Nini in the Abyssal Hells [December Short Story]

Hey peeps!

Here is a short story based on Astra Academy! Merry Christmas!

Shami

Nini in the Abyssal Hells

C’mon, Nini! Pull yourself together.

“Do not fret, my arcanist,” Waste said, not aloud, but straight to my thoughts. “Focus. The enemy is near.”

Being merged with Waste always felt powerful and right, but now that the fragments of souls coursed through his fabric and chains, it was different. The surge of purpose, and the increase in my physical prowess, gave me confidence unlike before. And Waste’s thoughts wove into my own, like he wasn’t just clothing, but bits of myself that seeped into my skin and latched on to my veins.

We moved through the roots of the Wraithborne Orchard. It reminded me of the Treehouse in Astra Academy—trees so large, their very roots were gigantic structures. The golden chains that hung from my cloak—Waste’s cloak?—acted as limbs. I used them to grab a hold of branch-like appendages jutting from the massive roots. Then I swung from one to another, at least a hundred feet from the water, soaking through the bizarre and freakish environment.

Below me was a swamp of souls. Dark water that rippled, even when nothing touched it. The ground was made of black and white stones, some of which were in the shape of faces. Their expressions ranged, but I tried not to look at them. Waste was under the impression they were all the powerful emotions people had when they were suddenly killed.

The scarlet sky—if you can call it a sky—had a haze of gray clouds that I sailed through. Death Lord Deimos was below me, riding his gargantuan abyssal dragon, Hektor. The Death Lord said we needed to stop Death Lord Kallikore and the elder phoenix dragon, Xuandi. While the fabric of my new being said that was heinous, I knew, intellectually, that we were siding with Deimos.

“Fighting a Death Lord is a terrible act,” Waste telepathically said, our minds as one. “But the Death Lords were the ones who first broke this sacred rule. They are attacking us, not the other way around.”

I gripped my scythe firmly with both hands. It was so much more beautiful now. Once, the scythe had been rusty and hated looking at it. Now… Now it was sharp. Golden, like the chains. And rubies littered it in strange places, like they were glittering blood splatters turned into gemstones.

This weapon would be my tool.

I had to stop Death Lord Kallikore and Xuandi from reaching the others. We had to fend him off so we could all return to the realm of the living. Knovak and Ashlyn would die if they stayed here too long… and we never should’ve gone here in the first place.

Deimos and I were high up—he flew, I swung—and it was easy to spot our target.

“Prepare yourself, Reaper Girl,” Deimos called out.

I nodded to him, my heart pounding. Waste’s presence calmed me, and despite my fear of the abyssal hells in general, I was able to push my dread to the side.

Xuandi, the mighty phoenix dragon, dove through the sky and nearly collided into me and Deimos.

He was so massive!

My chains rattled, and as Xuandi rushed by, his tail smashed the root I had been holding on to. Little wisps of souls cried out and faded into the gray clouds and scarlet skies.

Then I tumbled downward, my chain-limbs reaching out for anything to grab hold of. My chains latched onto a weak and twisted branch growing from the root. It wasn’t enough, so with the blade of the scythe, I cut myself down my arm, my blood weeping from my shallow injury.

I splattered some on the root and then allowed more of it to fall to the stones below. Waste infused me with power and confidence.

I had seen Sorin shadow-step several times. He slipped into the darkness and emerged elsewhere, seemingly within seconds. I could do the same. I could.

Just with blood.

Reapers could blood-step. It was more limiting than shadow-stepping, since blood wasn’t everywhere, but it was more of a teleporting ability. I had attempted it before, but Sorin was always irritated. He never wanted me to hurt myself—to use my own blood—and it wasn’t like people were bleeding all the time in Astra Academy, so my practice had been limited.

“We can do this,” Waste and I said together. “Focus.”

I swung into the blood splatter, hitting the droplets of red with my boots first. Augmentation magic was still new to me, and it took Waste’s added concentration for me to slip into the red vital fluid.

