Fangs and Eyes like Demons

         It was dark. Dark like night, but somehow thicker, heavier. Suffocating. A blackness that seemed not merely to be the absence of light, but had instead consumed it. It lurked, smothering the air, stifling, weighing down on everything like an ocean’s worth of water. It was everywhere, in every corner, every crack in the floor, every fracture in the walls.
         Varryn didn’t know if he’d even opened his eyes. He could feel himself blinking, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them in the hopes something would change, but open or closed his eyes saw no difference in the heavy blackness.
         Where am I?
         He felt dazed and didn’t know why. His head might have been spinning, but there was no point of reference around him so the only indication he had was the unsteadiness of his head as he tried to look around. His pulse was pounding and every throb felt like someone beating a hammer against his skull.
         Am I underground?
         He could smell stone and dirt, those age-old scents that betrayed caverns and tunnels deep beneath the surface of the world. And that explained the strange oppressiveness of the gloom around him; it wasn’t open darkness as you might find on a starless night, but rather the overwhelming weight of rock and earth overhead.
         He shut his eyes – or at least felt he did but he couldn’t see anything – and tried to think. I remember going underground. We had to…
         The next words wouldn’t come. He knew they were there; he could almost taste them on the tip of his tongue. He knew that he knew. He just couldn’t find the words.
         We came underground to… His pulse thundered in frustration. Into this temple! We had to…wanted to find…The Temple of Shevoth! That’s where I am. Master…Master Talas found it. Centuries of history we could discover here.
         He clutched a hand to his aching head and the heavy sleeve of his scholar’s robe brushed loudly against the stone floor. The sudden sound made him start. He fought with his blurred senses, trying to remember what came next. We came here, five…eight of us? Eight. Talas, six other scholars and me.
         Varryn rolled over groggily and braced his palms against the cold stone floor. He heaved himself up and grunted loudly at the throbbing it sent through his head, and he staggered for a moment before recovering.
         We came in…in through the door in the cliff. His thoughts were becoming clearer and he could almost see the scenes unfolding before his eyes as he remembered.
         “We must be the first people to set foot in here for four hundred years,” exclaimed Talas excitedly. “Look! See these glyphs? No one has seen them in centuries!”
         Varryn followed him eagerly as Talas held a torch high above his head and examined every carving on the ancient stone wall. “The stories told in these glyphs alone will fill volumes!” Talas continued.
         In the dark, Varryn flinched as his fingertips brushed the stone wall. He edged closer to it, letting his hands run lightly over it as he felt his way forwards. More of the day’s events came back to him.
         The chamber wasn’t large, but it was elegantly decorated with six serpentine statues that ran up the walls and met in the centre of the domed ceiling. The snake-like carvings were in pairs, each flanking one of the room’s three doors. The torchlight danced eerily on the serpents’ faces and drew wicked glitters from the black gemstones set in the eye-sockets.
         Varryn stumbled in the blackness as the wall he was following was suddenly no longer there. He fumbled around until he found it again, having turned to the left. His mind worked feverishly to reach the point in the timeline where he had somehow ended up here, alone in the dark.
         Varryn’s eyes followed the serpent-like carvings up the wall. He was alone save Cara, a scholar like him. The pair of them stared up at the six pairs of jet-black eyes. The others had gone, three scholars down the left passage and Talas and two more through the right. That had left Varryn and Cara here.
         “The eyes really catch the torchlight,” Cara said, holding her torch towards them. The black gems gleamed in the firelight.
         Varryn stepped closer for a better view. As much as he didn’t like being left behind while the others explored ahead, he wouldn’t complain. Not since it left him alone with Cara. His eyes drifted from the snakes on the ceiling to glance at her. She caught his stare. “What?” she smiled.
         Varryn grinned back. “Oh, er, nothing.”
         They both knew the truth of it. But scholarly life, even for young acolytes like them, left little time for anything besides studies. So their feelings had gone mostly unspoken.
