The Shape-shifterMature

Demrin opened the door of his apartment building and spotted the creature lying there. It was injured, and the blood loss was making it delirious. It continuously mumbled about how it was The Black Assassin. Demrin knew better though. The Black Assassin was a man, not a creature. And if Demrin was correct, it was a shape-shifter that lay before him, blood coming from the wound on its neck.

That was another thing which confirmed Demrin’s suspicions. It was a vampire bite. The Black Assassin wouldn’t let a vampire get close enough to his to bite him. He was almost indestructible. This pathetic wretch in front of Demrin was no Black Assassin. It was probably just another servant of the necromancer, one sent in secret, not warned of in the letter.

Demrin considered leaving the thing there to die, The thing would surely kill him if it had the chance, but it was written into his oaths as a warlock to do what he could to help those in need. He sighed and picked the creature up. As he carried it up the flights of stairs in his building, it began to drift in and out of consciousness, its form changing randomly.

The door clicked open at a wave from Demrin’s hand and he carried the thing inside. He set it down on the couch, and then moved over to a large cabinet. He pulled back the doors, revealing masses of herbs, salves, potions and more; all for the purpose of healing. Selecting a particular salve and a handful of herbs, Demrin shut the cupboard and as he turned, he noticed a large message scrawled on the wall, carved by a sword.

This is a warning, Warlock! I can get to you anywhere.

Pray I won’t be chasing you. I hope I will. It’s been too

long since I have faced one of your kind. Have fun living

in fear.


Demrin stared at the message, signed by the black assassin. He had infiltrated Demrin’s apartment in the ten minutes between when he left, and when he returned with the shape-shifter. Shaking his head, he returned to the shape-shifter’s side. It was fully unconscious now.

Demrin applied the salve to the creature’s wound, and then shoved several herbs down its throat. He uttered a few words of a spell to quicken the procedure. After a few moments, the creature’s eyes burst open.

“What is your name, creature?” Demrin asked.

“Jester, Where am I?”

“This is my apartment. I am Demrin Artuna. Were you sent after me by the necromancer?”

“Not specifically you. He just said a Warlock. Why am I here?”

“I healed you. You were almost dead after that vampire bite. You may leave now. Do not try to attack me, I shall defeat you. And remember this, you owe me now. I saved your life. The necromancer won’t like having one of his puppets in debt to me”.

Jester was frightened. He nodded at Demrin’s words, the rose and quickly fled the apartment.




Demrin strolled leisurely towards The Pig’s Head. He was quite pleased. That creature was in his debt, something the necromancer would hate. One of his servants owed Demrin. Laughing, he turned a corner, and then doubled over in pain.

His mind felt like something had grabbed hold of it and was tearing it apart. A thousand hot needles pierced his consciousness, and a distressing array of images presented themselves to Demrin. A building burning to the ground, himself writhing in pain on the ground, him tied to a stake with one hundred knives in various parts of his body, and perhaps the most distressing of all, a figure with black gloves; The Black Assassin no doubt, holding Calla in two hands. It ripped outwards, tearing Calla’s slender form straight down the middle. Demrin roared in anguish. A new image appeared, that of a figure, tall and menacing.

“You know who I am, Demrin Artuna. I am The Black Assassin. This is just a fraction of my power, this infiltration of your mind. I can cause you the most pain you have ever felt in your life, none of it will kill you until I wish it. Live in fear Warlock!”

The figure vanished and was replaced again with visions of Demrin in pain, and once again the horrific image of Calla’s body ripping in half, the lights in her violet eyes pleading with Demrin as the lights died in them. Demrin wept at the loss of his friend. She was the closest person to him on this world; she was all he had left. He couldn’t bear to see it any longer. The image was burned onto his eyes and the more he tried to banish it, the stronger it grew. Demrin collapsed into a ball on the ground and wept.

The End

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