The door opened without any effort, leading into an open room, darkness hiding its limits.
What drew the Warlock’s eyes, were the figures wrapped in shadowed light, standing in the center of the room.
“Don’t rush in. It could be a trap.” The Kitsune ranger whispered from his right, one hand resting on his shoulder, lending him her strength, while the other hand rested on her set of throwing daggers. Her eyes were lit with a strange fire, passion and love while on her party, and frightened fury when she saw two of the beings.
“Why would It try such a dirty trick against us?” The fae-touched Rogue whispered from the shadows to his left, her voice wavering slightly. While skilled with her own illusions, these beings were exactly what she dreaded: Fear given a voice.
“Because those who dream of godhood think themselves above us.” The Warlock scowled, as he surveyed the small group opposing them.
He ignored his own doppelganger. After traversing his dark path and earning his Patron’s respect and alliance, he had long since learnt that no words he could say to himself would hurt him. He knew what ‘he’ would say, if ‘he’ were to try and break himself mentally and emotionally.
You don’t choose the Warlock’s Path unless you are ready to become painfully aware of everything you can do to yourself.
And this Shadow was just a poor imitation. It was a combination of parts of his subconscious, and what his party’s Foe thought it knew about him.
But upon seeing that his friends had been given the same treatment, he knew exactly why their Foe had made this trap.
It wasn’t to stall them, or to physically destroy them.
It was an infection, a poison specifically designed to fracture teams. It was particularly effective on most Parties, since most either didn’t communicate as openly as Parties were expected to, or just couldn’t bring themselves to accept their own inner darkness, the parts of themselves that utterly disgusted and appalled themselves.
The parts of them they considered Monstrous and Abhorrent.
The Warlock had walked that path. He had seen the heights and the depths of what He was, and knew just what he was willing to do. He knew just what sort of Monster he was, and while he didn’t relish certain aspects of himself, his fractured mind was a cohesive self.
His kitsune Wife had shared parts of his journey, which when combined with her past, gave him piece of mind that they would both come through this.
Their best friend would be hurt the worst if these shadows were allowed to speak. Not because she was weak, or couldn’t handle it. She was still technically new to the party, having been a distant ally until a twist of fate allowed her to join them for adventures. Being Fae-touched made her particularly affected by her own thoughts, and this trap thrived on her kind.
“Don’t give them a chance to speak. Their auditory poison will break us.” He whispered vaguely, before viscous dark liquid pooled into his open palm, and launched himself at his Shadow, filling it mouth with the inky red liquid.
Or he would’ve, if the shadow’s mouth wasn’t stitched shut.
With horror, He realized the true horror of the trap, as his Shadow stared with one eye into his own.
You can’t silence the voices in your head.
And the Shadow melted into the darkness, before quietly appearing by the Rogue, its dead eyes gleaming maliciously while it stared at the Warlock, but froze when the target of his gloating was no longer in sight.
“Oh please. Your Master really needs to get out more, this is the oldest trick in the book.” The Warlock whispered, before baring his hollow fangs and biting deep into the throat of the shadow, draining it of its very existence.
A husk dropped to the floor, a ring of bite marks on the former shadow’s neck the only part of it not fully drained.
The Warlock had long since accepted shadows, blood and death would always fuel him, and his Patron had awakened something latent in his blood, a hunger that had manifested as hollow fangs, of which he usually only displayed two.
His wife wasn’t fond of them, due to past issues she had had with vampires, but they were useful for his work. He also hadn’t shown her the long, needle-like ones reminiscent of a cobra, or the lamprey-like array that he had cruelly used on his shadow.
Not out of fear of hate from his Beloved, but out of respect for her. She had spent a lot of time dwelling in a horrific situation, and he would do whatever was necessary to ensure that she never had to push her limits on the darker side of the world unless she was ready and prepared to do so.
He rushed to her side and backed her up, leaving the rogue to fight her own Doppelganger.
He didn’t want to leave her to her own demons, but his wife took priority. She needed to face the one that wore her face.
He had saved her the madness of the one wearing his face, and he knew she probably couldn’t handle the sweet poison his Wife’s doppelganger would feed her.
She would be stronger for it, banishing her shadow.