A Trickle of Soulfyre

Chapter 13 - Suffocation

Nash dreamed that he was drowning.

Water rushed into his lungs, pushing the air out of them so none remained for him to breathe, and pressing down on his body. There was no resisting it, no way for him to fight his way to the surface where he could take a breath.

How deep underwater was he? Was this even water, or was it something else?

He woke up gasping, but the water continued to suffocate him.

No, it wasn't water. It was two hands clamped around his neck.

His chest heaving, he looked up at who the iron-like grip belonged to.

The face never stilled enough for Nash to recognise it even if he had seen it before. It kept changing. The cheeks swelled out and sank back in. The eyes bulged and shrank into their sockets. The lips expanded and contracted. Various expressions rippled over the fickle features, each more terrifying than the last.

His mind starving for air, his limbs sluggish with sleep, Nash reached for his nightstand. If he could get to his dagger and sink it into this creature's stomach, he could free himself from its grip.

But his arms didn't move when he commanded them to. Neither did his legs.

His first thought was that the darkness was oppressing him the way the water in his dream had, but he knew the night would not be so cruel to him. It may be dark and secretive but never cruel.

Nash blinked until his eyes adjusted to the overwhelming blackness surrounding him. He looked around to see four more shadowy figures gathered around him, their faces as ever-changing as that of the one with its hand around his neck. They pinned his feet and hands down with the same unbeatable strength.

Nash fought against their grips, straining until his hand came loose. As soon as it escaped, rough, strong fingers recaptured it, giving him no opportunity to get a weapon or even defend himself.

Kill him, came a raspy voice.

Nash wasn't sure which of his assailants had spoken. He didn't even have time to figure it out before the hands around his neck tightened, cutting off the cry he uttered. It turned into a horrible choking sound.

His consciousness was floating away from him. His resistance against his captors faded.

They said one's life flashed before one's eyes as death neared. For Nash, it was just one scene: an elf in a green swimsuit sewn from oak leaves with water drops running down her brown skin. She swept a lock of her wet, black hair away from her face as she gazed up at a sky scattered with too many stars to count. A sky that was nowhere near as beautiful as she was.

Then Nash's vision exploded with light, and he thought he must've passed out of this world and into the one beyond.

But he couldn't be dead if his attackers were still pinning him down, if clawed nails still pressed into his neck.

A line of fire ran down the spine of the assailant strangling Nash, igniting the night. The being squealed, releasing him. He gulped at the delicious air that flooded his lungs, but the danger had not yet passed. The creature barrelled towards Isarea where she stood in front of the door leading into Nash's room with fire flickering at her fingertips.

Benje stepped in front of her, spraying something from the bottle in his hands at the creature. It screamed as it cowered and skidded off-course, shielding its eyes from what Nash imagined was the stinging disinfectant Benje used when he healed open wounds.

The creature's accomplices were all distracted to the point that their faces were no longer changing. Instead, they had settled into masks like melted wax. Nash wrenched his limbs from their grips and lunged for his nightstand.