Apologies to all for my absence. Long story short, a lot of things happened within the past year that I'm still trying to deal with. Between moving for over 3 and a half months and still unpacking, having to buy a new laptop and then getting sick.

   At first, I hadn't felt anything. No sound or movement could be heard. It was still...utterly still. Like the calm before a storm waiting patiently for the right time to strike its ugly rage. Even my breath seemed to succumb to death on its exhale.

   Then all too sudden came the fire.

   Burning through my core, muscles strained to remain tightened; a reflex action that still had me slouching to my knees from the scorch of each blow.

   Too quick to process, a whisper of soft movements brought forth the first one unexpectedly.

   Charging towards me in twos from all angles, resembling a rebellion, eyes of malice glittered flagrantly with a raw bite of desire. Instinct told me to run, but my fear had me bracing for impact.

   No sooner had I thought that, did such a huge, powerful and overwhelming force collide into me. Pain like I'd never felt before exploded between my torso, half submerging me in spirits. My lungs wept for air, even as a combination of warmth and frigid cold engulfed me; seeping through my pores whilst rushing down my throat. Tremors assailed my stomach. Sharp and stabbing. Twisting and bending; threatening to spew whatever contents remained from the acidity of the spirits.

   The air felt clogged. Tainted. And I barely had time to recover from the searing heat lancing its way down my back and thighs when broad, strapping hands grabbed my upper arms and shoulders from either side. Much the same as someone being drawn and quartered, my limbs felt ready to be departed from my body.

   Then came the prickles; tiny needles piercing through my scalp in a stinging ripple of sensation. As a result, my head was roughly yanked back, baring my throat to all. 

   Hard, bony enamel-structures grounded relentlessly in a tightening jaw. Biting and bruising. Crushing yet—violently soothing. I clenched harder. Harder than was within bounds when a tongue—craggy in texture, slid its slimy way across my neck in a slurp, leaving behind a slick dribble of saliva. Naturally, I'd wanted to gut him. Visions of splitting him from pelvis to throat, before removing his tongue gleamed in-between the silent rage. But I held firm, indulging his nasty ministrations.

   There's a rustling of sound from behind and without warning—a hand—quicker than my mind could comprehend, snaked its way round front, colliding with my face in a deafening blow. A burst of shiny, little, brightly coloured stars obscured my vision. Twinkling behind half-lidded eyes. The room spun, and my body titled. Had it not been for the hands supporting me, I would've found myself flat out in the spirit laden floor again.

   Unable to stifle the tears, tremors coursed through me. Icing my veins as fingers none-too discreet began fondling my breasts.

   "Stop!" I cried. "Please, for Goddess sake, just stop!" Falling on deadened ears, my protests were to no avail. Wherever there was an opening, a finger would slip further and further; invading my hollowed depths. I could scarcely tell when one finger left before another was added...before it became too many.

   Trapped. There was no way out. I was at their mercy. The walls within my mind were receding. Already I was throwing the towel in; resigning myself to a fate inevitable. What difference would it have made? I was helpless and outnumbered. Even a man without sight could see that fighting was hopeless. And that's what they wanted... A fight. They wanted what they wanted, by any means necessary. And force—was the method chosen.

   "Honestly, Shelia," the unpleasant tickle of someone's breath alongside my neck had me tensing. Tallon's hand wound round my hair, jerking from left to right. "I expected mores from you's. You's seemed likes the types to gives us a likkle fight. Bet all me coal on yuh, even. But," wrenching my head back, "I'm deeply displeased here." The upturn twitch of his lips betrayed his mocking humour. 

   Releasing my hair with a huff, he stood. "Now, there," he said, gently palming my shoulders. "You're goin' to partake in our likkle sport with as much enthusiasm as a babe with its wooden toy rattle. You'll crawl, and scream...gives us a likkle shakes and throws us a punch or twos—oh dear..." Tallon froze. "Perhaps, I was a wee bit too quick with my equation," he said, his gaze flickering to the other matches.

   Confronted with the realization of his meaning, my pulse quickened. Squirming beneath his touch, I'd been reduced to a shuddering clump. Strong hands then dragged me swiftly to my feet. Be it from the suddenness of the movement or—chill the spirits evoked, my legs were rigid. So rigid they were that it was beyond me as to how I'd remained standing.

