Sabine was a princess pursued by the sorcerer Dahkhal until she managed to turn the tables on him. She exchanged the world’s memory of her existence to trap Dahkhal as a tiny jellyfish in a
Sabine was a princess pursued by the sorcerer Dahkhal until she managed to turn the tables on him. She exchanged the world’s memory of her existence to trap Dahkhal as a tiny jellyfish in a ring on her finger. In an ironic twist, Dahkhal was the only person who remembered who she was, and they became friends. That is, until the ring was stolen from her by Deacon Struct. Now she’s set off to find her lost ring. To read the previous adventures of Sabine, click here. To support us on Patreon, click here. The story continues below.
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Sabine crouched on the catwalk over the chapel and watched as Struct’s congregants filed in. She managed to position Jones’s corpse toward the back, the big lug just appeared to be deep in prayer. As everyone took their seats, she struggled to figure out a halfway decent next step, but the malevolent voice in the back of her head kept cutting her off.
It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far, Dahkhal said. But your luck’s clearly about to run out. You were always in over your head; you could never plan for anything.
With gnashed teeth, Sabine said, “I trapped you inside the jellyfish’s body, didn’t I?”
That doesn’t count. You can’t even reproduce it successfully. A bow would sure come in handy about now though, why did you quit wielding one?
“I’m actually a rotten shot. It took a lot of magic to hit you as hard as I did.”
Dahkhal balked and demanded what kind of explanation that was, but Sabine shook her hand and looked downward. Struct emerged from behind the stained-glass wall. In one hand he held a sphere that crackled with red lightning. She had no way to know for sure, but as he set the sphere on his altar, she felt sure the ring that held Dahkhal must be within.
The congregation went quiet as Struct raised a hand high. “Welcome, my children!” As he spoke, the red scars down his face shimmered. “The promised day is, at last, at hand.”
His underlings whooped and cheered as the sphere on the altar shuddered, red bursts of electricity sparked from its center.
“Indeed, I hold here a shred of a lesser god.” Struct started to quake in excitement as blazing red points of power ignited around the chapel. “We shall offer it to the Great Indolent One, and, with his blessing, we shall remake all the world in his glorious image!” The chamber and the glass around it started to rattle against the wall as though the ground threatened to split open.
Well, time’s up, the Dahkhal voice said. Whatever your next stupid idea was is going to have to wait until the next life.
With her voice pitched to her lowest register, Sabine called out, “Struct, Struuuuuct!”
The deacon froze from his mad gesticulations. “My lord?”
“Yes. It is I. Lord Barfsalot.”
Idiot girl, the god’s name is Barphurmuir!
“I—I believe that’s Barphurmuir my lord—”
“Silence, knave!” Sabine said. “That was a tessssst. Do ye thinketh thine those better than thee?”
“I—er—” Struct started to tug at his clerical collar. “No, my lord, forgive me. It is only—”
“In fact, just for your impudence, I have killed that one shirtless, bulky supplicant of yours.”
A gasp ran through the chapel as someone approached the young man Sabine stabbed back in Struct’s office. After a second to feel at his mouth and neck, his companion declared, “The lord has spoken the truth, Jones is dead!”
A confused, terrified commotion came over the assembly, but Sabine cut off their frightened chatter with another call of, “Silence!”
It was Struct who worked up the courage to speak. “I was just preparing you the offering, my lord. So we may complete the great unmaking and—”
“Do not tell me what you do, I am already well aware.” Sabine paused and let out a harsh cough at the hell the deepened voice was doing to her throat.
In a voice tinged by confusion, one of Struct’s underlings asked, “Would the master like a peel of ginger?”
Under his breath, Struct wondered aloud, “Why would a god be wheezing?”
“Your offering is appreciated but is needless. Hear my message,” Sabine said. “All this deconstruction you’ve done is admirable, but I think you’ve taken the concept about as far as it can go.”
A series of light gasps reverberated through the room, followed by Struct’s baffled, frustrated demand of, “What?!”