It was like…

A small Gate of Crossing. I slipping into the blood, felt its heat, and its life source, and then traveled through to my other blood splatter far below. I couldn’t breathe as I traveled, but I didn’t care—I had been holding my breath the entire way.

When I stepped out, I half-splashed through my own blood and then straightened my posture.

Xuandi came crashing into the soul-infested water.

His large mouth, with two rows of fangs, flashed before me. They were as gold as abyssal coral, and I had to leap away. Xuandi was so massive, he could easily gulp me down in a single bite.

The phoenix dragon’s wings were a beautiful mix of crimson feathers and leathery, amber skin. Xuandi’s body, covered from head to talons in scales and feathers, was the perfect blend of phoenix and dragon.

When Xuandi turned his yellow eyes to face me, I held firm. He had a mane of souls—all around his neck and flaring around his head. It was an affront to nature. That was what Waste thought—no elder creature should truly exist. Eating souls was a crime.

An unforgivable crime.

“Reaper arcanist,” Xuandi said, his voice reverberating through my bones. “Your tricks won’t save you this time.”

Death Lord Deimos and Hektor landed in the mire water not far from me. Deimos hadn’t yet fully recovered, but he didn’t let it show. His bone armor was shattered in a few places, and yet, he held himself as though nothing were wrong.

“Xuandi,” Deimos growled. “Your kind isn’t allowed here. You belong to the oblivion.”

The phoenix dragon roared.

And then, Death Lord Kallikore and his eldrin joined the fray.

They sloshed through the mire toward, us both as confident as Deimos. Kallikore’s abyssal dragon was disgusting, though. More so than normal. It was a sad creature without wings—its back oozed fluids, as it was nothing more than a tangled mess of injuries. If it were bleeding, I could’ve used that to my advantage, but it wasn’t. The abyssal dragons were filled with a disgusting goo-like gore that seemed to be made from souls, flesh matter, and pure magic.

The dragon’s six eyes glanced at both me and Deimos, and then the dragon flashed its fangs. “Let’s take this Death Lord’s power for our own.”

Kallikore was some sort of mix…

Half-man, half-elder creature.

He was taller than most, but like a tree. Guant. Wiry. Thin and disgusting. He had dark tanned skin and black hair that rivaled the night. His eyes were a pale and sickly yellow. Disturbing to look at, and almost difficult to see, they blended with the white.

And he had wings. Not any wings—the ghostly wings of his eldrin. He had hacked away at his abyssal dragon and somehow removed the soul-made wings of the beast and grafted it to his own back. What was Kallikore trying to do? Become an elder creature himself?

Disgusting.

“What’re you doing here, Deimos?” Kallikore asked, his pale eyes looked him over. “You knew as soon as you stepped foot in the first abyss, we would all know. Yet you did it anyway. What is here that is worth your soul?”

I widened my stance and readied my scythe. It was me, Deimos, and Hektor, versus Kallikore, Xuandi, and the mutilated abyssal dragon. While we were numerically evenly matched, that couldn’t be said in terms of power. Kallikore had strength on his side—strength stolen from souls.

“There are humans here.” Xuandi’s scales flared, and he spread his wings, casting a dark shadow over the mire. “Creatures that are alive. Deimos has found a way to summon them. The veil between the worlds is unraveling. Use his blood to grease the wheels of destiny—let us escape this place today.”

A surge of power came over the first abyss. While I wasn’t certain what was happening, Waste seemed to have a good idea.

“Xuandi has the ability to create an aura…” Waste’s inner voice was filled with awe. “Normally, only mystical creatures who are bonded can achieve such a fate.”

Elder creatures were different, it seemed. They weren’t bonded to anything, but several people were “bonded” to them.

Xuandi took a deep breath, embers sparking in the depths of his gullet, and I took a step back, surprised. Wasn’t he afraid of dying? To kill a reaper arcanist meant to suffer the King’s Revenge—an automatic death sentence.

