Morrigan’s mind raced. She tried to formulate a plan, considering every possibility in the silence that fell. She noticed the static radiating from Tyler again. It’s normal when waking from the rite. They called it “going loud.” The static fills the body, making the days after waking from the rite the time when a practitioner is as powerful as they can ever be. She wanted to ask what happened. She wanted to make sure he was doing okay, but took her time. .
When they left town, the lights were gone, giving her nothing to see in her limited vision. She turned to him, “I-”
Morrigan felt sudden force as something crashed against her side of the car. The car spun, and she was thrown back into her seat.
“What was that,” Tyler screamed.
“I don't know,” she screamed in reply, “Get out and run.”
He obeyed, and she followed. They ran for the tree line, Morrigan trying desperately to sense what chased them. She sent out a pulse of static and detected several individuals chasing after them.
Tyler pulled her to the side, and she made a troubling realization. “Shit,” she whispered, “My cane.” She turned to run back to the car and Tyler grabbed her hand.
“Wait,” he began, but she jerked her hand back and rushed forward. Her eyes searched for the headlights, the only source of light she’d be able to see. Despite checking every direction, they were nowhere to be found. She ran her hand through her hair, tried to suppress her breathing as her attackers darted into the treeline, crushing leaves and branches underfoot. She heard lighter steps approaching, moving through the woods with purpose.
“Tyler,” she whispered, but the footsteps stopped. They moved closer, making an effort to silence each step. Whoever it was stood in front of her, and Morrigan caught the scent of rose on the air. They were too close, she’d have to improvise.
She heard another sound, the strike of a lighter and the burst of flame that followed. She caught the slightest flicker of light, and she reached out with the static. A sudden burst of fire flew to her hand, and she threw it down, igniting the dry leaves under the stranger before her. A man screamed in pain, the flames eating away at him with fury. She heard another man grunting, felt the static move through the air.
Tyler grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. She felt a familiar object gently brush her chest, her cane. “I already grabbed it for you,” he said through heavy breathing, “next time, wait a sec.”
She didn't respond. They ran, and she caught the light of Tyler’s car. She stopped when her feet tapped on concrete.
“They want to box us in, Tye. We can’t be here,” She said, and tilted her head toward the sound of heavy steps and falling trees. A burst of flame caught the sedan, an attack meant for Tyler.
She pointed the cane to the sky, conjured a burst of light and tried to use what sight she could to her advantage.
Several patches of red emerged, the robes of those she once called her family. She calmed herself, pushing Tyler behind her. “Fine, I'll be an animal then,” Morrigan said. “Tyler, give me your knife.” She found it in her hand within moments. “For my sake, and for yours. Hide. Please don't watch.”
Tyler didn't reply. She assumed he nodded, forgetting her blindness again, before rushing to the sedan and diving into the seat through the open door.
Morrigan’s finger traced the edge of the blade. She clenched her fist around the handle, bracing herself for the pain. She couldn't wait. She raised it into the air as the footsteps neared, drove the blade through the palm of her hand, and let out a shuddering sigh. The footsteps stopped.
Morrigan felt the blood, lathered it between her fingers, and felt a smile stretching across her face. She let out a fit of laughter, her thoughts clouded by a drumming sound that filled her head. She could feel the blood pumping through their veins. Their hearts raced. She refused to let them pass, feeling each of her victims frozen in fear.
She raised a hand, bent her fingers, and curled them down to her palms as the blood dripped in between. The static flowed through her targets body, latching onto every blood cell. She pulled her hand back, and felt the warm spray on her face as blood spewed from their pores. The man's screams were like a symphony. She called every wasted drop to her, the blood rising into the air and forming an orb above her hand.
Her attention shifted to the woman at his side. The woman charged at her, her allies not far behind. Morrigan tossed the sphere above her and the blood rained down, each drop causing the skin to sizzle and blister.
The woman cried out in pain and the others backed away. Morrigan pointed at the nearest foe, another woman, based on the screams that followed. The woman fell to the ground with a wail. The blood boiled within her veins, forcing the woman to contort in all directions.
Morrigan felt the vessels burst while turning her attention to the final opponent.