Oh, great work, you must have a truly rousing speech prepared.
At this point, Sabine acted just to spite the voice in her head. “Look, so you can pick things apart. Big whoop. A child can take things apart if you give them the right tools. Or the wrong tools for that matter.”
Struct stared at the ceiling with his jaw slack as his followers exchanged hushed words among themselves.
“So, listen up. God says stop trying to take everything apart. Use that know-how you picked up along the way and start putting things back together. Just, you know, better than they were before. What else were you even doing it for otherwise?”
A few more mumbles passed between the congregation before one young soul spoke up to say, “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”
“He’s right, why else would we have been taking things apart in the first place?”
“Praise the lord, because this was starting to get dull anyway—”
The reasonable conversation among the congregants was cut off by Struct’s shrill, furious cry of, “No!” The deacon raised his hands to the heavens and the scars across his face blazed. “Deceiver—blasphemer—you—you—you just don’t understand our brilliance!”
Sabine called back, “Silence, welp, or I’ll strike you down where you stand.”
At this point, the most inspired, rejuvenated, and easily persuaded of Struct’s followers started to file out of the chapel, determined to do something better with their lives. But others remained to watch as the deacon pointed upwards and continued to argue. “I dare you! Strike me down where I stand, if you are truly my great lord and master.”
“Impudent worm! I… uh… I would… but…” Sabine bit her lip and searched for even a halfway decent response.
Bravo, girl, bravo, the Dahkhal voice said. What are you going to do, pull divine retribution out of your ass?
“But I haven’t yet pulled divine retribution out from my ass.”
Whether it was impatience, annoyance, or some grander third emotion, this proved Struct’s breaking point. With a furious shout of, “Enough!” He took hold of the sphere that held the real Dahkhal and, again, the chamber started to quake. Faint lines of scarlet energy emanated from Struct’s body, flew outward, and latched onto his remaining sycophants. Most of whom, after their round of doomsday day drinking, barely noticed.
“I intended to have a fitting offering ready for my master’s arrival, but it seems I must bring you to an end first. By the power taken from these souls, I will bring you to an end!”
One of the congregants chuckled and shook his head for a moment before the implications hit him. “Wait, what—”
Sabine’s heart sank. “Well, crap.” With her hand tight on the athame, she leapt from the rafters toward the madman. In the same moment, with a chorus of screams, the spirits around the chapels were torn from their bodies and flew toward Struct. As she fell, Sabine swung the athame’s ethereal blade through the electric red sphere that held Dahkhal.
The magical prison yielded to the slash. Her ring fell to the ground with a plink, followed by a deep-voiced, Ow. Damn it, girl, you couldn’t have caught me?
Sabine’s overdramatic drop threatened to crack her legs and make her scream in pain, but the tears in her eyes came for a different reason. She grabbed the jewelry off the floor and slipped it back on her ring finger. With as much honesty as she could muster, she said, “Sorry about that.”
Before the two could celebrate their reunion, Deacon Struct let out a great, reverberating shout. The power he absorbed from his congregants melded with the cursed scar on his face. Struct dropped first to his knees with his hands tight on his head, then a horrific new form burst out from under his flesh. The creature that rose stood twelve feet tall, its body covered in layers of matted fur the same blazing color as the scars across Struct’s face, the marks themselves still ran down his twisted human head. Out from his hands came three claws long and sharp as scimitars, and from his maw came a throaty, threatening snarl.
“I still don’t know who you’re supposed to be—I still don’t know where you came from. But by the time I’m done taking you apart, child, the gods themselves won’t be able to put you back together!”
It doesn’t even matter what you do now, the Dahkhal voice said. You came here to die.
What the—Sabine, who is this pessimistic joker taking up your headspace?
“Nevermind that, I’ll figure how we get rid of him when this is over.” She gripped the athame tight with both hands as she looked into the demonic Struct’s milk-white eyes and felt his snarling breath. “First things first, let’s shut this guy up for good.”
To be Continued…