TYLER WODEN | FICTION | RIFTWALKERS #3 | FRACTURED REALMS: PART 5 | RAINBOW SALAD

Riftwalkers #3

Fractured Realms: Part Five

Contents (For Your Clicking Convenience)

Riftwalkers #1 — Prologue & Part One: The Mansion & Part Two: The Realm Of Eternal Dusk

Riftwalkers #2 — Part Three: Fenomet & Part Four: The Oracle’s Choice

Riftwalkers #3 — Part Five: The Horned Child

Riftwalkers #4 — Part Six: The Riftwalker’s Ultimatum

Please…enjoy.

~TW~

PART FIVE— THE HORNED CHILD

MAXIMILLIAN

Within the dimly illuminated bedroom, Maximillian’s eyes remained fixed on the Horned Child, a curiosity kindling within him, mingling with a growing desire to unveil the mysteries surrounding this enigmatic figure. Despite the ambient light, the room’s surroundings remained shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, rendering everything beyond the Horned Child an obscure, foreboding void.

Maximillian cleared his throat. ‘Where am I, and why am I in bed?’ It was a hard, dry cough, like scraping parchment on stone. He coughed again through closed teeth. His head felt heavy, and his eyes ached as he struggled to open them. ‘Wait, where is Gandrad?’

The Horned Child’s eyes, like twin orbs of ethereal fire, seemed to flicker with ancient, malevolent knowledge. It tilted its head slightly at Maximillian’s question. ‘Thou hast many questions.’

‘Answering a question with a question is not answering a question at all,’ Maximillian said.

Maximillian squinted, trying to discern any details about the child’s appearance. The dim glow revealed only fragments of the child’s features — the curve of the horns on its head, the shimmer of its eyes, alight with ethereal fire one moment and flashing like polished onyx the next. As Maximillian’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could make out the faint outline of a mischievous smile that hinted at secrets untold.

The child’s voice, both innocent and unsettling, echoed in the space between them. ‘Who are you?’

Maximillian’s mind raced. Something deeply disturbing about the child’s voice sent icy tendrils of fear slithering down his spine, like a haunting melody that promised a malevolent tune yet to be played. His instincts told him to be cautious, for this was no ordinary dream.

‘When a horned child sits upon the edge of my bed,’ said Maximillian, gathering his courage, ‘it should be I who asks, “Who are you?” Now, who are you?’

The room’s darkness seemed to retreat, as if the shadows themselves were recoiling from the Horned Child’s power. With a subtle yet deliberate movement, the tip of its finger ignited in a faint, ethereal flame. It was a fire unlike any other, casting a surreal glow that danced with spectral colours.

The Horned Child directed the spectral flame into the darkness. As the fire traversed the darkness, the wick from a candle it ignited with an otherworldly, azure flame. The room was bathed in an eerie, ghostly light that cast long, wavering shadows upon the walls. Yet, despite the heat of the flame, the embers emitted no sound. Or rather, no sound that Maximillian could hear.

In the oppressive silence of the dreamlike bedroom, the Horned Child chuckled. The unsettling sound echoed forth like the torment of a thousand lost souls. The child’s body quivered, its form shifting and pulsating, resembling a grotesque shadow cast upon the walls of a cursed chamber. Its chuckle emerged as a guttural, otherworldly sound as if the very walls of reality were disintegrating. The air grew heavy with an eerie, malignant energy, and the room seemed to twist and contort like a forgotten crypt awakening from a nightmare slumber.

Each sinister note of the chuckle danced with a haunting cadence, conjuring images of wailing spectres and spectral apparitions. It was a sound that clawed at the edges of sanity, as if the laughter of demons from the darkest abyss had taken form and found its way into Maximillian’s subconscious. The chuckle wrapped around his mind like icy, spectral fingers, its vibrations resonating with the depths of his fear. It was a sinister symphony of malevolence that sent relentless shivers down his spine, leaving him ensnared in a nightmarish cacophony of dread.

Once the laughter subsided, the Horned Child shuffled closer to the top of Maximillian’s bed. When it stopped, it glared at him from beside his left shoulder. The Horned Child smelled of burning sulphur, the foulest of rotten eggs, combined with the sickening sweetness of decayed flesh. There was an underlying metallic tang reminiscent of blood and rust, hinting at the violence and malevolence within.

The smell of it overwhelmed Maximillian’s mind and, despite the room now lit with ethereal candle-flame, the boy was distorted. It was the smell, Maximillian guessed. A smell so grotesque that no eye might see through. He could not move, and yet, deep down, a part of him wondered if he truly wanted to move. The aroma was disabling yet intoxicating, like an addictive liquor brewed in the finest brewery.

