During which Reginmal commands...
72
Reginmal paused, a pained expression crossing his ancient wrinkled features. His eyes seemed to wander, leaving them, going elsewhere. He was gone for a moment, only a brief one, and during that moment Wylde felt the immortal blood rush back into his body, felt his limbs regain their strength again.
Without any warning, and before Wylde could dare move, Reginmal was back. His nostrils flaring, his eyes wide with fury, all of it directed at the poor creature before him. Wylde cringed, wishing he could find a hole, somewhere dark and cold, away from this Lord of Hell.
“ONE OF MY CHILDREN IS GONE FROM ME,” the old man glared accusingly, first at Wylde than beyond him, at Michael Bishop, his voice now a booming roar. “HE HAS TAKEN HER FROM ME, BROUGHT HER OVER TO HIM. SHE WAS A PREFERRED CHILD, ONE I'D HAD GREAT PLANS FOR.....”
The ground shifted beneath them and Wylde toppled over, quickly finding that he could move again, if only to right himself to kneel yet again. He dared not stand before Reginmal, not after what had happened to those who'd followed him inside.
Behind their master, fire erupted from a crack in the earth, gold red flame surging up from below as something massive and unholy writhed in it's fury. The old man before them wavered, seeming to shimmer in and out of existence and Brian Wylde knew him for what he was, a mere image, a representative of their true lord, like Michael Bishop was, like he himself was, like they all were.
Their true master was below and he was far from content.
As the old man faded, Wylde's courage grew, he stood up, backing away from the image and that hole to the inferno,
bringing himself close to Bishop.
Bishop's features were contorted, sheer terror written across them and he knew that they mirrored his own. Neither of them did quite reach for the other as the ground trembled all about them, the house threatening to collapse on top of them, but they at least took some solace in each other's proximity, old rivalries forgotten for now.
The strange dream-like quality of the entire scene deteriorated all about them, reality coming into stark focus all of a sudden. Furniture fell, pottery toppled, glass crumbled, pieces of the home coming down into ruin.
They knew they should run, knew they should make for that door with all haste, get out before it all came down, but neither one dared, both of them fearing what lay below more than having the full weight of the entire building come crashing down on them. That death they would return from, death at the hands of their Master there would be no coming back from.
Gradually it subsided, very, very slowly and not before rendering the interior of Michael Bishop's home into nothing but devastation. The figure returned after the tremors subsided, slamming back into existence, his hideous wrinkled head turning to them, taking them both in.
“TURN THEM, TURN THEM ALL,” he commanded, the red eye growing, encompassing the old man's entire forehead, it's power sending waves of heat through Brian Wylde's body, his insides throbbing with what felt like fire.
Was that what his friends had felt right before the end? Was that what awaited him too?
He dared not question Reginmal, knew what would happen if he did.
“Go forth now, no mortal shall walk the grounds of Roanoke before this night is through,” he continued, his voice no longer booming, becoming the screeching of dying felines yet again. “Turn them all, lay them to their graves and bring all my children to bear on our enemy. Go before he takes another.”
“And the child?” Bishop was the one to finally dare the question. “Do you still wish Virginia Dare?”
Reginmal pondered it, recalling whatever hideous intentions he'd originally had for the first born of the New World.
He did not ponder them for long.
“Kill it.”
End Part 72
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