Chapter 41: Mot of the Dark
NOTE: There will be only one, longer chapter today, but there will be a double chapter tomorrow.
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Looking at Mot was like trying to see a lion in the grass—you knew something was there, but your eyes kept sliding past it.
Mot was made of shadows and fog, only his voice was tangible as anything else in the world. He was one of the most eerie and dangerous characters in the game, and Nial found himself shuddering as he tried to focus on the queasy bubble of darkness that took the rough shape of a man.
He was a Phagus—the King of the Phage as it happened. He called himself the Guardian of the Dark and no one was brave enough to deny it. No one except Dorian, that was.
Nial was suddenly reminded that he needed to ask Dorian to finish the debate on what, exactly, had happened between them. All that was known in the lore was that Dorian had somehow accidentally led Mot into Elysium—sparking the true corruption of the world. And while Mot had reveled in eating life out of the world, he was also afraid of Dorian.
No one knew why.
Phagus were terrifying creatures, feeding not on anything tangible, but on the emotional energies of others.
Phobophagus were fear eaters. Iraphagus ate rage. Lubiphagus devoured lust. And Psychophagus fed on the mind, slowly sucking away sanity. Some called them Soul Eaters.
In theory a Phagus couldn't feed on anyone who didn't offer the right meal. But no one had ever figured out how to stop themselves feeling these emotions which nourished the Phagus.
And who didn't have a mind?
Mot was the most terrifying, because as a Psychophagus, a Soul Eater, it seemed he could feed on anyone, at any time.
Anyone except Dorian.
It was one of the mysteries of the game—Mot despised Dorian, and took every opportunity to thwart him, including blood-swearing to kill anyone who aided Dorian. And yet… he avoided Dorian as if Dorian could kill him with a look.
The rumor was that Mot was afraid of Dorian.
Looking at the shadow creature roiling in front of him, Nial doubted it very much. But he also wasn't going to take the risk of asking. He thought Mot probably wasn't going to see the humor in it.
Salane cursed under her breath and backed away, pulling Nial with her, her eyes darting left and right, looking for an escape route. But the only thing that stopped Mot traveling was bright light, and the twilight of this day was slowly giving way to night.
In an hour Mot would be at full strength.
Shit.
He couldn't let Mot touch him.
Nial didn't understand how these creatures worked, all he knew was that when a Phagus attached to a player, the player was slowly drained of their energy until eventually their body began to weaken, then shrivel. They became ineffective in the game, then they died.
Nial swallowed and sank to a half-crouch, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to dart to either side if Mot tried to touch him.
He never took his eyes off that churning shadow, even though it made him a little nauseous.
Mot turned his face—or the shadowy boil that was supposed to be his face—towards Nial and even though there were no actual features on it, Nial would have sworn he was smiling.
"If it isn't Dorian's little… protégé," he purred.
Nial swallowed. "I'm not—"
"Please, keep lying to me, human. It's so… tasty."
Nial snapped his mouth shut. He'd forgotten about that—apparently lying to Mot made it easier for him to latch onto you. An open door to your mind.
Nial glanced at Salane, but she was half-crouched just like him, her eyes never leaving Mot.
"He's only just arrived, Mot. He hasn't lived yet. There's no point. You'll gain nothing," she said quickly, licking her lips like she was nervous.
"So you say, and so you believe," the Phagus hissed. "But perhaps you are wrong."
"Mot, he can't take you back—"
"Shut your mouth, witch, or I might decide you're my next meal."
Salane went still, her eyes pinched with fear. She shot an apologetic look at Nial as if to say she had tried, but when Mot turned his attention back to Nial, she didn't move.
Nial's heart was racing, thumping against his ribs as Mot appeared to step closer on shadow-legs, even though his feet never actually touched the ground.
Nial backed away, but soon found himself hard up against the wall behind him and Mot's bubbling, roiling darkness leaning in until they were almost nose to… whatever it was that Mot had.
"You do not know your own strength," the Phagus hissed. "Perhaps I'll steal your mind not to gain what you have, but to stop you from becoming what you will become."
Nial's fear was joined by a humming thrill.
Dorian hadn't been lying. He really was going to invent this link between worlds and time.
He swallowed quickly. "If you stop me from… whatever it is you think I'll do, won't that stop you from getting here?"
Mot hesitated, his body of roiling dark going still. Then he tipped his head. "Don't try to be clever."
"Apparently I don't have to try—"
"Nial!" Salane hissed a warning.
"Oh, I see the darkness in you, little one," Mot hissed and Nial could hear the smile in his voice. "I see what you can become, and I will enjoy removing it from you. I will savor eating your mind until your sharp little tongue shrivels in your mouth and—"
"What the hell is that?!" Nial shrieked, pointing past Mot.
It was the oldest trick in the book, but Mot whipped around like a snake and Nial turned, leaping to try and hook his hands over the top of the wall and pull himself up like a swimmer out of a pool.
But just as he got his stomach up and over the top of the wall, just when he thought he might actually make it out to the wide, shadowless expanse on the other side that was still in low sunlight so would slow Mot down, something so cold that it hurt his skin clamped around his ankle.
If he hadn't been wearing those ridiculous leather pants he suspected his skin would have burned from the cold. As it was, the flesh there stung immediately.
Nial grunted and kicked, but that only made his foot sting too, even through the thick boots.
"Nial! Keep fighting!" Salane called. "Get out and run!"
"You are too weak to fight me, you pest," Mot snarled and Nial cursed as the thing relentlessly pulled him back and down.
Nial growled, fighting and kicking, but he was being dragged back inside the wall and he knew the minute his feet hit the ground and he was swallowed by the shadow of it again, Mot was going to make a meal of him.
"NO!" he growled, kicking again. "I won't… go…"
"Not today, Satan," a deep voice seethed.
There was a sudden jerk and Nial almost lost his grip on the wall. He looked back, expecting to find Mot crawling up his leg, shadow-teeth bared.
But instead there was a scream as the shadow-hand that had been clawed around his ankle went up in smoke, literally. A whisp of dark curls slowly dissipating into the air.
And behind it, Mot swept back to earth, whirling, that hand-reappearing at the end of his wrist—though slowly.
But it didn't matter, because he'd completely forgotten Nial.
Instead, the dark creature was turning to face Dorian and his gleaming sword that now flashed as he raised it again, reflecting what little light was left in the day.
Mot hissed like a cat and sank lower, closer to the wall, trying to draw strength from the depth of the shadows available to him.
Dorian, poised for battle, caught Nial's eye—his own gaze ablaze with rage. Rage so pure Nial could feel it, though Dorian showed none of it on his face.
"Get out of here. Now," Dorian snarled. "Run, back to our friend. Don't stop until you're safe. Keep the fucking cloak tight and keep your mouth shut!"
Nial nodded, fully intending to do exactly as Dorian said. But as he pulled himself up onto the wall and sat up to swing his legs over, he was bathed in the evening light and the pain on his ankle stopped. He hesitated and his eyes went wide as below him, Dorian sank into a defensive stance, his sword high near his shoulder, but leveled right at Mot.
Mot had forgotten Nial entirely, his full attention now on Dorian as he hissed again. "My strength grows, Dorian. Do not underestimate me."
Dorian smiled wickedly. "Oh, I never would… you steaming pile of shit."
Mot shrieked so that Nial's head rang with the piercing scream, but his shadow seamlessly sucked into the shape of a hulking, four-legged creature that scraped the dirt with its claws, then launched straight for Dorian's throat.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone