Shadows unchained

Lightning. Violent, brilliant, lightning.

That was the first thing she saw.

However, it was not the lightning that scared her the most.

Nor was it the burning village surrounding her, the thatched roofs alight with searing flames, the columns of smoke billowing into the air, the acrid fumes poisoning the wind, the raging fires leaping up into the night sky and staining it orange and grey.

Nor was it the anguished cries of the dead and dying around her, the wretched moans of pain and despair, the pleas for mercy and screams of terror, all blending together in a horrible, wailing chorus drowning in the rivers of blood.

Nor was it the darkness that crept across the earth and sky despite the towering flames, the shadows that writhed in the very air before her, the blackness that moved with life of its own and smothered everything it touched, choking the spirit of any living thing within reach. But one thing still held her heart in a vise-like grip…something that was never fully there, but was visible just enough to make her blood run cold.

A cloaked figure, clad in the darkest black, rising before her. It appeared from the shadows on the ground, rising up like an onyx serpent from a murky pool. Slowly it would draw itself up, measuring far taller than he. Its back was always turned to her, its identity shrouded in the black hood covering its head. It would stand a few feet from her, motionlessly observing the chaos and destruction before it. Then, it would turn its head ever so slightly, as if to face her, but before he even saw the edge of the hood, he would awake, panting in cold sweat. 

The figure rose from the liquid shadow. Again, it stood, back turned, gazing at the pyre and blood. Again, after a moment, it began to turn its head. She strained to see it with a twisted curiosity, wanting a glimpse of the thing that haunted her.

The hooded face stared at her fully and without remorse.

At first, she thought the face itself was a shadow, an empty, black chasm. Its skin, if it was skin at all, was blacker than the hood, so dark even the glow from the fires could not light it. He could see no features upon its face, save for its eyes…oh, its eyes! Like great rings of endless flames, its eyes burned with horrible malice. Centered about serpentine pupils, its fiery iris extended to the edges, leaving no distinguishable white. Yet, though they glowed with the same fury as the burning village, they were not searing or scorching…they were cold. Colder than the ice of the northern mountains, those flaming eyes glared at her with cruelty, pitilessness, and power. She was transfixed to the spot, unable to move under the terrible gaze.

Slowly, the black figure shifted, raising its arm. She wanted to run, begged her legs to flee, but they did not answer. A hand appeared from the cloaked arm, extending long, onyx fingers towards her. Black nails pointed at her throat like claws. She could not move, could not escape her invisible prison. The glowing eyes narrowed, unmerciful, and suddenly, she could not breathe. He felt four simultaneous stabs into his throat, unleashing streams of blood, yet the hand was still not touching her. The pressure on her neck lessened, and he screamed, long and loud, as the writhing shadows on the ground rose up to swallow her…

His eyes flew open as he woke with a start, the scream dying on her lips. He sat up, supporting herself on his strong arms. His forehead had broken out into a cold sweat already, and his breath came out in short pants. She clutched at his burning throat, groping to feel the four wounds. She let out a sigh of wary relief: they were not there. It was just a nightmare.

Why? Her mind whispered desperately...