         “How long do you think they’ll be gone?” she wondered aloud.
         Varryn shrugged. “Not too long. Master Talas said he only wanted to see which passage would be the best to take.”
         “Long enough,” Cara said.
         Varryn half-smiled in confusion. “For what?”
         Cara raised an eyebrow roguishly. “For me to kiss you.”
         “I- what?”
         Cara never said her next words. The air was torn in two by an ear-shattering shriek of terror that ripped from the left passage.
         Varryn vaulted into a sprint towards the noise. The scream ended as suddenly as it began and Varryn realized with horror that his little scholar’s dagger would probably be useless against something that could cause that kind of shriek. Before he could think further he rounded a corner and skidded to a halt.
         At his feet lay one of the scholars, throat slashed and blood shimmering in the light of a dropped torch. Another was nearby, sprawled on the floor with a scholar’s dagger still embedded in his chest. Varryn felt suddenly sick and had to steady himself on the wall.
         Then the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
         Sitting hunched against the wall was the third scholar. Caldur. His hands were stained with blood and he was rocking back and forth, murmuring softly to himself. “They came for me…Fangs and eyes like demons…Calling…calling…whispering…”
         Varryn was so shocked that he only managed to choke out, “Caldur?”
         Caldur looked up sharply and stopped moving. His eyes met Varryn’s and his head tilted curiously to one side. “Are you?”
         “Am I what?” said Varryn.
         “The host.”
         Caldur sprang at him.
         And now here Varryn was, alone in the dark, somewhere in this ancient temple. What had happened to Caldur or the rest of his companions Varryn had no idea, but somehow he had ended up here. At least the ache in his head was explained; he must have hit it when Caldur had leaped on him. The memory made him shudder.
         His foot caught on something soft and he stumbled. He grasped around in the dark, feeling the object he’d tripped over. It felt like fabric, thick cloth, slightly damp, maybe draped over something. His hands felt their way along it as he struggled to identify it.
         He gave a strangled sob of horror as he realized what it was. The cloth was a set of scholar’s robes, and it was draped over a body. The dampness was sticky on his fingers and smelled terribly sickly-sweet. He knew that smell. Blood. Someone was lying dead at his feet, and in the pitch-darkness he couldn’t see it at all. It was just there. It might have been staring up at him through sightless eyes; at any moment it might lurch at him like Caldur had done…
         Varryn swallowed hard. He couldn’t panic. Not here, not now. If he did he might never find a way out. He crouched down, fighting gasps of dread, and tried to find the body again. His fingers inched across the floor, terrified of the moment when they would brush the blood-soaked robes. Varryn nearly whimpered with fear as he found it. His hands groped blindly across the body, trying to comprehend who it was…
         The short hair, the stubble of beard…This was Caldur. But…But he attacked me! How is he dead?
         Varryn found something else on Caldur’s body. Or rather, in. A dagger was buried up to the hilt in his throat.
         And that was when Varryn realized something else. His own sleeves were soaked with blood. Too much blood to have just soaked it off the floor by accident. He knew he wasn’t bleeding himself, which left only one explanation.
         I killed him?
         It would have made him break down under any other circumstances. But the way Caldur had looked at him, had spoken to him, before the attack – it made Varryn feel oddly safer now that the man was dead.
         Varryn tugged the knife free. If anything else was lurking in these passages, he wanted to be ready for it.
         Anything else… Varryn nearly collapsed as a bout of panic hit him. He sagged against the wall; his breathing quickened and his eyes whipped madly to and fro in the darkness. He held the dagger terrified out in front of him. Something’s coming for me something’s coming something’s coming-
         Nothing came out of the blackness. There was no sound save his frightened breathing and hammer-on-anvil heartbeat. He slumped and rested his face on his knees.
         “Varryn?”
         Varryn’s head shot up. The call had come from far ahead and echoed as if it had bounced off several walls, but he had definitely heard it. He knew the voice: Talas.