   The thought drifted as quickly as it came when I found myself shoved back into the waiting arms of another filthy Lycan Wolfskin.

   Hands were mauling...

   Fingers were back to fondling...

   I was spinning...

   The world was spinning...

   Blurry their faces became, as they kept shifting me around from one Lycan Wolfskin to another. Like that of a Carousel which refuses to stop, neither slow down.

   A bevvy of Lycan Wolfskins.

   Before long, I was back to being knee and elbow deep in spirits. Desperately, I searched for the Wolfskin. Standing at the forefront, his eyes sheared directly into mine. Face—a mask of idle indifference. Subconsciously, my body became a mind of its own, as I began crawling towards him; an unfamiliar tightness pulling against my chest.

   With exaggerated slowness, his right brow rose high. 

   Uncertain, I moistened my lips. "Help me," I pleaded, left hand outstretched, "Please."

   Just then, a noisy spurt of laughter filtered through my senses, shattering the smidgen of hope I'd gained. Tallon dropped into a crouch; the remnants of a chuckle pulling at his lips.

   Eyes brimming with delight, he smiled. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Beggin' is beneath you's, Sheila," he half complained. Reaching for the whistle strewn around his neck, he added, "Must I apply force?"

   Perhaps, the last cords to my sanity had wholly dissipated. A feeling of aversion bubbled on my taste buds. For reasons beyond me, a laugh ascended; halting all other tongues. Nonplussed by such an odd reaction, Tallon stilled.

   "Fascinating, isn't it?" I said, in-between a dry snigger. "Your vocabulary ceases to amaze me. Indeed, it's—"

   Slap!

   Loud as a clap, Tallon's palm cracked across my right cheek, black dots blanketing my vision. Head reeling sideways, my teeth chattered, and soon enough—I tasted blood.

   The bastard had split my lip. The gall of him! Now, he was adding insult to injury. Were I a man, more than likely his palm would've been a closed fist.

   There was a hammering pain in my neck, accompanied by a ringing in my ear. Spitting the iron-like substance from my mouth, I felt off-balanced and nauseated. My face had grown exceedingly warm. Then all at once, I was being lifted. The floor disappeared at the same time my body was suspended into the air.

   With all my might, I kicked, frantically...

   Screamed, wildly...

   Clawed, savagely at skin till my fingernails began to throb...

   And all the while came that low continuous noise. A gurgle in the background. Hissing and popping. Steaming as it boiled beneath a crevice of skin.

   Suddenly, Tallon's rough-hewn face drew near. He must have seen through my thoughts, as awareness struck his features. "Now, lovvie, we wouldn't ever thinks to drop you's like that. You'll go splatta', splatta'." His head gave a jerk and the next thing I knew, the hands that held firm, released me with an overhead toss.

   "But we would make you go, 'oomph'."

   "Oomph!"

   My back contacted with the cobblestone wall.

   A stifling grip of a constrictor, every wisp of air felt as though it flew from my lungs and into my throat. My breaths grew tighter, and the liquid lapping at my skin stung open wounds. All around me cheers had erupted. From the corner of my eye, I could see Gage and Beecher grinning wolfishly, both presenting me with a row of yellow stained teeth. My knuckles were raw and torn, smarting from where they had hit the floor.

   Like a rat, helplessly...Pitifully... I scurried across the floor, climbing the few stone steps to where the throne of the Wolfskin sat.

   "Look, lads, she thinks she can hides from us," came the smug voice of a Command Warrior.

   Voice laden with as much aggression as I could muster, I barked, "Fuck, all of you!"

   There was a titter of laughter before it ascended into a full-blown guffaw.

   "Oh, we wills."

   "Indeed," said another. "And soon too."

   I wanted to banish them all to Hell. Never have I ever felt so thoroughly enraged that—it knifed into me. Hard. Fast. If hatred had a mind of its own, they would all be dead by now. Their carcasses already decayed and bones rotting for me to spit upon.

   My hands clasped tightly into white-knuckled balls. Time seemed to have stood still as they kept with their jokes of ribald humour. I contemplated my next course of action. Shoulders slumped, eyes cast down, 'if Grand-Mère were to see me now, no number of calming herbs could withhold her scorn,' I thought, sullenly.

   Then, as if dangling before my weary eyes, a light switched on.

   Grand-Mère...