Deimos held up his hand and evoked a beam of raw magic. It sliced right through Xuandi’s throat, and flames erupted from the new hole in the side of his neck. Xuandi screamed, and more fire blasted from his mouth.

Using my chains, I quickly pulled my body out of the way of the inferno. Seeing my opportunity, I threw my scythe. Normally, I’d be too weak to threw a weapon that size with any effect, but together with Waste, I was capable of great things.

My scythe hit blade-first into the base of Xuandi’s neck. Blood gushed from the injury, but it was tainted with something blue.

Kallikore and his dragon evoked their magic. I dodged aside, but it wasn’t necessary. They weren’t aiming for me—they wanted Deimos.

Again, with the aid of my chains, I quickly pulled myself forward, entering the fray much faster than if I was going by foot.

Xuandi’s blood spoke to me. I waved my hand, and the gallons that had gushed from his injuries were mine to control. I formed them into hellish knives and flung them upward, into Xuandi’s body.

The phoenix dragon lunged forward without warning. One of his talons was nearly the size of my whole body. Fortunately, I blood-stepped away, diving into his vital fluid and emerging behind him.

But then his tail thrashed, and caught me off guard. I was hit, stunned, and slammed into a root, my body aching so much, I couldn’t take in a breath. I slid into the shallow waters of the mire, trying to pull myself together.

“You can do it,” Waste whispered to me.

Or perhaps I whispered to myself.

Deimos, Kallikore, and their dragons were locked in a fight. My vision blurred as I spotted Deimos outmaneuvering Kallikore. It was like… Deimos was just a better fighter…

Xuandi whipped around, his eyes searching for me. When he spotted me, I noticed my scythe was still lodged into his collarbone. The dragon charged for me. My chains pulled me into a standing position just as the monster was about to crunch me with his gold teeth.

The hole in his neck—given to him by Deimos—was almost already healed. The soul mane was using withered arms to patch up the injuries, and every second, a few faded away. When Xuandi inhaled, I used one of my chains to grab the shaft of my scythe and yank it free.

Xuandi exhaled a torrent of fire.

I tried to dodge, but the flames managed to engulf part of left arm and leg. Waste’s cloak caught fire, and everything hurt—the sheer heat charred some of my skin, and left my reaper’s body scorched.

I yelled out, and Deimos must’ve heard because a beam of raw magic pierced through Xuandi’s chest a moment later. The phoenix dragon stumbled forward, more blood gushing across the rocks and into the mire water.

The ray of magic had certainly cut through Xuandi’s heart.

Why wasn’t this beast dead?

But still, the dragon managed to lift its head. With each breath, more embers filled the air. It was getting hotter and hotter.

“You’ll never kill me,” Xuandi said with a growl. “I am immortal. Phoenix dragons cannot die.”

He had been afraid of attacking me before…

Could it be his aura? Was his aura so powerful, it kept him alive, even through fatal injuries? It had to be.

I needed…

I needed to end that somehow.

With my breath held, I waved my hand and attempted to manipulate the dragon’s blood. It seemed my magic had a difficult time taking hold of someone’s blood while it coursed their veins—as though their being, their soul, or fabric of their body, kept my magic at bay—but the moment it left them, it was mine.

I crystalized the blood gushing from Xuandi and turned it into deadly needles that pointed inward. I stabbed at the dragon with his own blood, and then readied my scythe.

My power…

It was so much more now that I had so many links to my chains.

“Enough,” Kallikore roared.

The ground underneath us shook. A crack opened, and water rushed down, as though being drained. The first abyss unraveled slightly, the whole area screeching with agony. Motes of light, grasping root hands, and fireflies, all acted erratically. The fireflies shot off into the distance by the dozens, and the hands shrank into the roots, disappearing. The motes wafted into the air, never to be seen again.

A crack opened beneath my feet, and before I could act, I fell.