         “I- I’m here!” Varryn choked. His voice failed him and was little more than a whisper.
         “Varryn?” Talas’ voice was receding.
         Varryn leaped to his feet and stumbled through the blackness. He could hardly speak loud enough to hear himself let alone be heard by Talas, so all he could do was drag himself along the wall and pray he reached his companions.
         How long he blundered through the dark he didn’t know. He could only hope that he was walking in the right direction, but so many corners fell away on either side that he didn’t know anymore. There was no sound save the soft but constant thud of his feet on the hard floor, and the echoes that awoke behind him as he walked.
         “Varryn?”
         Varryn jumped at the sudden noise. Talas was calling for him again, closer than his voice had been before.
         “I’m here!” cried Varryn. “I can’t see!” His voice rang out loud and clear as he quickened his blind fumbling in the dark. Then the stone ahead glowed with orange torchlight and two men came around the corner. Varryn shielded his eyes from the brightness.
         “There you are!” exclaimed Talas. “What happened?”
         “I don’t know,” Varryn replied. “Caldur-” He shuddered at the memory. “Caldur must have gone crazy. He killed Markay and Pharandas and attacked me. All I remember is him leaping on me.”
         Talas winced. “We found them. Cara stumbled on them just after you disappeared. Poor girl,” he added. “She wasn’t prepared at all for the sight. None of us were, but the shock affected her the most.”
         “Is she alright?” asked Varryn.
         Talas nodded. “It seems her worry for you quickly overwhelmed her horror. Are you alright? Were you injured?”
         Varryn noticed Talas’ eyes drawn to the bloodstains on his sleeves. “I wasn’t hurt. Caldur…I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember anything after he attacked me. I just woke up in the dark and stumbled across his body. At least I think it was his.” He stared at Talas in desperation. “Master Talas, what happened?”
         “I don’t know,” said the Master Scholar. “We have had a terrible ordeal. We should leave this place.”
         Varryn nodded dumbly.
         The other scholar, a young man called Barand, took the lead back down the passage. Varryn followed him, Talas just behind. Varryn stared at the floor, unable to shake the image of Caldur’s curious stare.
         Are you?
         Am I what?
         The host.
         What had he been talking about?
         Varryn heard a sharp hiss from behind him. It might have been a breath of surprise. Might have been, but for the horribly sibilant echo it left behind, one so vile that it sent shivers up Varryn’s spine and across his skin. He froze, and turned slowly around.
         Talas was staring at him.
         “S-sir?” said Varryn hesitantly.
         Talas lunged. His eyes were black like jet and glittered with hunger; his arms were clawing towards Varryn with hideous talons; the tongue that hung from the open mouth was forked like a snake’s and seemed to be hissing all on its own. Varryn screamed and fell backwards, stumbling against Barand; Barand whirled around and drew his dagger. Varryn tried to duck behind him, tried to let the scholar slash the Not-Talas, but the dagger came for him instead. Varryn saw the same twisted visage on the Barand’s face and the blade whistled past his ear. He dove, fleeing around Barand’s legs and into the darkness. He ran blindly, breath coming in panicked, ragged gasps, never looking back. His feet pounded against the stone floor; his heartbeat thundered blow after blow into his head.
         Crack
         Varryn slammed into a wall. Agony erupted in his head and he toppled backwards onto the ground, clutching his head with both hands. He could feel blood trickling between his fingers and he wanted to yell with pain, but even the splitting torment was nothing compared to the fear he felt. He bit his lip to keep quiet as tears of pain squeezed themselves from beneath his clenched eyelids.
         When the pain finally lessened, Varryn could hear nothing. No one had pursued him down the tunnel. He felt around and found the wall, then stared back down the way he had come. There was no sign of the torchlight, and no sign of…
         Of the creatures.
         Those hadn’t been Talas and Barand. Something had taken them, some thing had entered them and changed them into something horrible.
