Dedicated to Prisim for the cover <3

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Chapter 2 - Marked

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Skye pushed herself on to her elbows, resting her forehead on the ground. 

Corruption. The image of the black boots seared her mind. He’s corrupted. It touched me. Does that mean my soul...that my soul is...

She didn't let herself finish the thought and forced herself to breathe. Her limbs shook beneath her, the three weeks of captivity and near drowning having taken their toll. She ignored them, digging deeper into her thoughts, away from the boots and what they’d summoned. She grasped on to the first thing that crossed her mind. 

The light. 

Had the light been a mere hallucination? She didn’t know. She didn’t feel like it was, but the alternative was believing in a light living at the bottom of the lake that didn’t want her to die.

The image of the golden ribbons and strange hope that it would save her again kept her calm as the boots waited in front of her. It'd said help was coming, but people had told her that before. The only person she could trust was herself--and that included any mystical golden lights she came across. 

The boots remained still, somehow demanding her attention with their banished movement. The black tendril snaked forward through the grass, seeping into her vision, trying to dominate her thoughts. 

No. No, it can’t. I won’t let it. Nothing gets inside my head but me. 

It was mesmerising as it slithered, its sideways dance promising to soothe her fear. If only she’d trust it, let go. Skye’s fingers were twitching to reach out and touch it when she realised what it was doing. 

Trust no one. Trust nothing.

She tore her eyes away, casting them adrift. 

Among the grass, it was a tiny yellow flower that drew her focus. Colour spread from its core, starting at a pale yellow before blooming into full, gloriously bright amber at the edges that stretched towards her.

She felt an odd need to protect it. The delicate flower was a stark contrast to the scum of the rebel camp. Even if they weren’t demons, they’d sided with them. They were practically the same thing as far as she was concerned, only less dangerous.

The boots shifted and Skye flinched. 

They retreated a half-step in amusement as she screamed at her muscles to hold her up, furious with herself. Prey flinched. Prey was weak. The prey that fought was the prey that wasn’t worth the effort to hold, especially if it did some damage in the process.

Once more, the boots moved, and this time she held her ground. The left one came to rest against her wrist, pressing the cold metal of the shackle to her skin. The subtle movement sent her a clear message. She couldn’t continue ignoring them now without being labelled a coward. 

Skye was ready. She’d found a point to centre herself around, something to cling onto as dark liquid claimed her. Keeping the flower in her thoughts, she raised her head. 

Her eyes met his. Instead of the large frame the Commander was fond of, another man stood over her. No trademark velvet cape hung from his shoulders, nor did the face match her expectations. The man’s face was perfectly sculpted yet marred with shadows and scars. He commanded an aura of power, one of quiet certainty. He could handle anything, or anyone, which dared to cross him.

Residual magic that clung to his hand told her this was also the man who’d pulled her from the water, the master of the serpentine tendril. 

He was corrupted. A Sentinel. 

The man raised an eyebrow at her. “Such beautiful, green eyes. A rarity in my own people these days. Yours too, if I am correct?” 

Skye didn’t answer him. She held his gaze until a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. 

“Ah, the silent type I see,” he said. “In that case, let me start with a gift.”

He stepped to the side, holding out his hand to something behind him. Skye barely managed to hold back her reaction, maintain an impassive stare. 

The ‘gift’ was Donael, the guard who’d been about to attack her before she’d almost drowned. His body was still, pale except for the crimson patch where she’d driven the dagger into his side. Wet hair covered the terrified eyes that stared at the abyss beyond. 

“I bring you the body of your attacker as a gesture of good faith, milady. Despite the strictest orders, the more incompetent among them decided to enact their own interpretation. I assure you, it will not happen again.”As the last words came from his mouth, his voice went cold. 

His words drew her in, lured her breath towards him. Skye dug her fingers into the dirt, pushing past the grass roots that criss-crossed the surface and shook her head in an attempt to ground herself.

Deities be damned, you will not listen to him, she thought, resisting the urge to look at him again. 

Instead, Skye settled her eyes on the flower, etching the curves of its petals into her mind. A steadying breath resolved her determination to keep her uncertainty from this man--her fear, the panic clogging her throat. She tried telling herself that Donael had deserved such a fate, but there was a small voice in the back of her head that knew she didn’t believe it. 

The deities only knew where or what his soul was now--where hers would end up if she didn't escape. 

“Something interesting you?” said the black-booted man. “In the human culture, it’s rather rude to ignore your host.”

The yellow flower reached toward Skye, calling to her. She answered, fingers carefully moving to brush against its petals when the tendril, lying still in the grass until now darted forward and snapped the stem. 

Skye was on her knees, making a grab for it even as the tendril pulled it away and into the man’s waiting hand. He watched her intently, seemingly noting the way her eyes were flicking between the flower and his face. It didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t help it. The flower was calling to her. She had no choice but to obey. 

“Give it back,” she said. 

“Brave, are we?” he said. “I’ll trade you the flower for your name, dear.”

Skye stared him down, trying to work out her chances of intercepting the flower before he destroyed it. Instinct was telling her that giving this man her name would be the worst decision she’d make in her imprisonment. But she couldn’t let that flower go. 

“It’s simple. I’ll start. You may call me Master, as do all my underlings.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m not your underling nor will I ever be.”

“And there’s your first mistake.” The man calling himself the Master made a fist with his hand, and the tendril supporting the flower constricted, consuming the colour within its inky void. “I do not make idle threats dear, as you will come to learn.”

Something inside Skye, the part of her that’d connected with the flower snapped as its essence was extinguished. She lashed out at the Master, only to have him catch her wrist and push her back against the ground. Her legs kicked out, but their movements were soon restrained by something thin that she couldn’t see from this side of the Master’s body. 

