Malevolent Spirit

Osiris awoke with a start.

A swirling, thick fog surrounded him.

Though, If Osiris had to say what was surrounding him, the first thing that would pop into his mind would be "Spirit."

Spirits were creatures that usually existed in gaseous states, born from a build-up of magic in an area that reeked of death. A large amount of magic would occasionally find its way into a dying soul. One that was on the verge of dissipating.

If this soul poured an emotion of great strength into the pool of magic, the soul would bind itself to it, leading to a semi-conscious collection of magic. It was semi-conscious as without a body, it could not hold onto any memories.

The only thing it could cling to was the emotion that allowed it to continue its existence. Sometimes, this leads to benevolent spirits, creatures that perished with immense hope, joy, or love. They would often times seek out their loved ones, offering them one more chance to say goodbye.

This was not the case for Osiris.

This spirit was evil. It fed off of emotion and memory. Trapping a person within an illusion allowed the spirit to easily consume the emotions of its prey. This often times left the prey hollow, having been stripped of their emotion and memory. Some even died, the immense strain on their minds too much.

Malevolent spirits didn't like those who struggle. If they broke free it would be harder for them to recapture their prey, if they died then it was a meal wasted. This resulted in the spirits wanting to make the prey's stay as enjoyable as possible, capturing them in a false sense of security and happiness.

Osiris now knowing what he was dealing with began to run. Spirits were practically immortal unless faced with the full power of a druid or dragon. One may wonder how spirits had failed to become a dominant species. The answer was quite simple, they were blind, deaf, and horribly stupid. Their prey were usually those who just happened to stumble into their way.

Osiris included.

Now running at break-neck speed away from the ghoul. Nearly stumbling over his own feet. He knew if he were to be captured once more he might not be able to escape.

Pushing forward through the dense fog that acted in an attempt to ensnare him.

Once a person was aware of a spirit's intentions their mind would more often than not put up a mental barrier in defence.

This did not mean they were immune.

The strength of the spirit became apparent as Osiris felt his mind drift. The soft and enchanting voice of his mother whispering in his mind, promises of infinite joy, not a hint of sorrow would be found if he simply gave up his mind.

The Knight Slayer was almost bound numerous times. The only thing keeping him present was the constant nag in his eye.

A constant reminder of his mission.

Osiris pushed forward, he couldn't see a centimetre ahead of him. A boundless, blank playground that could be filled with every desire he could possibly dream of.

Long leisurely days along the coast.

A day spent with his mother.

The caws of crows on a small farm.

A family to call his own.

He ignored it, focusing on the one thing the spirit would be hesitant to act on.

His hate.

While most would believe that hate would be second nature to a malevolent spirit, it was almost the complete opposite. They would much rather snare onto the hopes and dreams of their prey. A work of subtle seduction.

Pushing past his hope, his joy, his most wanted desires, he singled in on his hate, the fire that would be forever stoked by his mother's death.

Pressing forward, not allowing the spirit to trick him, he would soon reach beyond the fog's veil.

The spirit would not let him go so easily.

The fog began to condense, slowly at first, then rapidly accumulating, forming long tendrils of almost opaque substance.

They reached for his skull, so they could ensnare his mind.

Osiris couldn't let this happen.

He couldn't let his mission be a failure, he couldn't let himself fall into delusions.

Even if it cost him, he needed to cast a spell, even if he was still recovering from his bout with the druid.

He reached into his mind, feeling his burning hate.

He channelled its heat, its scorching oblivion.

He pushed it outward into a nova of flame that surrounded him. A sudden searing sensation filled his eye, the sudden decrease in magic causing a setback in its assimilation. However, it served its purpose, pushing back the tendrils, and dissipating them.

He pushed beyond his new physical exhaustion, his mind already in shambles.

Osiris knew that if he daddled any longer in his pain, the tendrils would return with more ferocity than ever. His spell would have been in vain. His very soul consumed.

Now sprinting, staggering every few steps, he questioned the sheer size of the spirit. Either he was in its center when he awoke, or it was larger than he thought possible.

Another sickly thought entered his mind.

What if this was merely an appetizer of what was to come?

What if, when he finally reached the Maw, an even more terrible abomination sprang at him?

Forcing aside his fear, he focused once more on his hate.

He ran.

Running...

Running...

Running...

Eventually, perhaps sensing his nearing absence, the fog sang out in a chorus.

Singing...

Singing...

Singing...

The sound of his guardian angles sweet, motherly voice begging him to stay, that it was her, and that she only wanted to spend more time with him.

Osiris felt that his mind was near collapse.

The hate he had felt almost his entire life, slowly being smothered by his mother's promise of reunion.

It was only the druid's eye, and the weak ember that burned within that guided him.

Then suddenly, he felt the mental weight that was forced upon him vanish.

Osiris did not slow.

Continuing to run as fast as he could. Dusk, long forgotten; a problem for another time.

Hyperventilating, Osiris, after nearly another ten minutes of continuous sprinting, collapsed next to a tree.

Praying to any god, dead or alive to cure the horrors he had seen within the fog. To stop the nightmares that would surely haunt him for the rest of his days.

If a god were to be watching, they would surely pity him.

His nightmare was just beginning.