         Just like Caldur…
         I have to warn the others. I have to find Cara!
         Armed with that fierce determination he rose to a crouch. There was still no sign of the creatures. Slowly, carefully, he began to creep back down the passage. His fingers were outstretched before him until he found the wall. He followed it, ears straining for any sound.
         The wall disappeared suddenly, signifying another tunnel opening up beside him. Step by cautious step Varryn crossed it and found his own wall again. If I take a wrong turn...
         I could be lost forever!
         Never get out of the dark-
         Trapped-
         Alone! Forever…
         More passages joined his as he pressed onwards by feel. How long did I run for? This seemed like forever, yet his fear-stricken dash had felt like seconds. His other hand, reaching out in front of him, suddenly knocked against a wall.
         I never turned…How is this a dead end? No, I didn’t turn. I…I’m lost! Oh no, I’m lost I’m lost I’m lost-
         A flicker of torchlight far away caused him to press himself against the wall. He tried to squeeze into the corner as much as he could as he stared wide-eyed down the passage to where he’d seen the sudden light.
         There was nothing.
         No…there it was again. About two hundred feet away there was a pale orange glow that shimmered and danced. Varryn didn’t move. It had to be Talas, only not Talas, but whatever he had become.
         Talas’ voice echoed down the passage. “It’s gone now, hiding somewhere in the dark. We should go. We need to find the others…”
         Varryn’s skin began to crawl. Chills like tiny insects scuttled across his flesh and he felt himself grow weak with fear. That voice…first it had been Talas’. But those last words, the ones about finding the others – the voice had gone high and cold, like a hiss and a whisper of hunger.
         That thing is going after the others! Varryn inched from the shadows. I have to warn them.
         But with the Not-Talas and Barand in the way Varryn knew he had no chance.
         You could kill them, said a voice in his thoughts.
         Varryn frowned. Kill Talas? He’s been a friend for-
         He isn’t Talas anymore.
         I can’t kill anyone.
         You have to. Cara is in danger.
         I can’t.
         You can. You’ve already done it. You killed Caldur because you had to. Cara needs you. Talas isn’t even Talas anymore.
         Varryn steeled himself and drew the dagger. I have to. He bounded at a silent run towards where the torchlight had vanished. I have to.
         The torchlight became visible again on his left, and in it two silhouettes. Varryn crept after them, the dagger clasped tightly in his hand. He was silent as a wraith, so silent even he himself couldn’t hear his footfalls, and when Talas was only three feet in front of him, he lunged.
         The dagger plunged deep into the back of the corrupted Master’s neck. Blood was all over Varryn’s hands; Barand was yowling like a possessed cat, hissing and spitting through-
         Through fangs.
         Dozens of needle-like fangs filled his gaping maw as his dagger drew back for a thrust. Varryn ducked to one side and the blade clanged off the stone wall. Varryn hardly had to move. His knife was already raised and all it took was a single motion to bring it slashing across the man’s throat. He died with a gurgle, staining Varryn’s robes an even deeper crimson.
         Varryn dropped the knife from nerveless hands. He stumbled back against the wall and sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Hot tears of horror were pouring down his face. What have I done? What have I done? He couldn’t shake the warm blood from his hands or his sleeves; the cloth was soaked and was clinging to his flesh.
         You had to, some small part of his mind whispered. You’d be dead otherwise. So would the others.
         I killed them. I killed Talas! He was my friend!
         Not anymore. You saw what he had become. What they both had become. Get up. The others may still be in danger. Find Cara.
         Varryn rose unsteadily to his feet. He braced himself against the wall, leaning his forehead against it as he tried to shut out the nauseating smell of blood. He took the dagger and stuffed it numbly into his belt.
         You don’t know who else has been affected. First Caldur. Now Talas. Find the others. Warn them.
         Varryn lifted Talas’ dropped torch and began to stumble down the passage. The blinding light made him blink. He called out, “Cara? Anyone?”
         No one answered.
