Joe was sure it was a cold day in hell. He stared down off the edge of the roof top he was standing on at the crumpled body resting on the sidewalk below with limbs at awkward angles and a pool of blood slowly spreading. He couldn't see the man's eyes in the dark, but he knew the life was gone. A pulse that had only had a moment to flare upon impact before it was gone to the ethers. The soul hadn't even a chance to release to join the Well and have a chance to be reborn.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be possible.
He backed slowly away from the edge. He was too exposed, bathed in moonlight, too visible. The area was quiet, not a single light in a window. It was all wrong, there were people down there, living. He could feel their pulses. He could feel their souls.
Two steps, three, he stumbled and just barely caught himself with an outflung hand scraping against the chimney. The pain barely registered. He was far enough from the edge to not see the street or be seen, but he knew someone was coming. Someone knew there was evil in the afoot. A scream split the air and Joe fled into the shadows, the place Between.
The ancient pathways didn't want him. They were in turmoil, in distress, an amplified reflection of Joe's own mind. The shadows spat him out at the Well, something that almost never happened. Usually it was a maze, a game, to master the twists and turns of the hall of Pillars, to perfect the dance.
No sooner did the hall become solid around him than his strength sapped from his body and he dropped to his hands and knees. He could feel the scrape on his hand now, pulsing rapidly along with his heartbeat. This was all so wrong. He felt so....human. It's how he knew that, while no one else was visible there with him around the Well of Souls, the Others were there with him. He took a few deep, shuttering breaths before looking up to recount the tale of his greatest failure.
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It had begun in the evening, near sunset. Joe had been waiting for the moment when it would be right to collect this particular soul, so long in fact that he began to question the wisdom of his peers. What were they waiting for" This possession had been wrong to begin with, a silver soul bound to a seemingly quiet, harmless person....but quickly had been transformed into a monster. They gray souls of men are often incomplete, and an Ancient soul can bind to complete them, often to wondrous results. A student who needs a push to finish a hard program. A scientist who just can't make that last breakthrough. But the binding is hard and over time the gray soul begins to weaken.
At that point it's Joe's job to go and collect them. Most souls gave up the game easily, others needed a little encouragement. Some like this one needed tough love.
Joe knew this wasn't going to be an easy extraction. The man this soul had taken over had been a chemist. He did research for a small pharmaceutical company. The poor guy hadn't so much as gotten a parking ticket, but within days of possession instead of discovering a new antibiotic as he was intended to, suddenly he was making a new drug to be abused. And then he was selling it. Within weeks it had become a craze. The news was sensationalizing it, the police were stumped. It was unlike anything they'd ever seen.
That was enough for Joe to want to step in. No one had been hurt, but he knew it was coming. The rogue soul wasn't content with its gains, and the drug dealers whose territory he was trampling on weren't very happy. The first body was the result of violence, not the drug. But it wasn't the rogue soul, They'd said. Wait, They'd said. Joe didn't like this. Not in all the centuries he'd been Collecting had they not collected a wayward soul as soon as it' begun to affect the human.
He almost thought he understood when he saw the man for the first time, in the flesh. Humans who'd been ensouled too long started to look weak. Their souls began to fade and go dormant. Who they were before the binding diminished. It wasn't good for either soul. But this man looked robust, healthy. His soul bright entwined with the ancient soul. They were thriving! But Joe saw the tarnish in the silver. It'd happened before, to others. The result was never good.
Still, the Others held him back. Told him not yet. Don't act. Leave it be, it's not our place to intervene. Humans can be bad all on their own. And so he waited, and he watched.
It was when the first overdose happened that he decided he could wait no longer. When it became an epidemic he broke down and went against They who had been his brothers since the dawn of their age. Twelve people had died in one day, most of them young and bright, with souls that could have gone on to be something. To do great things. Joe felt each loss deep within himself, like tiny pieces of his own soul had been ripped away.
He stole a binding stone from the Hall and fled the In Between to the realm of mortals. He could get exiled for this or worse....bound himself. But once he'd stepped from the path of shadows and into the light of the dying sun he felt a sudden rush of power. A sudden sense of certainty that this was the path he was meant to take.
