24. Malorg
twenty-four
Malorg
In some ways Malorg found he preferred the nothingness. Wrapped in its thick, cloying shroud, he could imagine himself trapped in a half-waking dream, no longer able to discern where his consciousness ceased and oblivion began.
Perhaps there was no distinction. Perhaps the Void had consumed him long ago.
As he floated adrift and alone in a sea of empty black, memories from his time in the Immortal Realm unfurled before his eyes like duskflame tapestries.
Laughing and rolling dice with Uryqh and Pelorak as they discussed their aspirations for the future even as they gambled away their present.
His first kiss with Uryqh amid a battlefield of dissipating voidspawn corpses, both of them flush with triumph and eager to confront whatever lay ahead.
Another battlefield, this one charred with sour ash and choked by Uryqh’s screams.
Pelorak’s sneer when Malorg abandoned his former ambitions and resigned himself to a lifetime spent seeking atonement in the crucible of combat.
Those long centuries of loneliness, nothing but death and honed blades to keep him company as Uryqh’s once-familiar face fuzzed around the edges in his mind’s eye.
And then, like a ray of sunlight amid endless shadow, that chance encounter with Sarilian, his dancing eyes and warm touch searing Malorg back to life.
Though they constituted but a fraction of his too-long life, it was these more recent memories with Sarilian that Malorg clung to within the darkness and that he most feared losing to the Void.
Every smile, every pointed look, every subtle touch, every kiss, every caress, every moan—he cataloged them all, clutching them to himself like they were the most precious things in existence because, to him, they were.
Until we meet again.
That meeting would come. It had to. The thought of that eventual reunion, whether here in the Immortal Realm or after in the Great Beyond, was the only thing that gave him hope.
Of course, it was not always empty in his prison. Occasionally, the all-encompassing dark would shimmer and shift, a brush of noise and a puff of air reaching Malorg within the heart of oblivion, and though he still couldn’t see, he’d know he was no longer alone.
“Hello, old friend,” Pelorak’s sly voice would whisper. And then, the pain would come.
No matter how many times it burned through Malorg, devouring him until he was certain he must be dead, each fresh wave never lost its potency. He would scream, but no words emerged—writhe, but so far as he could tell, he didn’t move. There was only him, and the darkness, and the pain.
Eventually, the pain always receded, the insidious voice along with it. Until we meet again. There was no escape—no relief. This was to be his fate, forevermore.
So, when the darkness broke around him, retreating fully for the first time since his banishment here, he assumed it was a hallucination. He blinked eyes no longer used to seeing, squinting to force the wavering shapes before him into better focus.
“Malorg! Merciful Light, are you all right? Malorg, speak to me!”
The voice was…different than usual. Brighter. Instead of dread, it conjured memories of light and joy. He squeezed his overwhelmed eyes shut, willing this new disturbance away. Change meant only pain. Send him back to the eternal dark so he could be at peace.
“Malorg! Hey, stay with me, Mal. I’m here.”
He instinctively flinched at a pressure on the side of his face. But this touch didn’t herald fresh pain. It was soft and gentle and oh-so-warm. He found himself leaning forward, turning his head into the gesture.
I can feel my body moving.
The realization struck him with the force of a void god’s fist, and his eyes shot open. Everything remained blurred, but he focused on the shape just before him, the one still touching his face and murmuring tender words he couldn’t quite process.
“Can’t…see,” he mumbled.
The fuzzy shape shifted, and the soothing voice said, “Hang on.”
Heat radiated from the point of contact on his cheek.
Malorg recoiled, an image of Uryqh’s melting flesh flashing before his eyes.
But this fire didn’t burn him alive. Instead, it trickled over his skin like drops of rain, as soothing as the voice that had conjured it.
A thousand little aches he hadn’t realized he bore eased, his mind and vision both jolting into greater focus.
He had a vague impression of a tiny, barren room, its every surface utterly black, but he ignored his surroundings in favor of the revealed figure in front of him.
When he saw it was Sarilian, his brow knit with worry, Malorg knew this had to be a dream.
He tried to reach out anyway and found his arms and legs bound by chains of duskflame holding him suspended between floor and ceiling.
“Are you…real?” he managed to croak.
Sarilian’s worried expression turned to anguish. A tear slid down his bronzed cheek. Malorg reached instinctively to wipe it away, only for the chains to halt him.
