Trapped

Malrik knew he was back in his prison. He tried to move his arms. Nothing. 

Anger simmered deep inside him with nowhere to go. Most concerning of all was perhaps the reason why he had found himself trapped once more. 

After Perry started babbling about snow and names, reaching one hand up to touch whatever the dreamroot conjured up in his mind, Malrik knew he would not be able to walk to that supply cabin on his own. 

So he had made sure the bleeding had lessened and carried Perry through the forest. Truly, he had not been subject to the indignity of having to carry a half-dead human for quite some time now. Even if, as humans went, Perry was not so bad. In all honesty, he was not bad at all. 

Except when he refused to listen to clear instructions obviously meant to keep him safe. Stubborn creature. Full of opinions and questions and nicknames. When he got back, Malrik would…

He stopped the thought in its track. If he got back, not when. Because he had felt Perry's aura dissipating. And humans, as a general rule, did not lose their auras unless they died.

Something Malrik had not felt in eons stirred deep inside him. Something very similar to fear. 

Perry could not be dead. That simply was not an option. Because if he were dead, that meant Malrik would never see him again. Because he would be trapped wherever this place was, not because Malrik wanted to actually see Perry again. So he could not be dead. Malrik would not allow it. 

That strange feeling that could not be fear - because Malrik was a Demon King and he did not feel useless stirrings such as fear - grew. 

Perry's anger had been potent. His beautiful aura more than enough to sustain Malrik's Shadow Form. But now… now…

Malrik did not panic, he felt rage. It started as a small tingle on the tip of his fingers and he concentrated as hard as he could on it. He directed whatever residual energy he had fom Perry's aura to his hands. If he could just break part of his prison, a small sliver, that could be enough. 

Energy crackled between his fingers and when he managed to get every last sliver of it, he inhaled deeply and pushed it out. Behind his sealed eyelids, he saw a brigh red flash and a deep rumble shook the world around him. Something let out a low screech and cracked. 

Elation filled Malrik. He curled his fingers into fists. He would be free of this prison and he would get back to Perry. Then he would march back into his kingdom and take his revenge on those who had betrayed him. 

But when he tried to open his eyes, he found they were still sealed. When he tried to move his arms, he found all he could do was close and open his fingers. Frustration made him want to roar, to strike at the world. 

But Malrik was still trapped. And Perry was… Perry was… 

No, Malrik refused to believe he would perish like that. Perry was strong. Maybe a little insecure and sometimes he talked too much, but he was strong. He was still alive, Malrik was sure of it. All he had to do was wait for Perry's anger to summon him. 

Be patient. All he had to do was wait and be patient. 

Malrik's mind wandered down strange avenues as he lay in the dark with just his thoughts to keep him company. Up until that moment, he had not realized how used he was to Perry's questions and never-ending stream of words. 

Even when the dreamroot took hold of his mind, he seemed unable to stop talking. About snow, about ash, and about names. 

Malrik had not seen snow, the true snow of his northern homeland, in a long time. He had left it behind even before he had spent five hundred summers locked in this prison. And the last time he had seen snow, the world had been burning and he-

Footsteps. Low hisses. 

"I heard it, I swear. A big cracking." A reedy voice, unpleasant and unknown. "Think he's out?"

"If he was out we would all be dead." The second voice was deeper, but no less unpleasant. 

"He wouldna kill us," the first voice argued.

"You think he'd spare us?" The second voice let out a loud cackle. 

"No. But he'd torture us first. Slow and nasty."

A long silence followed those words. Malrik catalogued every sound, every breath, every shuffle of feet and words that echoed off the walls. Stone. That was what that cracking sound had been, stone breaking. And there were few stone places that could hold a demon king. 

Most were deep under mountains, but there was one… 

No, Malrik discarded the idea immediately. Even those backstabbing sycophants were not bold enought to lock him down there. Demons followed rules, and that place had been locked for a reason.

"Look, see? The mountain is still good. No trouble here." The second voice sounded closer. Something metallic banged against rock and Malrik felt it ripple up his body. 

"That's what I heard," the one with the reedy voice said. 

There was another silence and Malrik cursed all the gods in their golden palaces that he could not simply open his eyes and see where he was. 

"Think we should open and check?" The second voice asked. 

"No! If he's awake, very, very bad for us. Let's leave."

Well, they at least seemed to have some good sense. Even if Malrik wished they would open up whatever he was being kept in. A tomb, most likely. His betrayers lacked the necessary imagination to come up with something more creative. 

And that limited the number of arrays that could be set in stone and keep a King of Hell trapped for five hundred summers. 

"Should we tell the mistress?" The second voice asked.

"No, no! She'll kill us dead. No. I say leave it. The mountain will keep him nice and snug," the first voice answered. 

"If he gets out, we'll die," the second voice argued. Malrik supposed he could be the brighter of the two. 

"We could die. But if we tell the mistress, we will die. Best to leave, best to leave." More shuffling footsteps. "Let the mountain keep him safe and warm."

Malrik held in his exhale, not wanting the two creatures to realize he was awake and aware. The scavenger he had killed in the King's Forest had also mentioned a mistress. Could they be the same? And it had seemed surprised that Malrik was there, meaning the true target had been Perry. But why? What could a denison of hell want with a human prince? 

Or perhaps, Perry had not been the intended target. Perhaps it had been the original prince, the one he was pretending to be. 

As Malrik mulled over his thoughts, he heard the creatures slowly retreating, bickering amongst themselves about something irrelevant. As thoughts circled his mind, Malrik came to a difficult conclusion.

If Perry truly was gone, he would have to find a way out if this prison himself. Not impossible, but it would take time. A long time. And he had used all the power he had accumulated by being in proximity to Perry's aura. 

Cursing himself, Malrik pulled his mind away from thoughts of Perry. He could no longer rely on the human, he had to rely only on himself. Perhaps he could try and send a message to Emir, he always had one of his pets scurrying about. Surely, there would be one close by. 

Malrik forced his mind to relax and his thoughts to drift. His fickle brother might not even answer him, or come to his aid, for that matter. But Malrik would try. 

He would not spend another five hundred summers trapped inside a tomb. He refused to.