The man chose to flee deeper into the woods, and Morrigan pursued with a casual stroll. She could still feel him, his heart revealing the man’s location with every beat. She closed in without a sound. The man turned, seeing the smile still plastered on her face as she tore him open with the knife.
The man looked on in shock, unable to comprehend the sensation of Morrigan reaching into him, taking out whatever she pleased. She laughed, tossing viscera to the side like trash. She placed her thumb on his forehead as he neared death, channeling her static to keep him from dying. She heard a sound, something familiar and comforting.
“Morrigan,” Tyler said. She turned to him. His heart raced, she heard how scared he was. She gave a low growl, the smile growing wider as she waved with the blood soaked knife swaying in her hand. The man fell to the ground. Morrigan stepped forward, playfully prancing toward him until she was only a few feet away. He took a quick step back.
She dipped her head low, brandished the knife, and the playful demeanor was gone. She inched forward, unsure if he would flee or face his death with dignity. She reached out, linked her veins with his, and the static filled her. The energy that pulsed through him made her shiver.
Tyler felt his body betray him. He stepped forward, his arms up, making sure to step hard and firm so that the leaves crunch under his weight. Her eyes darted in all directions as her head turned to follow each sound.
She let out a giggle, lunged forward with the knife, and found his wrist around hers. He rushed behind her, brought her arms to her chest, and tried to speak through the lump in his throat. His words came half formed, drowned out by the screams and laughter as Morrigan pushed against him, flailing about in an effort to get free. She kicked back against a tree, and knocked him off balance. He tried to resist, the fall winding him.
She wrestled herself free, flipped herself over and straddled him. His eyes went wide, then slammed shut as she clenched the knife between her fists and raised it high above her head.
She closed her eyes as if in prayer. The smile faded as the knife came down, but not to kill. It fell from her hands and bounced off his chest, landing in the brush beside them. He opened his eyes, and she stared ahead with her hands clasped over her mouth.
The high-pitched whine that escaped her lips drew out in a long agonizing drone. Her face was sore, twisting to reflect the tears that fell. Her heart dropped, her eyes soft and wide as she fell backward and kicked herself across the ground, distancing herself until hitting a bloodstained tree with enough force to bruise. She refused to look at him, unable to muster an excuse.
Tyler tried to sit up. Morrigan flinched, hiding her face from him. She screamed, sobbed, and finally settled on a series of whimpered words too soft for Tyler to hear. She violently rubbed her hands, the blood refusing to wipe off.
Tyler sat up, and she buried her head, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. He approached her, not afraid, but cautious. He placed a hand on her shoulder and the sobs grew loud; uncontrollable. She lifted her head and screamed to force the sudden emotions into submission, only for the scream to devolve again into inconsolable weeping.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she pulled away. He tightened his hold, sitting beside her and pulling her onto his lap. The blood stained his shirt. Her soaked hair smeared it on his face as he rested his chin on her shoulder. Her body stiffened, and She lifted her head and stared into nothing.
He moved to stand, helping her up in silence. They returned to the car, continuing their journey south.
Morrigan felt him glancing at her every few minutes, but couln't bring herself to speak and give him an explanation. It wasn't until they approached the neon signs of a motel that he spoke, pulling in and rummaging around in a duffel bag for a clean shirt.
“I know what the passion is,” Tyler said. She said nothing, only stared out the window at the haze of blue light, “It’s a lot scarier than the book makes it seem.”
“It always is,” Morrigan whispered. “Strega Rossa was my title. I'm a red witch. I feel the passion more than others."
“It's a trance, I know it wasn't you.”
“It's not a trance,” Morrigan said. "The blood is like…” she tried to find the word but sighed instead, “We all have a knack for something. Blood is mine, but it does have a price. I wanted to kill you, to feel the blood on my hands. I was-” she paused, disgusted by the words, “You offended me.”
“Why?”
“The carnage," she began. "The killing feels like art, and you didn't like it. I made something for you and you hated it."
