by Seven Xu on July 7th, 2011, 4:00 pm
As uncomfortable, as cold and unnerving as the experience was, it sometimes forged a mutual understanding between the possessor and their host. When the Ghost weaved and shifted Seven’s djed into a shimmering, protective shield it was unlike any feeling he had experienced before. The extrusion of his djed seemed effortless, something he had never been able to do in the past. And as he sat helpless in his own body, it was as if the Ghost had unlocked a part of his mind that had previously been unreachable by conventional means.
“Aah ...” The overwhelming ache of the apparition leaving his body forced the eighteen year old to groan and drop to his knees in the dirt. His entire body burned; his muscles screamed for respite. Trembling, he lifted a hand to stare incredulously between his fingers; they flexed, turned, and then bunched into a fist. Seven knew it was there; but however closely he looked, he could not make out the invisible shield’s shimmer as he had when it blocked the dagger. “Remarkable,” he whispered beneath his breath as pools of crimson flickered back to the smiling visage of the Ghost beside him. “How did you –,”
Seven’s curiosity was cut short by the sound of rustling in the thick bush. Two shadows now accompanied the familiar stumbling outline of the man who had accused him of being a mage before storming off for reinforcements – reinforcements he appeared to have succeeded in acquiring. Now that the haze of being possessed had lifted, Seven’s fear returned in full force and he stumbled to his feet, taking pre-emptive steps backwards until his feet dragged through the ruined charcoal fire pit and his shins pressed against the fell log.
“There ‘e is. There’s the mage, bloody thing. Get it!”
No onus lay on the head of the Ghost as the trio circled Seven, flashing silvery weapons in the moonlight and yellowed grins beneath insults and cackles. “He’s tiny,” another teased. “Did you really need help?”
“Aye,” the third dipped to pull a dagger from the leather boot on his right, before curling an arm around the white neck from behind and threaten the length of Seven’s throat with a chortling laugh. “Almost looks like a woman. Maybe we should leave ‘im alive, for a little while. I bet ‘e moans like a whore.”
“You’re sick, mate!” The first exclaimed before the sound of his voice devolved into grating laughter. “Let’s just get it over with; this place is crawling with knights.”
The same dagger that had tested his throat before now pushed with the force behind bunched muscles. Seven inhaled sharply and his eyelids snapped shut as the blue shimmer returned with equal force beneath the silvery blade. The sound of metal on metal shrieked through stale night air before the weapon retracted and its wielder yelled in frustration. Unfocused garnets opened again and he whirled around to face the flash of a scowl and the whites of his attacker’s eyes, “What the petch?!”
“I told you, he’s a damn mage.” Unfortunately, Seven was not invulnerable to the pull of gravity as the first knocked the halfblood to the ground with a well-aimed boot to the back of his knees. He crumpled as his side met the shock of dirt; and a moment of desperate prayer turned to rebellious volition. Seven's vapid countenance turned defiant and he grit his fanged teeth in a low hiss. “No.” He couldn’t just lie there and accept a humiliating defeat. When the leather-bound foot descended on him again, he rolled to the left and away as it crushed innocent leaves and twigs in Seven’s wake. The prospect of freedom was fleeting before the trio were on him, slashing and punching and scraping fruitlessly against the contrary shield of djed. He was nearly invincible, save for the issue of balance: they could grab him and knock his willowy frame to the ground, but they could not permeate the shield with their fists and blades to draw his blood. With every failed strike, every cantankerous growl of futility, Seven grew in confidence.
Finally, he was able to extend his right hand to snatch one of the invading daggers by the blade and rip it painlessly out of a dirty grip. This weapon so happened to belong to the pugnacious vagrant that had interrupted the Ghost earlier. It fumbled between his thin digits as it passed to his stronger left hand. Bony fingers encompassed the small hilt and he held it with every ounce of strength left in his tired body at the stinking drunk he had unarmed. “I’ll do it!” Seven’s voice was shaking, and by now, if they weren’t complete dullards, they would have predicted that stabbing him again would be useless. Seven’s voice grew low as he repeated himself, blood-red and bleary eyes narrowing as he glanced sidelong at the pair of accomplices. “I’ll gut him like a fish.”