   Herbs...

   Herbal pouch...

   Fumbling with the worn, leather strips, hurriedly—I tore my left boot off. With ease, the pouch slid into my hand. The closely woven fabric of silk and cotton was slightly damp from the spirits having been admitted into my boot. I could smell the unmistakable scent of Amaranth, Sticklewort, Sweet Weed and Hyssop mingled with some Rosemary.

   Untying the strings, I tossed the contents onto my awaiting palm. Every fibre of my being went on pause as my thoughts became muddled. Like elements unknown, I was able to discern what they'd felt like. Likewise, what they'd smelt like, but as to what they may look like...moreover— what to do with them...was beyond my expertise.

   "Herbs...are of pure innocence, Jaxsa," Grand-Mère once said, her tone at the time, jarring. "They bear a heartbeat and ought not to be trifled with UNLESS bound by a strong compulsion. Treat them with respect, and they too shall respect the beholder. Nevertheless," she'd enforced," if used incorrectly, they can be more fatal than favourable. Remember, depending on the beholder's mindset, the herbs too can conform.

   Uncertainty began to unravel, mounting in different waves of agony. The herbs now felt like a burden. And I was stuck. Stuck between the planes of physical existence and wishful thinking. At the same time, a wrenching pain ripped my side. The pain altered, breaking off into fragments to unfurl into other parts of my body. Repeatedly, it would link itself back together in that one spot, before breaking off into fragments once more. A scorching heat then emitted from the herbs. Initially, my first reaction was to toss it, however, something was preventing me from doing so. Almost as though the herbs were cemented to my hand, that's when I realized...The noises in the background had faded.

   Eyes fixed on the herbs, a slight glow seemed to flare to life. In a hypnotic slowness, around and around the glowing herbs curled before embedding like veins into my hand, only to quickly disappear. Blinking rapidly, I pondered whether it was a figment of my imagination. The herbs were now loose, and they'd stopped burning.

   'Do not succumb to the dark, Jaxsa,' said a voice wailin in my head. With that voice then came the gurgle from before.

   'Succumb, Jaxsa. This is what you were born for,'  followed another voice, this one more menacing. The gurgle was now accompanied by the murmur.

   Once more, the hissing and popping returned. Within moments, I'm able to discern from where exactly the sounds were resonating.

   Me.

   They were resonating from me. Deep and full. And neither had I wanted it to stop. I wanted more. So much more. As a result, I did the only thing that felt natural. I ingested the herbs. 

                                                                                             *

   There was a knock. But then, that knock turned into a whine. Something was calling for my attention that I knew nought on how to answer. Slithering in coils beneath my skin, a latch had been unlocked.

   Unlocked—it began pulsing within a pulse...

   Pulsing—my heart wouldn't stop pounding...

   Pounding like drums in my ears, I scratched furiously at my chest...

   Chest—the tides shifted when the knock came...

   Came—it started rocking...

   Rocking me back and forth...

   Forth—allowing me to see the here and now.

   Thump-thump...

   Thump-thump...

   Thump-thump...

   Thump-thump...

   Before I knew it, everything slowed down, taking on an unearthly form. Heat began to spread throughout my suddenly weightless body, sizzling along my nerve endings. Letting my eyes fall shut, I gave myself over to the feeling beyond the veil.

   'Come to us, Jaxsa.'

   'Embrace us.'

   No longer did I lay hidden behind the Wolfskin's throne. At least— that's how it appeared. Though, I was unsure as to what exactly I was, since I now stood before my prone body. An apparition of some sorts, perhaps? Nevertheless, I wasn't dead. This—I was certain of. Still, death couldn't have been that far behind.

   Lifeless eyes stared at nothing from a colourless and drawn face. Much the same as a battered wife, from what was visible of my body, I was scattered in bruises. A red hue stained my now swollen right cheek. Small clumps of blood lay crusted at the corner of my lips. And glistening on my inner thigh with tiny shards of glass protruding, resided a gash. My breaths were laboured. My clothes tattered, and I was sweating profusely. 

   An explosion of raw fury erupted from within. Coupled with shame, the self-loathing was just barely unbearable. For a second time, the voices came. Pushing me to accept them. Pushing me to trust in them. And pushing me to allow them their guidance. It wanted to feel as though my rage was what mattered more to them than me at all. Whatever was happening, I was at a loss for words. Nothing made sense anymore.