         “Is anyone there?” he cried. “Help!”
         His response was met by an empty murmur of the wind down the tunnel. His torch sputtered, casting wild snakes of shadow that writhed across the walls, but as the wind died the light returned to its former stillness. “Please, anyone!”
         Every few steps he threw a terrified look over his shoulder, expecting to see some gruesome wraith floating in the darkness. The dozens of fangs, the empty, black, soulless eyes, the rending claws…Something was still out there. He could almost hear it in the silence, almost see it in the blackness, almost feel it in the empty air. It was in the smell of the blood on his robes, in the bitter taste of the underground air.
         “A-anyone?” His voice was trembling.
         “Varryn? Varryn, is that you?”
         Varryn nearly sobbed with relief. It was Cara’s voice, coming from somewhere ahead. He broke into a run, causing the torchlight to bound and leap in shadows across the walls. “Where are you?” he called.
         He rounded a corner and nearly ran into her. “Varryn!” she gasped. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled herself against him. “Varryn, what happened? Where have you been? Is...is that blood?”
         Varryn couldn’t answer right away. He sagged against her, eyes shut tight against the horrors of the passages behind. Cara held him close. “What happened?”
         “It got Talas. It got Barand too. Maybe it got others.”
         “Caldur did?”
         Varryn shook his head wildly and tried to catch his gasping breath. “It got Caldur first. He dragged me away and when I tried to find my way back something had taken Talas too. Their…their eyes. The fangs. I can’t get them out of my head! I can’t stop seeing them! Help me!” He sprang away from her and buried his face in his hands.
         “Varryn,” Cara said quietly. “Whose blood is that?”
         He looked up. “The monster’s.”
         Cara looked at him warily. “You killed it?”
         He shook his head. “Caldur was taken by it. I think I killed him. I don’t remember it.” He was sobbing now. “It took Talas. I had to kill it. It took Barand too.” He fell back against her and buried his face in her shoulder.
         Cara laid her hands on his arms. Varryn could see one out of the corner of his eye as she shook him. “Varryn,” she said. “Varryn, we have to find the others.” Her hand clenched his sleeve.
         It wasn’t her hand anymore.
         Talons like a great hawk’s had pierced the fingertips and were entangled in his robes. The flesh was shrivelled, dry, hanging loosely over gnarled bones beneath. Varryn’s head snapped up to look at Cara.
         She looked normal.
         Then her face began to change.
         From the corner of her lips her cheeks began to peel apart as a gruesome smile far too wide crawled up her face. Her teeth were like needles, dozens of them, glistening with saliva that hung from the twisted lips. The tongue was rearing from behind them, forked and alive. Blackness like living ink slithered through her eyes, consuming them, shining with grotesque desire.
         The tongue hissed. Varryn screamed. He stumbled backward and tripped. The thing was still hissing like a hell-spawned cat; its clawed hands were reaching for him; its fangs were dripping as it came for him. Varryn twisted onto his hands and knees and scrambled upright. The thing was coming after him; he could still hear it-
         He fled. He was running blindly in the blackness, unable to see and not caring at all. He just had to get away, to escape the dreadful creature that was pursuing him. His feet hammered on the floor. He ran until his foot caught on the floor and he fell hard. The wind was knocked out of him and a sharp pain shot through his wrist. He tried to get up but his arm gave way and he fell again. He tasted blood in his mouth. He rolled over, knowing the horrible creature was right behind him.
         He was alone. He could see nothing, could hear nothing other than his frantic gasps and thunder of a heartbeat.
         But he was alone. And that meant he was safe.
         No no no no no. Cara! Not her too!
         But it had taken her. There was no changing that now. Everyone’s been taken. All of them. Caldur. Talas. Markay and Pharandas dead and Barand taken. Now Cara.
         That left only Elledar. No…He isn’t left. He’s been changed too. You know it. He can’t have escaped.
         I have to kill them. They’ll hunt me forever. They’ll get out. Those things will just find more people to take. I have to kill them. Have to!