The chase hadn't taken all too long, but longer than he would have liked. The rogue soul had seen him and ran, Joe pursued. Had there been others there" He couldn't remember anything but the passing impression of faces. Dull souls that couldn't dream of holding his attention like the sickly bright pulse ahead of him.
They delved deeper into the the fringes of the city, where only the have nots dwell. One alley after another, one street, one twist, one turn. And then up. They climbed, and they jumped and finally Joe had caught up.
"This is the end!" He called, his voice hoarse from the effort of the chase. He should have known something was wrong when he noticed he was struggling for breath. Where had his vigor gone" His prey only laughed at him.
"For you, maybe," he taunted, arms held wide. They were on a roof top, and the soul was backing towards the edge. A bluff. Joe gripped the stone in his pocket, letting his fingers slip over the fine carving etched into its glossy surface. The strongest binding they could craft.
"You've done enough damage," Joe replied. "Come easily and maybe they'll let you free sometime before the end of this age." In a subtle, casual movement he withdrew the stone, the words of bind already forming on his tongue. But the rogue only laughed, high, harsh. Menacing. Joe stepped forward and he stepped back. He stepped onto the lip of the roof and Joe stopped.
"You have no idea what I've done." In that moment Joe struck, but it was too late. The spell was incomplete and though it tugged the rogue soul free it couldn't take hold....and he'd already fallen backwards. Joe wasn't near enough to grab him, not even close enough to reach the edge before he'd hit the ground.
And the nefarious soul that should have been silver" Joe saw it before it dissipated into the shadows. It had been a twisted black oil slick, unlike any he'd ever seen before. He almost could hear it laugh as it blew away. And beyond he could see the twisted mess it had created, life-less below. ————-
Joe cursed when the Others pulled back from his memory. The connection was never easy, but this time he could feel their anger.
"You know it was wrong," he told the Pillars as he stood. The Well was gone and he was back in the maze of the hall. "There was something wrong with that soul!" His voice raised to a shout. "I could have done something, if only...!" He clenched his fist and was shocked to feel a crack.
He knew what he held before he'd turned his hand over and uncurled his fingers. He was still surprised to see the binding stone cracked and crumbling into dust in his now-loose grip. He furrowed his brow and look around in bewilderment.
"What does this mean?" He asked the shadows.
They held no answer. They were only black.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be possible.
He backed slowly away from the edge. He was too exposed, bathed in moonlight, too visible. The area was quiet, not a single light in a window. It was all wrong, there were people down there, living. He could feel their pulses. He could feel their souls.
Two steps, three, he stumbled and just barely caught himself with an outflung hand scraping against the chimney. The pain barely registered. He was far enough from the edge to not see the street or be seen, but he knew someone was coming. Someone knew there was evil in the afoot. A scream split the air and Joe fled into the shadows, the place Between.
The ancient pathways didn't want him. They were in turmoil, in distress, an amplified reflection of Joe's own mind. The shadows spat him out at the Well, something that almost never happened. Usually it was a maze, a game, to master the twists and turns of the hall of Pillars, to perfect the dance.
No sooner did the hall become solid around him than his strength sapped from his body and he dropped to his hands and knees. He could feel the scrape on his hand now, pulsing rapidly along with his heartbeat. This was all so wrong. He felt so....human. It's how he knew that, while no one else was visible there with him around the Well of Souls, the Others were there with him. He took a few deep, shuttering breaths before looking up to recount the tale of his greatest failure.
————————
It had begun in the evening, near sunset. Joe had been waiting for the moment when it would be right to collect this particular soul, so long in fact that he began to question the wisdom of his peers. What were they waiting for" This possession had been wrong to begin with, a silver soul bound to a seemingly quiet, harmless person....but quickly had been transformed into a monster. They gray souls of men are often incomplete, and an Ancient soul can bind to complete them, often to wondrous results. A student who needs a push to finish a hard program. A scientist who just can't make that last breakthrough. But the binding is hard and over time the gray soul begins to weaken.
At that point it's Joe's job to go and collect them. Most souls gave up the game easily, others needed a little encouragement. Some like this one needed tough love.