The Horned Child leaned in close. It was like a scene from some unfathomable nightmare. ‘Maximillian, thou art in a place betwixt dreams and reality, a realm woven from the fabric of thy deepest fears and desires.’ Its voice reverberated with an eerie, hypnotic resonance as if it were weaving a sinister enchantment. ‘As for Gandrad,’ it continued, ‘thou hast heard the name, hast thou not? Fenomet, the Shadowbinder. Gandrad desires its power. He will betray you all.’

Maximillian’s heart beat loudly at the mention of Fenomet’s name, and the room seemed to close in around him as if the very walls were pressing down with an oppressive weight. Maximillian tried to move, but something held him there against his will.

‘Betray us?’ Maximillian stammered, his voice trembling. ‘No, Gandrad is loyal to the Order. He would never — ’

The Horned Child’s eyes, burning with an uncanny intensity, held Maximillian’s gaze like twin beacons in the abyss. ‘Thy trust in him is thy greatest vulnerability, Maximillian. In this realm, the truths are laid bare, and illusions crumble like dust.’ The child’s words hung in the air like an ominous prophecy.

Maximillian’s thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of the surreal conversation. ‘Why would Gandrad seek Fenomet’s power? It is a force of darkness, a malevolent entity.’

Still close to Maximillian’s face, the Horned Child’s head tilted, and its smile deepened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp for a child of its apparent age. ‘Power corrupts, Maximillian, even the noblest of hearts. Gandrad’s ambition knows no bounds. He believes that with Fenomet’s might, he can reshape the world in his image, ushering in an era of chaos and domination.’

Dread coiled within Maximillian’s chest like a serpent ready to strike. ‘But how can I trust your words? This is but a dream, a creation of my own mind.’

The Horned Child’s laughter, once again unsettling, rippled through the room, sending shivers down Maximillian’s spine. ‘Ah, the boundaries of dreams and reality blur in this realm, and truths are revealed through the whispers of shadows.’ It leaned in so close that Maximillian could see its forked tongue flickering as it spoke. Its eyes locked onto Maximillian’s. ‘Thou must awaken, Maximillian, and confront the darkness that looms on the horizon. The fate of the Order, and indeed, the world itself, rests upon thy shoulders.’

‘Wake up?’ Maximillian said. ‘But how? I’m paralysed in a bed within a nightmare as a boy with horns on his head talks to me. How am I supposed to wake up?’

The Horned Child pulled away from him and huffed. ‘Thou dost not listen. I did not tell you to wake up.’

Maximillian stared at the boy stupidly.

‘I told thee to awaken,’ The Horned Child growled at him like a wolf tormenting cattle. ‘A seasoned wizard of your order, and thou cannot even tell a dream from a fractured realm.’

Maximillian squinted, yet he still could not move his body. ‘Fractured realm? What?’

The Horned Child threw back its head in a rhythmic concoction of fitful laughter. When it looked back at Maximillian, its twisted grin stretched impossibly wide, once again revealing rows of jagged teeth, each one serrated like the edge of a cursed blade. ‘You poor thing. You really do know nothing. No matter. Thou no longer need know.’

Maximillian’s eyes grew wide, and his pulse raced. ‘Why?’

‘It has begun,’ the Horned Child said.

‘What has?’ Maximillian asked in paralysed terror.

‘Apocalyptus Vortexis.’

As the ominous words echoed through the surreal dreamscape, Maximillian felt a deep unease settle in his core. The very air around him seemed to pulse with foreboding energy. He wanted to demand more answers, to unravel the mysteries of this fractured realm, but his voice remained trapped, and his limbs remained immobile.

The Horned Child’s malevolent grin remained fixed in place as it leaned even closer, its eyes now mere inches from Maximillian’s. It breathed on his face, its breath cold and putrid, like the stench of a charnel house. The air seemed to thicken, and Maximillian’s lungs struggled to draw in breath as if the very atmosphere conspired against him.

‘Apocalyptus Vortexis,’ the Horned Child repeated, its voice a sinister whisper that burrowed into Maximillian’s mind like a worm, planting seeds of dread.

With those enigmatic words, the Horned Child began to fade, its form dissolving into misty tendrils that merged with the ever-shifting dreamworld. The room around Maximillian wavered and blurred, and he felt himself being pulled away from the malevolent presence of the Horned Child.

Are you enjoying the story? I know I am. Please comment and share this story series however you can and inspire me to keep going!

See you next time

~TW~