

Tall, wearing a long black cloack, with a hood reaching down to his eyes, he stood, a wicked smile, or at least something that resembled a smile, on the pale, edgy face.
“Who are you? How did…”
Before h could finish his questions, and they were many, the man rased a hand into the air, the mere sight of it, combined with his very recent experience, silencing him.
“Who am I? Oh that is not important, to you anyway. Certail circles have grown a keen interest in you, Mikal. People with your quallities rarely pass unnoticed from our ever watching, observing eyes…”
“What circles? Who could possibly be interested in me? Leave me be, let my insanity keep me company for my last days breathing.”
“Last days? Ah yes, you must be talking of your most certain execution. Quite a feat you pulled there, I admit that you impressed me.And what if I told you can escape that fate? That I can offer you a path, a…carreer choice if you like, in which you will thrive? Are you interested in that much at least?”
“Go on, I’m listening”
“My superiors, the mortal representatives of The Dark Six are always searching for people like you. People embracing the savage, primal ideals of The Six. We are going to strike a deal, one that you will find most appealing, especially given your situation. I will offer you the means to escape this hole of filth. Then I will leave, and wait for you in the nearby tavern. Come and I will know you worthy of such honor-to mortally serve The Six with your life. Forfeit your end of the deal, and have no doubt, I will find you, and have fun with your mind. So much fun that you would wish you were not born. Deal?”
“And what can you possibly offer me that will help me ecape this wretched place. You must be even more mad than me!”
“I will take that as a yes, so let me present to you this blade. Not an ordinary longsword I asure you, I think you will grow fond of it. And, concider this a bonus, I think it is time for you to awaken your inner powers. One would think that you would have in your pittyfull 25 years, but it seems you let it eat your sanity away bit by bit.”. And with tose strange words, his eyes flashed, power radiating from them.
Searing pain went through Mikals brain, a feeling as if his head was going to explode. He felt strength within him, similar in essense to that radiating from the hooded man, only his seemed almost non-existen when compared to his. As stramgely as all this started, it ws brought to an end, the man looking at him amused at the site of Mikal holding his head on his hands, fallen on his knees.
“What have you done to me? What on earth was that? This…this power, this strenght, what was it?”
“Is. It is. This is your psionic power boy, passed through your bloodline. They are actually quite common, but little people manage to awaken them without a gentle…push if you might. They are weak, but should prove enough for you to come to the meeting place.”
Like a dream come to an end, the man vanished, taking the light with him, throwing the cell back into total black.
“How the hell am I supposed to get out! All he gave me was a damned old sword. I am not a rat, damn you, I cannot go through the bars!”.
He fell again into his position, sword on his hand, focusing of his situation. After very little time he was laready obsesed at opening the door, his whole mind focused on that lock. Again and again he visualised that lock opening. Anger boiling inside him, he sprung up “Open you wretched thing” he shouted, his voice filling the dungeon, raising a commotion among the other prisoners in close cells. The sound faded and noised settled down, he heard a click. With an unnerving sound the rusty door opened in front of Mikal. Now he was out. Now he could at last have some fun again.

Mikal

The Dark Ascention spyrusthevirus