The throneroom was completely dark — the kind of darkness that clung to the eyes. Amon was sitting on the throne, seemingly asleep.
Suddenly he jolted from the throne and fell to his knees. His mouth opened wide as a hoarse cry tore from his throat; it filled the walls and bounced back.
He quickly covered his mouth with his hands, pressing his fingers to his lips. His eyes were red as scarlet cloth, like the veins at the corners had ruptured.
His mind was scattered like shattered glass on stone. Every thought he tried to form was intangible. Dreams were scary, but what frustrated Amon was that he couldn't remember what it was.
He lowered his shaky hands and stared at them as if the answers were written on his palms. He tried to remain calm, but his racing heart was too loud, beating against his ribs in protest to his command.
He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, counting to four. It didn't help. He tried again, slower. He was still shaking.
"Déjà vu." He couldn't stop turning the thought over once it formed in his mind. He searched the darkness, brows drawn tight.
He stood slowly, scanning the dark. As he stepped forward to descend the stairs, he heard a metallic clang — tiny.
In front of him lay a small sword. The blade was charcoal black. Amon's eyes couldn't make it out, but the quillon had a tiny skull, just visible now that his eyes had adapted to the dark. He caught a glimpse of it.
He picked up the knife, but something felt wrong — like he knew something was going to happen. Something terrible.
Suddenly his body started to harden. Every step and turn he took felt heavier than the last. He tried to tighten his grip on the knife, but his hands had frozen, or simply gone paralyzed.
Amon dropped the knife, and when it hit the ground the soft metallic sound felt very familiar. At that moment Amon's mind flooded with memories of Slyrod — his entire appearance, his voice. Everything suddenly felt heavy.
Amon bent down and picked up the blade, forcing his paralyzed body to move. Now everything was urgent. Amon knew he was going to face Slyrod again. He was sure.
Because everything happening now had happened before in a dream — or it wasn't a dream, he wasn't sure. But he knew the abomination of a man would appear. Amon was ready to fight.
He wasn't going to let himself be paralyzed and have his soul invaded by a man who would rent out his mother's tomb if the gold weighed right.
"He's corrupted and an abomination," Amon spat. He regretted everything.
Slyrod had invaded his soul before. Even if it was a dream, Amon still felt how corrupted he was. If he allowed it again, that corruption would infect him.
He took a stance, tightening his grip on the blade.
For a moment nothing happened. Amon turned and twisted, searching through the darkness, but couldn't see anything. Still, the feeling that something was wrong remained.
"Show yourself," Amon said, his teeth grinding. Then, suddenly, a small flickering flame lit in the middle of the room.
He also saw hands retreating into the darkness. The small flame lit only a narrow circle around itself. Then a scratchy voice called to Amon.
"Step into the light and see your fate." The voice came from every corner of the angular throneroom, so even if he wanted to attack, he wouldn't know where to strike.
"Shit," he muttered. "Step into the flame, Amon," it sounded again, lighter this time, like a whisper. "Don't you want to see your purpose? Do you know who you are?"
Amon wasn't sure if this was a trap or not, but he definitely wanted to see. Besides, Amon wasn't stupid — he knew if Slyrod wanted to do something, he would have done it by now.
So eventually he stepped into the light cast by the small flame. He took careful steps toward it, left leg always behind the right, like Amon was approaching an enemy.
Once Amon stepped into the light, the flames flickered violently. "Look into the flames, Amon. The flames have seen it all. They will show you."
Amon's gaze fell to the flame. Suddenly he froze, like a mindless puppet, falling to his knees as the flames pulled him into a void of visions.
Visions flooded Amon's mind, visions he couldn't understand. Everything the flames showed was his future, but to him none of it made sense.
He saw a tree burning while it rained. He saw horses grazing while the sun was warm and bright. Then he saw a child staring at gray clouds as they consumed the rays of light in the sky. The kid turned to Amon and offered him his hand.
More visions flooded Amon's mind, but they had no meaning to him. They were empty visions. After a moment kneeling before the flames, Amon finally regained his senses.
His chest heaved in and out. He scanned the room and then returned to the flames. He crawled closer. "No, no — let me see again."
For some reason these visions made Amon feel longing and grief, something he couldn't understand. "Let me see," he said, staring into the flames again, but they slowly vanished before his eyes.
Slyrod hauled himself in front of him from the darkness. He crawled out of the worm's mouth, holding a lantern.
When Amon saw Slyrod he wasn't scared anymore. The faces on Slyrod's body were still, their eyes closed and simply sleeping.
"Why did you show me that? What was that?" Amon asked, his voice shaky. Slyrod moved closer. "You have no name, Amon. Your fate is blurry even to my eyes. I cannot tell you who you are."
Amon's breathing started to accelerate. "Nonsense." He tightened his brows, and shadows fell upon his eyes. He stared at Slyrod with complete malice, his teeth bared in a grin.
He lunged at Slyrod and stepped into the creature's mouth. He seized the fragile figure protruding from the mouth by the throat, trying to choke him. He started stabbing Slyrod over and over.
There was a tug of war in the creature's mouth — Amon stabbing while Slyrod tried to stop him. The faces on Slyrod's back snapped open, and their wailing filled the throneroom.
Slyrod thrashed, trying to shake Amon loose. He grabbed Amon's face and forced eye contact. Amon shut his eyes tight.
He had figured out Slyrod's weakness. Amon understood that 'the eyes are the passage to the soul' was literal for Slyrod. Without them, he was useless.
He kept stabbing blind. At times he cut his own hand, but he never let go.
Slyrod was slippery, but he wasn't as viscous as before. Even if Amon's grip wasn't strong enough to choke him to death, it was enough to hold on.
He kept stabbing until his knife drove deep into Slyrod's left eye. Slyrod shrieked, and his massive worm-body convulsed, slamming into the walls. Columns cracked. Stone fell, but Slyrod ignored it.
The worm-body coiled up a broken pillar to the ceiling, then whipped down toward the floor like a hammer, trying to crush Amon between itself and the marble.
Amon, still blind, kicked up with his heel and drove the knife deeper into Slyrod's eye socket. Slyrod's grip went slack. Amon tore free, scrambled up the thrashing body to the head, and when Slyrod dove mouth-first into the floor to retreat, Amon leapt off and rolled across the stone.
The floor rumbled as Slyrod burrowed. Eyes still shut, Amon listened. He'd figured it out: Slyrod's worm-body was covered in faces. Before, Amon had locked eyes with one in the dark. That was how Slyrod paralyzed him. With his eyes closed, he was safe from the soul attack.
A moment passed. Mucus slapped the stone above him — Slyrod was clinging to the ceiling. Amon knew he wouldn't drop from there. The mucus gave him away.
Metal chimed on stone. Slyrod had pulled the knife from his eye. Amon sprinted for it, stumbled, caught himself, and kept moving.
He went low, knees bent, hand outstretched for the blade. At the last second he feinted and jumped straight up instead of forward.
Slyrod's worm-head burst from the floor where Amon would have been and dove back down, leaving the eyed length of his back exposed above ground. The eyes on his back tracked Amon.
Amon grabbed a handful of dust from the broken floor when he fell running towards the knife and flung it trying to blind Slyrod so he could open his. Hcracked his eyes open and realized his plan hadn't worked. The eyes on Slyrod's back were still fixed on him. Amon locked up and hit the floor, paralyzed.
He fought it, dragged himself to his knees, but Slyrod's tail was already whipping around to face him. Eye to eye.
"Fool." A black thorn speared out from Slyrod's tail. He swung and drove it through Amon's chest, pinning him to the wall. Amon vomited blood. The thorn pulsed once, drinking.