   Casting a glance around the tombs, smoke had billowed out, encompassing the atmosphere in a heady odour. I knew right away that it was the herbs. Despite that, there was something unsettling about the smell. This wasn't right. Neither was it natural. It had made the stench of rotten eggs and rubbish having festered in the streets to be more appealing. It clung to everything. Yet—for all its ghastly combinations, unknowingly— my body had welcomed it.

   Furthermore, I could see the dark silhouettes of Lycan Wolfskins hidden in-between. Although their forms were slightly distorted, I could tell that they were facing me. Tiny hairs rose on the back of my neck as the first thought to retreat herded to mind. However, upon closer inspection, nothing on their faces registered that they were able to see me.

   'You're not meant to wield Third Eye, Jaxsa! Go back! Go back, now!' The voice was unexpected. Low yet cutting. Silky but not wanting for strength, as it was laced with a trace of roughness. The Old woman Grand-Mère. Somewhere... somehow...she'd managed to infiltrate my senses.

   'Child, if you survive Third Eye, from here on out...You won't ever return as you once were," the old woman implored. Hesitation stilted my movements, stiffening my muscles. For every pause, more time was lost. For every second lost, more and more I shrunk back. And that was how I felt. As though I was on borrowed time. Something needed to have been done...And soon.

   The voices then rose again.

   'What are you waiting for, Jaxsa?!'

   'They are coming!'

   Like a chorus, they yelled as one.

   'Strike them down...

   'Strike!'

   'Strike!'

   'Strike!'

   'Do it, now!"

   Compulsion forced my head up. A kind of sixth sense warning me that I no longer was alone. One minute, I was floating; watching as a form slowly approached. And in the next—not only was I back in my body, but I now stood hovered over the form of whom I was able to distinguish as Beecher. My teeth bared, saliva trickling down my chin, and fingers curled to do as ordered...Strike.

   The mantle had shifted. No longer was the sport theirs alone for the taking. Even though I wasn't solely sure whether I'd had full control over my mind and body, confidence like no other surged through me. A summons not of this world was called and answered. In our truest forms, we were beast versus beast.

   The voices clashed into a blur of sounds. 'Striiiikeee hiiim.'

   Arms raised, my fingers clutched tightly into the leather of the vest that Beecher wore. The collar, along with the chains from when he first crawled into the outer cavity was no longer wrapped around his neck. Startled, Beecher stared at me. His mouth refusing to remain shut.

   "What the fu—" I didn't let him finish.

   With a mighty throw, Beecher flew across the outer cavity. My feet were already planted firmly onto the floor, seconds before his head and body found its way next to them. Somewhere, I registered a stunning perplexity of slackened jaws and rounded, bulging eyes on the faces of Lycan Wolfskins. By the time he was upright, I was behind him. 

   He turned, swinging his left hand in the process. But I was faster. Quick as a slug, I had him pinned to the wall. Enraged, Beecher howled as though in mourning. Frantically, he swiped, clawed hands darting around. Left to right. Up and down. Easily, I evaded. Then suddenly, his beady blue eyes narrowed in determination. Tilting his head back, Beecher managed to slam it into mine.

   I staggered, briefly distracted by the swarm of lights that filtered on. The distraction was answered like a prayer with a charge from a fist flailing Beecher. However, I was ready. Dodging to the side in one fluid motion, I levelled him with a ruthless kick to the abdomen. The kick caught Beecher off guard, doubling him over with a knee to the floor.

   Not wanting to allow him the chance to recover, I followed that kick with a swift upper-cut to his jaw. His body flung back, arms and legs akimbo to land with a wet plash. My victory, however, was short-lived as a figure dashed towards me from my right.

   Gage.

   He twisted to my left with a shuffle, right before stutter faking right, providing him with the diversion he required to drive his fist into my side. An agonizing burn sprouted from my rib cage to flare into my throat. My leg buckled under my weight as the pain increased.

   'They wish to hurt us, Jaxsa.'

   The channel of voices had switched back on.

   'They want for us to submit...To concede.'

   'Never!'

   'We must show them who we are!'

   'Such things shouldn't even be allowed to breathe.'

   'Annihilate them.'

   'KILL. THEM. ALL!'

