Page 114 of Remnants: Disruption
“Oh,” I nod. “I honestly forgot about him.”
And I had. Sort of. I hadn’t forgotten what he’d said. Nor the horrific video that preceded it.
But I had forgotten that Loki might be out to get me. What with spending so much time with Marla and Trish, I’d filtered the small, egotistical man out of my mind.
“How on—” Azazel trails off, sounding genuinely exasperated. “You can manifest shadows as solid objects, yes?”
“And call forth the damned to use as physical objects, teleport with shadows, and a myriad of other things I’ve yet to discover.”
Azazel stares at me with what I imagine is annoyance.
“Make a suit with your shadows. Hide yourself in something that will evoke fear in your enemies.”
For all of their oddly violent rhetoric, I know Azazel is the real deal. They’re a legendary figure who has to be nearly fortynow. If they even age at all, that is. But they do, legitimately, mean for me to terrify my enemies. And, when it comes to a confrontation with Darkrend, I suspect it would be helpful to have psychological warfare on our side.
“Fine,” I say, nodding. “Yeah I can do that.”
“You sound as if you are trying to build your own confidence.”
“Because I’ve only ever used these things for weapons. I’d rather not gut myself, even if I’ve managed to wrangle the spirits. It still hurts.”
Which is a blessing because those assholes had been the ones making a mockery of my healing factor. After the last few days spent messing with the shadows and spirits they’ve finally go of the reins.
Instinctively, shadows curl around me. Ideally, I could just coat myself in void, but then it would just look like a silhouette of a six-foot five woman. And that’s only scary to the misogynists.
Instead, I think about the name. My name. My new name. Hiraeth.
Guilt, sorrow, and all the other emotions I’d stuffed into a box begin to surface. All the things that I’d kept putting off. Kept dismissing. Even with Marla and Trish, we really hadn’t talked about it.
“Good,” Azazel’s voice comes from somewhere beside me. “That is genuinely off-putting. Combine it with everything else and I suspect we may make a legend of you yet.”
I hear my own laugh, but it sounds distorted and demented.
“That is also quite something,” Azazel says and I see them cross into my line of sight. “Do you know what you look like?”
“Longing,” I say, and Azazel nods.
Longing is amorphous. It’s indefinable. When it’s combined with grief and guilt, it becomes downright horrid.
It becomes the embodiment of pain.
Azazel waves their hand and a reflective surface appears.
And, yeah, it definitely looks worse outside my mind.
The wraith-like creature that stares back at me is horrifying. The cloak that I manifested is tattered and flows to its own breeze. My skeletal arms would be common on a decomposing body with flaps of dark, necrotic skin still attached. My head, though, is reminiscent of Mary’s—a hood with a void where my face would be.
“I should note,” I say, hearing the strange timbre of my voice, “that I can no longer feel my body the way I did before.”
Azazel seems to consider this for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter.
“Did you just—” I start, but they cut me off.
“You became darkness. Incredible.” Even with the show of emotion, they still sound bored.
“Is that a thing?” I ask, and Azazel literally shrugs.
“Some can, but not like this. Not the way you do.”