Swallowing, Sarilian nodded. “Yes, Mal. I’m real.” His gaze narrowed on the chains, golden fury brewing. “I can’t believe your own people would do this to you. Merciful Light, if you’re this bad after a month, I can’t imagine what would be left of you after a single year, let alone a thousand.”
Malorg let his head fall, his chin thumping his chest. Shame curled through him. “Weak. Sorry.”
“Hey, no.” Sarilian cupped Malorg’s cheek, raising his head so that he gazed into the Celestial’s gilded eyes. “You are not weak. You are the strongest, most courageous being in the cosmos. Pelorak is the weak, cowardly one.”
Pelorak!
Raw panic gripped Malorg, and he shuddered in his chains. “You have to get out of here before he finds you! I…I tried to protect you.” His thoughts still felt oddly scrambled, making it difficult to stay focused. An effect of the magic holding him here, perhaps?
Sarilian’s face crumpled for a moment. Guilt flickered over his features, though Malorg wasn’t sure why. Then, his lips firmed into a fierce smile. “I know you did, Mal.”
His thumb brushed a heated circle into Malorg’s cheek before he rose and stepped back.
A spear of dawnflame, dulled within the Dusklands but still shining with dim radiance, appeared in his hand.
“Now, it’s my turn to protect you. Because it turns out there is something more important than the Covenant: you. ”
The spear blurred as it lanced through the air. An instant later, Malorg felt his right arm drop as the shadowy chains binding it melted away. The atrophied muscles trembled, and he forced his fingers to flex. Almost instantly, feeling began to return.
The chains must have had a curse of weakness imbued in them to keep him pliant. With each additional chain Sarilian sliced, more strength returned to Malorg, his mind clearing.
“I…I remember now.” He clutched Sarilian’s arm for balance.
“Pelorak came for me after you left. I tried to kill him and almost succeeded.” He gritted his teeth, recalling the moment in the alleyway.
“But I hesitated to deliver the final blow. Pelorak took advantage of my weakness to overpower me. He brought me here, chained me up in the dark.” A shudder raced through him, along with another spike of unease as he glanced at Sarilian.
“He comes here sometimes to torture me. I…I’m not sure when he’ll return. ”
Sarilian’s expression darkened. Malorg could tell there was more he wanted to say about Pelorak, but he settled for a curt nod.
“Then, we should go while we can.” He started toward the closed door Malorg could now make out, its edges barely visible against the black wall.
“And for the record, I already told you that you are not weak.”
Malorg scowled at Sarilian. “I could have won. I could have escaped. Instead, I gave my enemy the opening he needed to defeat me.”
“You showed a former friend mercy,” Sarilian countered, arching an eyebrow. “That takes more strength and courage than someone like Pelorak will ever know.”
The affirmation soothed something in Malorg—a restlessness he couldn’t quite define. Even as warmth flooded him at Sarilian’s fond look, he snorted and shook his head. “Such a Celestial.”
Sarilian grinned. “This Celestial is about to save your Infernal butt.”
Still leaning on Sarilian for support, Malorg imparted a darkvision enchantment to Sarilian while they hobbled to the door. He forced himself to stand on his own, steadying himself against the wall when he almost fell.
“I’ll be fine,” he huffed, waving off Sarilian’s concern. “I just need a moment to catch my breath.” He jerked his head at the door. “What can we expect outside?”
Sarilian dismissed his spear and studied the closed door with a frown.
“They have you in a cell deep beneath the Dusk Citadel. No guards outside, but regular patrols throughout the area, as well as in the Citadel above. We’ll need to be careful to avoid detection—I doubt we can fight our way free, especially if Pelorak or the other Aspects get involved. ”
Remembering Pelorak’s miasmic cloud, Malorg shuddered. “Agreed.” A thought occurred to him then, and he turned to give Sarilian a considering look. “Speaking of, how the Dark did you get in here, anyway? Surely, they didn’t allow a Celestial to waltz right by the guards.”
Sarilian smirked. “Like this.”
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, he raised a hand glowing with dawnflame. Wonder widened Malorg’s eyes as the dawnflame coated Sarilian’s body, rendering him nearly invisible save for a faint shimmer when he moved.
“I had no idea radiant magic was capable of something like that,” Malorg exclaimed.
“Neither did I,” Sarilian’s disembodied voice replied. “I doubt many Celestials have tried—subterfuge doesn’t exactly align with our ideals. It’s how I reached your apartment after the last Accords meeting.”