   Righting myself, I pivoted around. Compulsion for a second time spoke as my arms outstretched on their own, elbows slightly bent at an angle. More or less the same as the number four signs, my palms were flat and upright, thumbs folded in, whilst my index fingers touched. Something akin to a zing swam from the tips of my fingers and through my arms to flow out my mouth in a command.

   "Stay"

   For the life of me, I knew nought what I was doing, but by the Goddess did it feel right. Almost as though I was meant for such power, it came to me instinctively.

   In the process of advancing towards me, the three (3) Lycan Wolfskins upon my command had frozen. Be it from the shock of it all, but only their eyes moved; blinking rapidly as they were stuck in motion.

   "How's this possible, St. Benedict?!" Beecher snarled. "You's made no mentions of the bitch bearin' strength from the livin' world." The Wolfskin remained mum, save for the slight furrowing of his eyebrows that gave way to him having heard Beecher. Though, he looked no different from a man lost in thought.

   Angling my body towards Beecher, I went to relay the command again. Yet— a feeling of awareness crawled up my neck that something much more than I could ever be appeared in this moment. I paused. Someone was tugging me in several directions. Like being without weight and heavy, all at once.

   "Even when hope seems lost for us all, Jaxsa, I will NEVER leave your side." She was wrapped in an intense brightness of light. Years of great intelligence showed on her face as she stood looking serious and unrelenting.

   'She's trying to trick us, Jaxsa!'

   'Like them, she too is against us.'

   'We must strike her down with them as well.'

   My hands darted forward, however so did hers. A darkness swarmed over me, as I saw myself through the eyes of the Old-woman. Brightly coloured stripes flowed effortlessly in layers of madras on skin like worn leather. Sitting atop my head was a large straw hat filled with rotten fruits and maggots. Though the most surprising, were that of my eyes: rings of spinning fire.

   I was gliding about on my neatly hidden cloven-hoof and pointed tip shoe. Beauty, however— did not behold my outer appearance. This look was unlike any form of a Lia Blesses' that I'd seen. I wasn't looking right. Nor was I smelling right. This—was another sort of manifestation. Something...that should never be born.

   "No," I whispered forlornly, anxiety building as I struggled to hold my stomach down.

   "Jaxsa?" I refused to acknowledge her. Looming before my very eyes, the realization of my actions tittered on the fringe of my mental faculties. "Jaxsa, please," the Old-woman urged. "Focus only on my voice."

   In the past, I once made an oath to never succumb to any such things, but the voices, Grand-Mère —along with that vision of me was beginning to become too much. Cupping my head between my hands, a scream ripped from my throat; raw, hot shame coating my lungs. I went to scream again, only to find that I couldn't. Wrinkled in look they were however firm on my chest the hands laid.

   Her mouth was moving. Though, I could hear no words. A chill had risen. However, I shook no longer. Her hands had moved from my chest. Yet, I still felt their imprint.

   With her thumbs pointing towards her chest, Grand-Mère had brought her hands together in the front of her heart. Like a flower, her index, middle and ring fingers were spread wide as her palms and thumbs touched.

   Of course, I tried to move, but like the three (3) Lycan Wolfskins, it became apparent that I too as well as the others were frozen. Then, I watched as the lights in the outer cavity flickered, changing colours from ripe lemon to honey yellow, before settling into a deep cognac. Threads of silver levitated about her slender face whilst the sweet smell of decaying plant leaves replaced my scent. A hint of a different kind of energy surged through my veins, causing me to gasp internally at the intensity of the touch that ignited my blood. A much needed cleansing as my insides cramped and pores appeared as though they were widening. The magic was coming from her: The Old-woman. An innate ability that only so few was bestowed.

   All at once, my skin became blotched from a wet substance. The air grew miserably hot and an uncontrollable quiver fluttered deep down into my belly. Just as the voices began to slowly subside, the lights crackled and spat sparks.

   It happened without warning. One moment, I stood— immersed in the dazzling streaks zig-zagging across the walls and in the next—all except the Wolfskin lay face first in the spirit laden floor. Grand-Mère's form had disappeared likewise that of the voices. Even before they'd gotten to their feet, I knew from the looks on their faces that they knew that I no longer posed a threat.

   "BLEED THE BITCH."

And that's the end of Part 1 all. I wonder if any of you caught on to something that will come to pass???