Shadows & Sorcery #54
We have returned once more to this place we call Shadows & Sorcery, to the fifty-fourth edition of the world’s premiere (probably) dark fantasy flash fiction newsletter!
The first tale this week is free, of course, but I did something a little fun with it. I took some inspiration from one of my favourite 80s heavy metal classics, and went buck wild writing it. If you can guess what song I’m referencing, message me here and I’ll give you a month’s paid subscription free! Seriously. Read closely, and see if you can make it out…
Also free this week is chapter four of The Path of Poison, join our boy Sepp as he makes bad decisions in the face of trauma and meets some new folks…
Check it out HERE! And catch up on the previous chapters here, here, and here!
And a little bit of interesting Substack news: Substack now has a referral program. What does this mean? Very simply, paid subscribers can now “gift” a one-month full sub to up to five friends. Paid subscribers should be getting emails about it soon, but if you know someone who might like this nonsense I write, head on over to your Substack account and look for the Gift Rewards section, enter up to five emails, done! The best part? Recipients don’t need to do anything, they don’t need to enter payment details, they just gain access for that month and revert to free subs when it’s up. They’re free to keep it, and can even get another week’s free trial the normal way.
Take a look at the official Substack article about it here
Lastly, please take a second to leave a like! All you gotta do is hit the little heart near the top of this email (or page if you’re on the site), and you’re done.
This week, we ride alongside Heaven’s Shadow, we find out just where it is a Labyrinth Pilgrim goes, we descend deep into the Vale of the Witches, we are told a tale of the Echo of the Sea, and we learn why exactly it’s called the Spear of Sacrifice…
Heaven's Shadow
A falling star sears the dark of night, leaving a blazing trail that blinds as it melts back into the formless veil. As it descends, a shrill roar of rage and vengeance pierces every heart that hears it with a blade of black ice. At the head of the astral streak, a figure like a man, encased in a carapace of shining sable, grasping the reins of a steel steed of fearsome aspect. The white hot starfire brings the golden city towers into midday radiance, and just as it makes contact with earth, does it suddenly leap back into the skies again.
Unthinkable sin has been committed in the deep reaches of the sky-flung golden sprawl. Souls denied succour and unlawful dominion wound tight across unwilling flesh. This aureate city moulders from within, and the corruption seeps just out of sight. One million souls whisper away from prying eyes, and in answer to their pleas there has come from on high Heaven's Shadow, the Living Wrath: the Darkdriver wielding the Divine Darksword, shining with soft sunlight on velvet obsidian.
Three demons, no longer men, creep through heavy shadows spreading terror to add more to their kingdom of eternal undeath. A nest of humans with hearts beating still-warm blood shriek as their cover is torn aside. They see a taloned limb gripping a terrible blade of spires, connected to a horror with a crown of a thousand eyes and a rippling body of black mercury. The soul-cleaving Tombsword rasps through the frigid atmosphere, but seconds away from mortal terror, a sound like a tolling church bell stills the air, and it stops dead upon the flat of the Darksword. A flurry of vicious strikes beats back the demon, and two eyes, each brighter than a thousand suns, stare, as in one single arc is the the Tombsword shattered and the demon cleaved in twain. Pieces of the blade rain down as the demon's quicksilver skin quickly flies back together. Wicked talons scrape off the Darkdriver, but in two masterful strokes, the arms are slashed to bits. Before it can reform, the spaces between the Darkdriver's armour boil with celestial force, an eclipse's corona envelopes the blade's edge, and the Darksword is sent through the thousand-eye crown head of the demon, turning it to dust.
Upon the backs of an endless field of slaves are the marks of dire malediction. Hovering above them, the formless dread shroud in whose long limb is held with imperious pride a blade like a shard of a stained, weathered stone: the Gravesword. Suddenly, a roar like a raging flame—the Darkdriver upon the back of his nameless beast thunder across the towering wall. Its head is like one long lance, and is thrust through the middle of the demon to the very hilt. No sound ushers from it, but the Gravesword flails in the air, and the Darkdriver parries each mad blow. An overhead strike sends the demon into defense...but from within some hollow of its shroud, another arm and another blade—or rather, another shard of it, is thrust forth. The Darkdriver quickly beats it aside, and desperately parries each new shard as it is thrust forth. Suddenly, several arms come together and slide their shards into place. A vile vision of the full Gravesword. The Darksword barely holds back the assault. The reins still in his other hand, the Darkdriver sends a subtle signal to his steed. The lance-head quickly looks down, and the Darksword is held in both hands above the Darkdriver's head. With a mighty yell, the Darkdriver brings his sword down as the impaled demon is thrown back up and the two meet—the Gravesword cracks and crumbles, and the shroud is torn to ribbons.
It was immaculate. Each plate, each segment a masterpiece, inlaid with burning gold upon the inscribed black sorceries. It stood within a great hall whose superhuman vastness and baroque opulence would cow a lesser soul. But in its strong, graceful hands was a weapon of such absolute minimalism it seemed incongruous. The Cryptsword, a simple tapering triangle with an elegant, smooth hilt, and pommel that reflected the blade. The Darkdriver's steed stood guard, its vents blasting searing steam, while Heaven's Shadow strode forth and met the demon in combat. Its defense was swift, but each strike was deliberate and calculated, so slow as to throw the Darkdriver off balance. In a moment of inspiration, the Darkdriver fell back but thrust his Darksword forward. But the demon didn't parry the strike. It turned the flat of its Cryptsword to its opponent, and the thrusting blade fell into its surface. In that moment, it looked less like a blade, and more like a shape had been cut from reality, leaving a void in its place. The Darkdriver attempted to retrieve his weapon, but the demon swung the Cryptsword to the side, ripping the Darksword from the warrior's grip. Though not lost, it lay behind his grasp.
Barely dodging two lightspeed swipes, the Darkdriver thought fast—he grabbed the edge of the sword that came again, his fingers passing through the void either side, and pulled the Cryptsword down. The demon was wide open. The Living Wrath's mailled fist was driven into the demon's face, the next into the stomach, and another into the back of the head. Collapsed on the shattered marble floor, the Darkdriver sent his sabaton into the demon's back. As it tried to rise, blade in its hand, and a dread rumble of doom from deep within its frame, the Darkdriver leapt forward and sent the shaft of holy shadow that was his Divine Darksword into its back, through its chest, and into the ground.
Far above the golden city, shards of the Cryptsword fell harmlessly like ash. Flesh was reinvigorated as souls passed to their rightful forms, never to be en-captured again. Upon a streak of starfire, the Shadow of Heaven departed, and in his wake was left the tempering cool of a midsummer wind.
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