Ooh. A longer chapter. I don't think I'll have too many comments on the actual grammar side of it. However, there are somethings I'm already liking. Firstly, there are a few things regarding Gemma: I loved the "twist" in revealing she was the one manipulating Tyler and you also called her Jemma once or twice. The fact she's hunting them because she's dying was also a nice touch as, in the least, she has character motivation. I'm excited to learn more about Tyler and the Prestige because (I'm pretty sure, at least) you mentioned he might not be able to use it at all in the previous chapter. That, and the fact Morrigan was surprised at how powerful he was despite him being at the height of his power at the moment. Now. For the hardest part to judge: horror. Is what you wrote horrifying? Yes. Absolutely. In what regard? It's gross, demented, and very gory(but not in such a way that it's actually gross to read). I don't think it has any kind of scare factor to it that I could find, but there's also that, the more I've thought about it, I'm not sure how well literature can create such a scare factor. This definitely has a more adult serial-killer novel feel to it like the book has found it's main type of horror, but it's also not the "I can't sleep now" kind of horror -- which I don't believe was your goal. (That was rambly. Hopefully, it got my point across) Other than that, I quite liked this chapter. It did well to portray Morrigan's fears about the Scarlet Arts as well as the cost that it requires. The only thing that I am curious about is whether or not the situation was yet dire enough. We don't know enough about the red-robes as readers so it feels like Morrigan could have waited a bit longer before feeling the need to use her Scarlet Arts.
Ohhhh thank uuuuu. Ok so first off, oops on the jemma. Good lord, I need to just post a sticky note to my monitor. Next up is the discussion of horror. My main goal for horror is discomfort, and dread. This is inspired by cosmic horror, and as such, isn't meant to make you scared. I've never been scared by a book. I go so far as to say horror isn't really about fear at all, despite what horror films show. My angle may be off, but for me the scariest things are those times when you turn off the show, put down the book, and something sticks with you. My intention, whether I succeeded or not, was for the "horror" to occur on that last line. Cosmic horror is about the realization. I mention this cause it's actually a good question to ask, how did that line make you feel. How was it interpreted. What are the implications of those feelings. Regardless, I'm glad you enjoyed it! One thing I'll say in hopes it doesn't disappoint. Tyler will never use the prestige like Morrigan does. The prestige is like an umbrella with many little magic systems under it. Every school of magic is kind of its own thing. Tyler has something else, something Morrigan knows little about cause she can't do it.
Forgot one more thing On the dire situation I probably need to add a little. I mention it, but not here. Scarlet arts are an addiction. She's not gonna try too hard to resist in this instance.
Gotta love the occasional Jemma joining the cast. I remember what you said before, but the elaboration is useful. Notably, I do think that you were successful in the regard of a scene sticking with the reader because your description of Morrigan's killing spree was on point. It was horrific and left a lasting image in my mind, especially the more I think about it. Gosh. I had to re-read it to figure out what exactly was going on. (Small note to begin: You said "Line," CHARACTER began. "Line" again. That's slightly distracting for me since you use it a lot. I think the dialogue tag's location works, but the "began" part doesn't really. Maybe "The carnage," Morrigan grimly stated. "The killing..." That has a better sense of tone) As far as the line goes, in context with the previous few lines, it does well. If my brain had a greater semblance of functionality, I definitely would have noticed it more on my first read through of the chapter. But, it feels like she's saying "To me, killing is my artwork, and instead of loving it you were afraid of it; in that mindset, I wanted you to experience my art by taking your life." There're probably a lot of other ways to interpret that, but midnight me can't come up with anything else. I just hope Tyler uses the Prestige. I already knew that he wouldn't learn the Scarlet Arts as you've made it quite clear that each user of the Prestige has abilities in different things and Morrigan's specialty is the Scarlet Arts. I just am holding out hope that he'll learn to use it to do something cool (just because that's my brand of crazy). Ooh. That makes way more sense. You probably need to make that a bit more clear. Not by directly stating it but by alluding to Morrigan's dependency and lust for the Scarlet Arts as it seems like she has more regret when she uses it rather than restrained pleasure belittled by guilt. By portraying the first, the reader cannot reach the proper conclusion about Morrigan's relation to the Scarlet Arts.
Oooooo yesss! I love it well done. I shall fix these issues and expound when needed. I totally understand XD get some sleep! Sleep is good. Lol till next time!