Vessel of the Ruined god

Chapter 8: Shadows of the Past

The shadow tilted its head, a sickening, fluid motion that lacked the hitch of human vertebrae. It mirrored the way Vaelric had tilted his head three seconds prior, but held the angle a heartbeat too long.

"Seraphyne, please tell me you’re seeing the two-dimensional horror show," Vaelric whispered, backing away until his heels hit the rough bark of a giant, rotted cedar.

"I see it. I’m also seeing that it has claws that look suspiciously like yours," Seraphyne replied, her grip tightening on her crossbow until her knuckles were ghost-white. "Is it an echo? A projection? Or did you just leave your soul back at the camp?"

"I’m fairly certain my soul is still in my chest, though it’s currently screaming in a very high register," Vaelric said, his breath hitching as the shadow took a gliding step forward. "Hey! You! Shadow-guy! We’re not hiring right now, so if you could just go back to being, you know, a lack of light, that’d be great."

The shadow mimicked his gesture, raising a hand. It didn't have fingers so much as sharp, charcoal-black needles that flicked in the moonlight.

"It’s copying you," Seraphyne noted, her eyes narrowing as she shifted her stance. "Don't move. If you twitch, it twitches."

"Great. I’m in a high-stakes game of Simon Says with a silhouette that wants to eat me," Vaelric hissed. "Why is it always me? Why couldn't I have just been hit by a falling anvil? At least I’d know where I stood with an anvil."

"Stop talking. You’re making it nervous. Or hungry. Honestly, I can’t tell which," she muttered.

“It is not a shadow, scavenger,” the Ruin rumbled inside Vaelric’s ribs. “It is the residue of the leap. We tore the veil when we smashed that wall. It’s a fragment of the energy we left behind.”

"A fragment? It looks like it wants to carve us into fragments!" Vaelric yelled at his own chest.

"Vaelric, stop arguing with your torso and move!" Seraphyne shoved him hard toward a gap in the hollowed-out tree. "Into the cedar! Move!"

They scrambled into the cavernous, rot-scented interior of the tree. The bark was thick, damp, and smelled like a century of forgotten rain. Outside, the shadow stopped. It didn't follow them inside. It stood in the center of the clearing, pacing in rhythmic, jagged circles.

"It’s not coming in," Vaelric panted, sliding down the interior wall. "Maybe it’s like a vampire? Does it need an invitation?"

"It’s not a vampire, you idiot. It’s a beacon," Seraphyne said, peering through a knothole in the wood. Her face went pale as she watched the shadow’s movements. "Look at it. It’s pointing."

"Pointing at what? The tree?"

"Pointing at us. And I hear something else. Do you hear that?"

Vaelric held his breath. Beneath the sound of the wind, there was a faint, high-pitched whining—the unmistakable sound of high-frequency tracking sensors.

"Preservationists," Vaelric groaned, burying his face in his hands. "They’re not using thermal, are they? That shadow is acting like a flare."

"They’re using resonance scanners," Seraphyne confirmed, her tone turning grim. "That thing out there? It’s humming at the same frequency as your core. It’s basically a massive 'Here I Am' sign for every hunter in a ten-mile radius."

"Can we kill it? Can I just... I don't know, stomp on it?" Vaelric stood up, his arm still flickering with that dark, obsidian armor.

"Don't. If you touch it, you might just be giving them a direct line to your nervous system," she warned. "We need a decoy. Something that pulls that energy away from us."

"I’m a decoy! I’m the best decoy in the wasteland!"

"Shut up for a second," she snapped, pulling a series of crystalline shards from her satchel. "If I can jam the resonance—"

"You’re going to jam the shadow?"

"I’m going to confuse the hell out of the scanners. But I need you to focus that golden light of yours into these shards. It’ll act like a prism."

"You want me to act like a glorified flashlight?"

"I want you to act like a distraction," she countered, handing him the shards. "When I trigger the field, the shadow is going to go haywire. That’s your window to run. We split up. You head for the ridge, I head for the ravine."

"Split up? Absolutely not! That is the number one way to get murdered in every story I’ve ever heard," Vaelric protested, clutching the shards.

"Would you rather die together or live apart? Because right now, the math is looking pretty bleak," she said, her voice dropping to a rare, vulnerable whisper.

Vaelric looked at her, seeing the smudge of dirt on her cheek and the fierce, stubborn line of her jaw. "Fine. But if I get eaten by a sentient puddle, I’m haunting your gear."

"Deal."

She slammed a detonator into the base of the tree. "On three. One... two..."

"Wait, what if—"

"Three!"

A blinding pulse of violet light erupted from the crystals. The shadow outside shrieked—a sound like glass grinding against slate—and began to spin, its elongated limbs stretching and warping until it looked like a flickering strobe light.

"Go!" Seraphyne yelled, pushing him toward the back of the tree.

Vaelric sprinted. He didn't look back at the chaotic light show. He ran until his lungs burned, his armored arm clicking and whirring as it sensed the proximity of the Preservationists. He could hear them now—boots thudding on the moss, metallic clanks of rifles being primed.

"Target identified! Sector seven!" a voice boomed from behind him.

"They’re everywhere!" Vaelric wheezed, ducking behind a thicket of thorns. He caught a glimpse of his own silhouette on the ground. The shadow had vanished, but the energy still clung to his clothes.

"He’s not here! Use the dampeners!" a hunter shouted nearby.

Vaelric stared at his hand. The obsidian scales were glowing with an intensity that made his teeth ache. “The hunters are slow,” the Ruin murmured. “Use the energy. Don't hide. Project it.”

"Project it? Like a movie?"

“Create an image. Force the light to mimic your form. Make them chase the phantom.”

Vaelric took a deep breath. He held his hand out, palm flat, and willed the golden, molten heat inside him to spill outward. It didn't just glow; it tore away from his skin, swirling into the shape of a man—a shimmering, translucent copy of himself that sprinted toward the west.

"There! The target! Move!" the hunters screamed, their footsteps thunderous as they peeled away to pursue the decoy.

Vaelric slumped against the thorns, gasping for air. "I... I actually did it. I’m a hologram."

“A crude one,” the voice scoffed. “But effective.”

Vaelric started to peel himself off the ground, intending to head toward the ridge. But he stopped. The woods were dead silent. The hunters were fading into the distance, still shouting at his ghost.

Then, a sound came from directly behind him. A heavy, rhythmic tapping. Click. Drag. Click. Drag.

Vaelric spun around, his heart pounding in his throat. There was no shadow. No hunter. Just the empty, moonlight-drenched forest.

"Who’s there?" Vaelric called out, his voice cracking.

Silence. Then, a low, gravelly chuckle echoed from the trees. It wasn't the metallic, god-like tone of the Ruin. It was soft, weary, and impossibly familiar.

"You always were a fast runner, Val," the voice said.

Vaelric froze, his vision blurring. He knew that voice. He had spent ten years trying to forget the sound of it, the specific way it drew out the syllables.

"Dad?" he whispered, his entire body turning to ice.

The figure stepped into the sliver of moonlight. It was a man, hunched and scarred, wearing the tattered, dust-choked remnants of a Preservationist coat. He held a rusted canteen and looked at Vaelric with eyes that mirrored his own—flickering with the same, terrifying gold.

"The shadow isn't a monster, son," the man said, taking a step forward. "It’s a family heirloom."