“Now,” he said, tilting his head. “I do believe I asked you a question.” 

The Master knelt down, taking her chin in his hand. When she tried to pull away, he jerked it back into line and ran his thumb down her cheek, staring into her eyes. 

Skye suppressed a shudder. There was something distinctly wrong about him, something she couldn’t quite pin down. Every instinct wanted her to back away from him. 

He seemed to feel nothing of it. “So vibrant,” he said. “It would be a shame to mar their frame. Are they from your mother, perhaps?” 

Skye held his gaze, refusing to back down. “My father. You should know, your demons were responsible for killing him.”

The thumb stopped at her jaw line. “I only remember the special ones, dear. People like you that... interest me.”

The Master’s hand shot out to grab her right arm. Skye jerked, trying to shake him off but his smirk only grew at her struggles. He pulled her closer to him, twisting the captive limb. His eyes flicked to her skin, his fingers running over the surface of her bicep.

“No mark... a pity. You have such a strong aura.” His hand snaked up to her shoulder and stayed there with an iron grip. “A little memoir to remind you defiance will not work in your favour, my dear.” 

Before she could move and even try to break his grip, a violet spark formed at each of his fingers and wriggled their way under her skin. Skye watched, horrified as they moved under her flesh, leaving trails of hot agony in their twisted wake. Needles of pain shot through her body. Her soul fought against them until finally, blessedly, the sparks met where the centre of his palm had been on her shoulder and vanished. 

No.

The Master raised an eyebrow. “Resisting I see,” he said. “None can resist the corruption long, dear, so I suggest accepting it now and making it easier on yourself.

Skye did the only thing she could. She channelled every bit of hatred she could muster into her stare. 

“When I get out of here, I swear by the deities that I will hunt you down.”

He removed his hand from her shoulder, the smirk gone from his face. “By the deities, eh? They aren’t all that anymore, dear, and the only way you’re getting out of here is if I move you to the Citadel. Mind you,” he said, “that might be because you have potential to be trained as my apprentice. You’re already giving in to the corruption. It won't be long now before you have a different answer for me."

Skye felt her blood heat. Did he think her this weak, to already be giving in to the darkness injected into her body? 

"That hatred you feel?" The Sentinel grinned. "Let it eat you up inside. Let the agony take over and unleash it upon those who are beneath you." 

His eyes moved to rest on the soldiers Skye was vaguely aware of, standing around, watching as the Master challenged her with his eyes. 

She caught his meaning. She was shackled, but not bound. She could move, step and slice between bodies and fell them to the ground. They posed no threat to her, not when she'd taken out seven of their number under harder circumstances. More to the point, something inside her was burning, edging her anger with confidence and driving her to spill blood. Take her revenge. 

Let go, little one.

The voice brought with it a chilling wave that cleansed the hatred burning through her body, clearing her mind. A tremor wracked her body and Skye broke her gaze. 

The Master tilted his head. “Intriguing.” He waited a moment in which Skye continued to stare at the ground before he said, “I never did catch your name, may I have one?” 

“You’ll get nothing more from me.”

He shrugged. “For now.” The Master stood, boots turning to face the soldiers scattered around them. “Return her to her room. Allow her an hour at most, and you should find she is much more willing to cooperate.”

An hour. Skye's fingers found the edge of the mark he'd left on her shoulder. That's all I've got left.

The guards moved forward. The boots hesitated a moment. The Sentinel's voice was closer as he leant down.

“I look forward to our next meeting, my dear. We have much to discuss, and I'm sure that you'll be much more hospitable towards me then.”

The words left Skye paralysed as his boots carried him behind the door of a large building somewhere off to the left. 

It wasn't the words that left her unable to move as the guards pounced, dragging her wrists together with excessive amounts of force as the others held her down. 

It was the complete confidence, the utter certainty that they'd carried that had her fighting back tears, wondering how she was supposed to hang on to something she couldn't see as corruption hunted it down inside her. 

I can't give up.

Though the sparks were gone, the Master's mark still burned against her skin, pulsing with every one of her heartbeats that drove it further through her system. 

The guards dragged Skye to her feet. The usual shove was missing, which she could only take to mean that they were taking the Master's threat seriously. They let her walk in peace back to the multileveled stone hall, to the room with nothing but chains and straw that was her prison cell. 

Skye set her eyes ahead as the guards slammed the door shut behind her, leaving her alone with the darkness and mold. Her mind's command wasn't enough to stay standing as her legs folded beneath her and she pressed her back into the corner of the room. 

I won't. 

*+*+*+*

The black walls that encased both Kiarae’s body and soul glinted as the mental voice called her back into waking existence. 

Kiarae’s eyes opened further as the voice called again, taking in the sight around her. She rolled her head to the side, then back to the roof. Nothing had changed in the cube of Naclictite that had served as her prison for the last two hundred years. 

Why do you wake me? she asked mentally. He cannot touch my soul if he cannot find it within the Nether. 

The response was quick. The light of change is nearly upon us. 

Kiarae sent her acceptance through. It was all she needed to know. If the deity commanded it, the Sentinel must obey. As you say. 

She pushed herself up, noting the silver sparks dance from her hand, only to be sucked into the naclictite a second later. She still had her magic then, even if it was leeched from her the moment it regenerated. 

By the glimmer of light that radiated from her hair, she gave the rest of her body a quick glance. It seemed the Master had not touched her while she was lost in her extended trance, if only to ensure that her magic remained pure, untainted by the corruption. It would not suit his plans if he were to lose his only reliable source of celestial magic. 

Kiarae fell back into her soul. May I know more about the events? she asked, hoping the voice had not yet left her. 

But as the minutes passed by in silence, she knew that she was once more alone in the confines of the Citadel, left to weather the head of the corruption's storm as it swept across Lerelia. 

*+*+*+*