Short Story: Davon's Narrative

Auron stood away from the altar. He could only watch his two companions approach it in abject silence. He'd noticed Davon's change gradually as they made their way back from Morvac. He was emotionless, lending only blank, uncaring stares as they traversed the wooded areas to the spire. Matthiu was more beside himself. The unending call for the dagger - the way he described it - was the insatiable need told through far-off whispers that slipped like bells tolling.

He could see that it had taken every ounce of strength just to keep Matthiu from plunging himself on to the white blade. The inscribed letters that were carved into the fuller glistened a magnificent blue as it hung from Davon's belt.

Davon pressed a button on the panel.
Davon was on him in a flash and snatched the raised limb above Matthiu's head. Auron took a step backward and found himself resting against the bumpy wall. Lights brightly illuminated the room and then Auron saw them: faces contorted into looks of horror, encased in the metal walls. He jumped back and saw Matthiu now on the altar. Davon began to scream, the words coming out were gibberish to him. The cadence those of a raving lunatic, chanting during a god forsaken ritual. Davon raised the blade above his head, the inscription now a corrosive black color glowed faintly.

The warrior grabbed his sword and yelled for Davon to stop, but like everything else, they fell on deaf ears. Matthiu let out a shriek and grabbed Davon's arm and pulled the blade into him. Bones cracked, blood trickled down the altar. The chanting filled the room. It was like the drums of the Hunt. Auron remembered them deeply at his initiation into the Siege Hunters. His head began to swirl with the visions and sounds of a world falling into chaos. He saw people moving around him, ignoring him as they went about their day. They approached the altar and watched as Davon grew more