Jason McDonald - Son of Cayn

Feral eyes appeared out of the flickering shadows. Their depths reflected the tendrils of fire that played along the bead-board ceiling of the study. Time seemed to slow as the paint on the underside of the tongue-and-groove planks bubbled and peeled.

I can save you, whispered a hollow voice from the darkest of shadows.

Baroness Aleksandra Madasgorski Krakova stared into those eyes, her rage and frustration making her reckless, and yelled, Did you do this!? Did you set fire to my house!?

I only do what my master requires, the voice replied smoothly.

Fists clenched at her sides, the Baroness stood in the center of the room, dressed in an elegant, wine-colored gown made from the finest silk, a gown intended for only the most extravagant occasions, such as tonightbefore it had all come crashing down around her.

A portion of the ceiling collapsed, and flames erupted in the corner of the study, blasting waves of heat into the room. The fire quickly found new fuel in the rosewood bookshelves as it trailed down the wall. Burning light streamed in from the gaping hole above, revealing the conflagration that was the second floor.

Baroness Krakova felt detached from the world around her. Even though the fire roared all about her, it seemed muted compared to the people she heard screaming in violent agony outside her room. Many of the screams trailed out the front door, while others simply choked off. Perhaps the flames had taken them, or maybe they had succumbed to the smoke.

One of those screams could have even been her husband, Boris.

It had all happened so fast. Earlier that evening, the Baroness had met her husband as he ascended from the basement. He had just come from checking on the wretched souls collected for tonights ceremony, the ones to be sacrificed, and making certain all the preparations were in order. His eyes had gleamed with a rare excitement. Soon their guests would arrive and amongst them the members of their dark circle. It was perfect. Using the party as an excuse to gather, none would have suspected the dark magicks performed beneath their feet.

The nights workings would have sealed the fate of the Trakyans, she seethed, but somehow the Kral had discovered their plans and sent in his agents. That damnable Marcus had marched through her doorway with the militsiya as if he was orchestrating a raid in a common bordello. He directed his men to search everywhere, upstairs and down.

Let no one escape, she had heard him command.

Shortly thereafter, the basement door had burst open. Men, women, and children, all filthy and ragged, had rushed forth through her beautiful home. With military efficiency, the Kral s men had ushered them out the front door. The rank stench of their unwashed bodies still filled her nostrils.

Her full lips trembled with emotion as she gazed around her, the air shimmering as if she were the victim of some strange mirage. Her books, her desk, her paintingseverything she had collected over the yearswere all ablaze. She stared hard into the heart of the shadows. Had it started the fire as a distraction to save her?

Some considered fire to be a holy rite, one that purged evil. This fire was born of eviland she swore only evil would come of it.

With a sharp gasp, Baroness Krakova swayed to one side and pressed a hand to her chest. Sutekh, her dark god, was here. She felt him reach up from hell and snatch away her husbands soul. A searing pain coursed through her body, as though the dark god had ripped out her heart as well. All that remained to her was an empty void.

The shadows eyes remained steady, watching her intently, but she avoided looking directly into them a second time. Shed had plenty of practice over the years. Each time she looked into its eyes, the demon enjoyed reminding her of her coming-of-age gift. She shuddered despite the heat. The Baroness dared not speak the demons true name though she had known it since birth.

Out in the street, the militsiya shouted orders, and someone called her name. Hopefully, Marcus thought she was already deadlike her husband. Regaining her composure, she shouted, I will have my revenge, demon!

A terrible, twisted form emerged from the shadows, its very existence a mockery of creation, and it came for the Baroness with open arms. Come with me, and we will have our revenge together. Let us finish what your husband started.

She hesitated, weighing her limited options. With one last look around her ruined study, the Baroness stepped into the demons embrace. The two vanished just as the ceiling collapsed. Flames geysered into the night sky as the house tumbled in upon itself, debris burying the basement as though the house still had something to hide.

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