"Athar!" Irun called out, his voice resounding down the violet halls. He went from hall to hall, room to room but was met with nothing but silence and a set of watchful eyes he couldn't see.
Damn it, I haven't seen him in almost a week. What the hell happened? Did that thing take over him again? What the hell do I do if it has? It's not like the Masked One is around to help me right now, and Karak has been gone for well over three months now doing only gods know what, he thought, checking behind the crack in a doorway he found along one of the halls.
Unfortunately, Athar wasn't in that room, either.
Irun sighed and slammed the base of his fist into the nearby wall. "Damn you, Athar. Come out already," he muttered. "He's not here at the moment," a both familiar and unfamiliar voice said from above him. "A-Athar?" Irun asked, looking directly above him only to find a shape he thought he recognized, but seemed… contorted.
Without warning, the figure dropped to the ground, leaving a small crater with cracks in the floor of the hallway and forcing Irun to take two steps backward. "What the hell? Where the fuck have you been? It's been days since the last time I saw you," Irun said, his frustration evident in his voice.
Athar, or whatever was inside of him, that is, held a twisted, menacing smile that didn't reach his eyes. His hair was matted and greasy, and there was no small amount of grime on his hands and face. His tunic, once black and decently maintained, now had holes and slashes in it, almost like it had been dragged through the dirt.
"Like I said, he's not here at the moment. At least not mentally, anyway," the contorted version of Athar said in a hungry, raspy voice. It was evident that whatever or whoever was in control of Athar's body had a clear lack of basic hygiene skills, as bodily odor began to fill the air around the pair. "Then where the hell is he? What did you do to my friend?" Irun asked, furrowing his brows in both anger and disgust for the smell. "Oh? Is that anger I hear in your voice, child?" the figure asked.
"What if it is? What the hell do you want with him, anyway?" Irun asked, his tone remaining flat and even. The figure tilted Athar's head to the side. "It would seem you have grown attached to this friend of yours, but we both know how you end up treating your friends, don't we, Irun Mothac," the figure said, his voice seething with venom.
Irun clicked his tongue and looked away. "Just tell me what the hell you're doing to him. Is this going to be a permanent thing, or are you just waiting to see if a better host comes around?" he asked, turning his eyes back towards the figure.
"Hmmm, I haven't decided yet. I rather like this body. It suits me well. Better than I would have thought, if I'm being honest. However, it is… incomplete," the figure said, putting a grimy finger to its chin pensively.
"Incomplete? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Irun asked, taking a single step forward. The figure merely raised an eyebrow as it glared down at the prostrated leg. "Regardless, you are both about to be summoned to your master," the figure said, blatantly ignoring the question.
"How could you possibly know that?" Irun asked, almost under his breath. "Nevermind. I don't care. Answer my question about Athar, daemon," Irun said forcefully. "You're in absolutely no position to make any demands of me, nor am I forced to answer anything you want to ask me, though you will learn your place soon enough," the figure said, impatience weighing heavily in his tone of voice as it stepped back. "W-wait," Irun said, nearly outstretching his arm to grab him, but it was too late.
Shit, it's gone again, Irun thought.
"Wh-what the hell happened? How long was I out for this time?" Athar asked, his voice shaky, rubbing his throat as if a rope had been around it. "Gods above, when was the last time I bathed?" he asked, sniffing his own armpit and scowling in disgust. "It's been nearly a week since I last saw you, and even then, you were acting… strange. They're also getting more and more frequent," he said, not shying away from the concern in his voice. "I know, but it's not like I can really control that," Athar replied, rubbing his nape and looking away.
"How do you feel, now?" Irun asked. "Like I've just had my skull angrily fucked by an ochelon," Athar answered, rubbing his temples. "Still, it's better than the alternate, or whatever the fuck Karak had called it, taking over forever," he continued, sighing heavily.
"What does it feel like when it happens?" Irun asked, his concern was evident in his tone of voice. "It's hard to explain. I can kind of see what's happening on the outside, though my vision is like trying to see through a murky lake. My body, on the other hand, feels numb; almost like I'm some grotesque marionette being tugged around on a whim," he said, stumbling over his words in an attempt to explain the otherworldly feeling. "I see," Irun said for lack of a better response, nodding his head in understanding.
"In any case, I'm glad you're back. You, rather, your alternate said that we would be summoned soon, so we should probably start making our way back upstairs. You do smell like shit, after all," Irun said, nudging his friend with his elbow. "Not entirely my fault, is it?" Athar retorted with a scoff, nudging him back.
After a long, and much needed bath, Athar looked at himself in the mirror that was coated in a fresh sheet of steam. The bathing room he was in was large enough to be considered fit for a royal family, though it had been at least a few hundred years since any such prestige had touched that corner of the citadel. There were plenty of cracks in the floor tiles, as well as a few scattered across the walls and the bathing area. The faded paintings on the walls and cobweb-riddled candelabras added to the unattended feeling present.
Couldn't quite get those knots out, this time, huh? He thought, grabbing a clump of knotted hair.
His eyes darkened as he drew tendrils of dark mana from the underworld. They moved quickly and deliberately towards his outstretched hand as he condensed his mana in the real. Watching it carefully, he molded the dark, swirling globe of mana into a pair of shears and pulled his hair taut with his free hand.
Snip.