The Lost Times - Prolgue

The Lost Times
Prologue

Unbearable, excruciating pain. Every step sent waves of punishment though her body. Primal fear overrode every other thought. There was no pain. There was only need, desperation, and fear. The only thing that mattered was getting away. She had to get away. More than her life rested on her escaping the grip of the corrupted Dark Lord. The survival of her race was resting on her freshly beaten shoulders.
Fear lent strength to her weakened body. Years of being in captivity, and uncountable hours of torture had destroyed most of the muscle she had once had. Her breathing was reduced to gasps, which were almost as agonizing as running. The freezing air tore into her lungs and throat. Her body was too used to breathing in smoke and the stench of blood. The fresh, crisp air made her head feel extremely light. At times, the horizon swam in her vision, making running even harder. To worsen the situation, icy rain pelted her exposed skin, and soaked the thin garment she had managed to steal.
Lightning lit the sky with white fire, illuminating the field as Damballa ran. Thunder responded to the flash of light with such force, one would think the very earth was splitting apart.
Damballa cringed at the sound, but refused to slow her back-breaking pace. The sudden exertion in the horrible weather was beginning to take its toll. If she stopped now she wouldn’t be able to continue to freedom.
She had to reach freedom. The child she was carrying within her was in danger. More so than she was. If Damballa stayed in the city, her child would die in the hands of the insane Dark Lord. With its death all hope would be lost. Damballa refused to accept that fate. She continued running through the storm, knowing full well the chances of survival in this weather were just as slim.
For ten years she had been carrying the child. Succubi were one of the few immortal races who had an internal clock that differed from most humanoids. Instead of carrying their young for nine months, a pregnancy could last for up to thirteen years, a mere blink of an eye for immortals.
Running into the forest that grew a few miles from the gates of the city, Damballa tripped on an oak root and fell heavily to her knees. Desperately she struggled to get to her feet. The mud and slush splattered onto her face as Damballa slipped in the muck and again, fell heavily on her knees. Crying out in pain and desperation she crawled franticly through the filth to a nearby tree.
The foliage had long since turned, setting the hills aflame with the brilliant hues of its passing. The corpses of leaves littered the ground, coating the land in a revolting black color. The ugly branches reached like gnarled fingers into the screeching night, begging for mercy. The twisted appendages hardly lessened the pounding chill falling from the sky.
Damballa reached out for a limb to pull her self up, but her arms lacked the strength required. She struggled to get to her feet over and over, each time losing more of what little strength she had.
A hideous sucking sound filled the night. Damballa paused for a moment, trying to decipher the sound. Suddenly the ground under her sank away. Damballa screeched as her body started to fall into the giant hole beneath her. She tried to grasp onto anything to keep herself from falling into the darkness. The loose, wet earth gave way under her prying fingers. She cried out again as she fell down into the abyss.

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When Damballa opened her eyes again the chaos had ended. She had no idea how much time had passed. She looked up at the hole she had fallen into. The sky still raged viciously overhead. The Dark Lord must know she was missing now. He would be looking for her.
Groaning, Damballa got to her knees. She looked up at the wall of dark earth. About six feet of loose muck caged her from the outside forest. The wall of dirt seemed to laugh in her face, mocking her faltering hope.
Refusing to give up, Damballa sunk her hands into the loose mud. She was able to stagger to her feet ungracefully. After a moment of heavy breathing, Damballa forced her oddly shaped foot into the wall of earth. The soil held for a moment, giving her the false hope that it would hold her weight. However, as she tried to clime further from the sink hole the mud gave way, depositing her back onto the bottom of her prison. With a shriek of fury Damballa tried scaling the muddy walls again, only to achieve the same result. There was no way to tell how long she struggled. To Damballa it felt like eternity. Finally she lay still, understanding her hopeless situation.
Ages seemed to pass as the rain continued its relentless pounding on the world.
Damballa’s breathing slowed from frantic pants to barely drawing air into her body. Every part of her mind screamed to run; to flee further from the city, to protect her child. But her body lay unresponsive in the wet earth. Her shivering slowed as she lay underneath the tree roots. She didn’t mind the cold as much; it felt strangely warm and safe. The mud was like a welcoming, comforting blanket. The water which managed to form a small waterfall into the sink hole, gently lapped against her skin like a tender caress. The sound of the water falling was like a lullaby, which whispered for Damballa to relax and rest.
I’m going insane, she thought. It must be freezing. It has to be freezing. Why do I feel warm? Understanding washed over her clouded mind with sickening clarity. I’m not going to live. I’m dieing. I can’t yet. I can’t!
Damballa felt a wail rise in her throat at the thought of failure. A gasp escaped her lips instead as the baby kicked against the sides of her womb, displaying its irritation.
Lovingly, Damballa placed her hand on her stomach, soothing her child. If it had been possible, she would have tried escaping on a much more favorable night. But events had not gone according to plan. This night had been the only night she had been able to escape from Him.
She shuddered at the thought of her child’s father. Again her mind screamed to get up, but she couldn’t move. There was nothing left in her body to give. Not even for her child. Not even for hope.
Tears ran unseen and unfelt from her closed eyes at the disappointment she felt for herself. She had failed. Nothing would save her. Nothing cared about her for that matter. Not even the tree which she would die under would care as her body rotted away in the summer seasons.
Those were the thoughts of Damballa as her conscious mind slipped into the empty nothingness of frozen sleep. The child, however, had sensed the hooded figure in the shadows watching its mother with dark, sinister eyes. As Damballa slipped away from life, the shadow moved from the trees to stand before the hole with a twisted smile of triumph on its face.


Find out what happens next.

The Lost Times - Chapter One  (13+) Meet Belial, the misfit succubus. #1101394 by Feles