It was as if the first abyss was crumbling into the second. Or perhaps, just a small segment. Did the Death Lords have that kind of power?

Xuandi shouted. He almost tumbled down with me. Instead, the massive dragon clung to the edges of the crack, its blood showering around me.

I fell into the darkness. I couldn’t see a thing, but the sensation of freefall never let me.

Then someone grabbed my arm.

“Don’t let go,” they commanded.

Deimos.

I held on to his hand, and the Death Lord yanked me through the void. I was lifted up, and up. Unable to see, I just held on. He was so powerful—more than even Waste—and my chains wrapped around his body for added protection.

When we finally stopped moving, I was standing on something. However, I felt weak. Too weak. I stumbled, and then fell onto my knees. Despite that, I never released his hand. My knees hurt—was this stone?—and then I heard Deimos mutter something else.

“How do you fare?” he asked, his tone demanding.

I rubbed my eyes and blinked. But nothing. My vision remained black. “I think I’m okay, but… My eyes… They hurt. I can’t see anything, Death Lord.” Waste and I spoke as one.

For a long moment, Deimos didn’t speak. Then he squeezed my hand with his own.

“Stand,” he commanded. “You needn’t worry, Reaper Girl. Losing your sight is quite normal when you travel from the first abyss down to the second. Those who are alive must pay the price for venturing into the abyssal hells.”

I pushed myself to my feet, my heart hammering. “Losing your eyesight is normal?”

“Yes. All those who are alive will lose their sight if they travel from the first abyss to the second. You will lose your ability to smell if you venture to the third abyss. You will lose your ability to hear if you travel to the fourth. And if you make it to the fifth, you will have lost your ability to taste.”

“You will also keep your sense of touch?” Waste and I asked.

“Up until you die—and then you lose everything.”

Tears welled in my useless eyes, and Waste’s inner voice comforted me. “Never fret, my arcanist. There are ways to restore your lost senses.”

As if answering Waste’s inner voice, Deimos continued with, “There are fountains in the second abyss that will restore your lost eye sight.” He released my hand, but then held onto my shoulder.

He was…

Shaking.

Was something wrong?

He did seem weaker than before. But I couldn’t see.

“This place is a labyrinth,” Deimos said. “But there are fountains littered all throughout. If you drink the water there—and onlythere—you will regain your sight.”

“O-Okay,” Waste and I whispered. “Will you take us to one?”

“I can’t.” Even Deimos’s voice was weaker.

The smell of his blood filled the air.

“Kallikore will come here. He wanted to rip a hole straight to the fifth abyss, but his mastery of his magic isn’t greater than mine. I stopped him, and brought us here, but he still gives chase. I need to return to the Requiem Throne.”

“How will I make it to the fountains, then?”

The thought of getting lost in a labyrinth frightened me. What if more elder creatures were waiting?

What if…

What if I found the soul of my brother? The one I… The one I killed.

I didn’t want to be here.

“Follow this path,” Deimos whispered. “Take the first right three times, the third right once, the first left once, the tenth right once, the second left, and then continue for some time, curving with the walls, until you reach a fountain.”

His instructions rattled around my dazed mind, but Waste seemed to grasp them with perfect clarity.

“We won’t get lost,” Waste and I said as one.

Deimos exhaled. “Then once you’ve healed yourself, come to the third abyss and find the Requiem Throne. I will be waiting.”

Find it?

But I…

Blood splattered on the floor. I heard every drop, and felt their hot power.

“I need to rest,” Deimos muttered with a grunt.

Where was his eldrin?

I nodded. “I’ll make it back to you. I promise.”

“Good. Then I’ll await your arrival.”

And with that… Deimos vanished. He left me alone, at the edge of the massive labyrinth.

Without my eyesight.

If only Sorin were here. He would make things better.

But if I ever wanted to see him again, I needed to follow Deimos’s instructions… And I needed to make it out of the abyssal hells.