Joe knew this wasn't going to be an easy extraction. The man this soul had taken over had been a chemist. He did research for a small pharmaceutical company. The poor guy hadn't so much as gotten a parking ticket, but within days of possession instead of discovering a new antibiotic as he was intended to, suddenly he was making a new drug to be abused. And then he was selling it. Within weeks it had become a craze. The news was sensationalizing it, the police were stumped. It was unlike anything they'd ever seen.
That was enough for Joe to want to step in. No one had been hurt, but he knew it was coming. The rogue soul wasn't content with its gains, and the drug dealers whose territory he was trampling on weren't very happy. The first body was the result of violence, not the drug. But it wasn't the rogue soul, They'd said. Wait, They'd said. Joe didn't like this. Not in all the centuries he'd been Collecting had they not collected a wayward soul as soon as it' begun to affect the human.
He almost thought he understood when he saw the man for the first time, in the flesh. Humans who'd been ensouled too long started to look weak. Their souls began to fade and go dormant. Who they were before the binding diminished. It wasn't good for either soul. But this man looked robust, healthy. His soul bright entwined with the ancient soul. They were thriving! But Joe saw the tarnish in the silver. It'd happened before, to others. The result was never good.
Still, the Others held him back. Told him not yet. Don't act. Leave it be, it's not our place to intervene. Humans can be bad all on their own. And so he waited, and he watched.
It was when the first overdose happened that he decided he could wait no longer. When it became an epidemic he broke down and went against They who had been his brothers since the dawn of their age. Twelve people had died in one day, most of them young and bright, with souls that could have gone on to be something. To do great things. Joe felt each loss deep within himself, like tiny pieces of his own soul had been ripped away.
He stole a binding stone from the Hall and fled the In Between to the realm of mortals. He could get exiled for this or worse....bound himself. But once he'd stepped from the path of shadows and into the light of the dying sun he felt a sudden rush of power. A sudden sense of certainty that this was the path he was meant to take.
The chase hadn't taken all too long, but longer than he would have liked. The rogue soul had seen him and ran, Joe pursued. Had there been others there" He couldn't remember anything but the passing impression of faces. Dull souls that couldn't dream of holding his attention like the sickly bright pulse ahead of him.
They delved deeper into the the fringes of the city, where only the have nots dwell. One alley after another, one street, one twist, one turn. And then up. They climbed, and they jumped and finally Joe had caught up.
"This is the end!" He called, his voice hoarse from the effort of the chase. He should have known something was wrong when he noticed he was struggling for breath. Where had his vigor gone" His prey only laughed at him.
"For you, maybe," he taunted, arms held wide. They were on a roof top, and the soul was backing towards the edge. A bluff. Joe gripped the stone in his pocket, letting his fingers slip over the fine carving etched into its glossy surface. The strongest binding they could craft.
"You've done enough damage," Joe replied. "Come easily and maybe they'll let you free sometime before the end of this age." In a subtle, casual movement he withdrew the stone, the words of bind already forming on his tongue. But the rogue only laughed, high, harsh. Menacing. Joe stepped forward and he stepped back. He stepped onto the lip of the roof and Joe stopped.
"You have no idea what I've done." In that moment Joe struck, but it was too late. The spell was incomplete and though it tugged the rogue soul free it couldn't take hold....and he'd already fallen backwards. Joe wasn't near enough to grab him, not even close enough to reach the edge before he'd hit the ground.
And the nefarious soul that should have been silver" Joe saw it before it dissipated into the shadows. It had been a twisted black oil slick, unlike any he'd ever seen before. He almost could hear it laugh as it blew away. And beyond he could see the twisted mess it had created, life-less below. ————-
Joe cursed when the Others pulled back from his memory. The connection was never easy, but this time he could feel their anger.
"You know it was wrong," he told the Pillars as he stood. The Well was gone and he was back in the maze of the hall. "There was something wrong with that soul!" His voice raised to a shout. "I could have done something, if only...!" He clenched his fist and was shocked to feel a crack.
He knew what he held before he'd turned his hand over and uncurled his fingers. He was still surprised to see the binding stone cracked and crumbling into dust in his now-loose grip. He furrowed his brow and look around in bewilderment.
"What does this mean?" He asked the shadows.
They held no answer. They were only black.