         He drew the knife from his belt and got to his feet. But Cara! He fell to his knees and sobbed. She was gone. Taken. Devoured from the inside by that demon.
         Those things aren’t the friends who were with you. They’re gone, empty. Consumed by monsters. You knew you had to kill the Not-Talas and you did. The Not-Barand. You have to kill the Not-Elledar. The Not-Cara…
         Varryn shook his head and felt tears pouring down his face.
         If you don’t, they’ll get out. They’ll find others to consume. Do it.
         Varryn rose. I have to. He readied the knife and began to edge carefully back down the tunnel. Demons, he challenged, I’ll find you.
         Noise from far ahead caused him to stop dead. Someone was whispering – Elledar. It was his voice for two or three words, then it changed to a serpentine hiss that set Varryn’s flesh crawling. “What happened? Is it still out there?”
         “It will be back,” replied a high, hollow whisper that rasped as though it was dead.
         Cara! Through that possessed voice Varryn still caught traces of the girl he knew. But it was so horrible, so repulsive that he knew it wasn’t her anymore He lifted the knife in front of him. It ends here.
         He broke into a run, following the voices. The faintest of glows became visible as an ailing torch threw its dying light across the floor. Varryn moved quiet as a cat, soft as a shadow, until he came to a corner. From behind it he could hear the voices. “It killed them all. We will end it.”
         Varryn sprang from around the corner. The Not-Cara saw him with her black, hungry eyes and her gaping slash of a mouth opened, leaving trails of drool strung between the pointed teeth. Her forked tongue was protruding like a snake; she was hissing and the Not-Elledar in front of her whirled round to face Varryn.
         It was too late. Varryn slashed the Not-Elledar across his fang-filled, desiccated face and plunged his knife into the creature’s throat. Hot blood poured over his hands and soaked his sleeves again as he sprang at the demon that had once been Cara. Its eyes were shining with hunger and its maw seemed to open wide enough to swallow him whole. It was filling his vision, bearing down on him.
         Varryn drove the blade straight into that terrible smile, past the saliva-dripping teeth, past the snake tongue and into the flesh behind. It gurgled and spat and fell writhing onto the floor, forked tongue spasming as the clawed arms were twitching at its sides.
         The glint of its black, hungry eyes finally flickered out. The thing lay dead at Varryn’s feet. Varryn staggered away and hit the wall, sliding down it and leaving a trail of warm, sticky blood from his hands streaked across it. His arms were trembling and the stench of the blood was rising all around him and making him want to retch. He began to shake as he crawled away from the bodies into the darkness. Once he had escaped them he fell flat on his face and sobbed into the cold, stone floor.
         He didn’t remember going back for the torch. Nor did he remember finding his way back into the snake-pillared room in which the horrors had begun. He hardly remembered anything of the passage back out of the temple, until somehow he found himself collapsing into a field of grass under a star-studded sky. He just lay there, unmoving, trying to clear the haunting images from his mind. They came for me…Fangs and eyes like demons.
         He dragged himself through the grass and his arm splashed into a pool of icy water. He stopped, hardly seeing anything around him, hardly hearing anything or smelling anything but the blood on his robes. He leaned over the pool without knowing why and looked.
         Varryn could see himself in the water, his face illuminated by the light of the moon. He was bloodstained, dirty, and had wet streaks carving through the grime as the tears splashed into the water. The ripples tore his reflection apart until he could cry no more. The water stilled itself.
         His reflection stared up at him, bloody and dirty face an exact mirror of his own. He wiped some of the blood off onto the driest part of his sleeve but all it did was smear it. He stared at himself, thoughts empty.
         His reflection smiled at him.
         The smile slithered up his face, baring needle-teeth like serpent fangs as black spiders’ webs crept into his eyes. Flesh withered and hung dead across his skull. His eyes glittered with hunger.
         Varryn couldn’t even whimper anymore.