Taug 58

A Novel by Matthew House

Presented exclusively on Medium

He exploded like a small bomb, shedding the final bits of Edward’s spell in all directions.

The last of the green flecks of the binding spiraled outward, dying in a tiny shower of sparks. Saville stood and stretched toward the sky. Roaring, he unleashed an arc of red fire that erupted from his joined palms. The red bolt tore through the mall ceiling, raining glass on Saville. At one hundred feet up, the energy sectioned itself into multiple streams and disappeared in several directions across the horizon.

He had reawakened his legions. The dead marched on.

Saville’s body crackled with energy. Purple tendrils snaked over the surface of his skin as he rose into the night air. His flesh was a nightmare of open sores and pockmarks. Like a poorly made homemade quilt, the swathes of skin melted together, bunching up in knots. Lumps and swollen boils rose from the shoulders and back as if the flesh did not fit the skeleton beneath. The vertebrae along the spine were oversized and protruded all the way to the bottom of the skull. The body was a badly made vessel. It was a thing of human nightmares.

It was exactly what Saville had wanted it to be.

He coursed with power and anger.