Upcoming Episode From Glimmerblade

It's hard to believe that it's now 2023 - a totally new year. (2022 went by entirely too fast...) But not only is 2023 here, but we're already more than halfway through the month of January. Time is truly flying by (at least from my perspective).

But although it's a new year, it still feels - as always - like there aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done.  Thankfully, I'm still managing to reach goals and move forward (even if it's not always at the blistering pace I'd like). With that in mind, I thought it would be fun to share an upcoming episode from my Kindle Vella story Glimmerblade:

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It was far from the most bizarre sight Nightwing had ever beheld. Years of service to Lord Darkchilde had seen him bear witness to much that was freakish, fantastic, and grotesque. That said, the immolated individual standing before him was singularly aberrant, and not something he had encountered before.

First and foremost, fire completely covered the man, such that no part of his body could be seen. Although they did not give off excessive heat, the flames appeared to burn with wicked intensity. Their flickering was accompanied by the sizzle and hiss of burning flesh, and Nightwing thought he detected the slight aroma of singed meat. Finally, when the man walked, his movements coincided with an odd clinking sound, reminiscent of shackles on a prisoner.

This, then, was Lord Zagol. The Seared Sovereign. The Singed Sire. The Charred Overlord. Those and a score of other epithets... And although the stories he had heard had prepared Nightwing in terms of what to expect, they did not do justice to the spectacle before him.

“Lord Zagol,” Nightwing began. “I am–”

“A moment,” the burning man interjected, raising a fiery hand. Heard through the conflagration consuming him, his voice had an odd, wavering quality.

At that juncture, three guards entered the room, bringing with them a wild-eyed man in threadbare clothing who actually was outfitted with shackles. One of the guards shoved the prisoner forward towards Lord Zagol, then the three guards swiftly departed, closing the door behind them.

The shackled man looked at Lord Zagol in complete and abject terror, then wailed, “Mercy! Mercy, milord!”

“You have been tried and adjudged,” Zagol announced, ignoring the man’s pleas. “For your crimes, you have been sentenced to death.”

Zagol took a step towards the prisoner, who shambled backwards, retreating as he continued to beg for his life.

“P-p-please, milord!” the man – plainly a convict – stammered, as Lord Zagol moved towards him. “I pray you, please spare me!”

“Reserve your prayers for the gods,” Zagol advised. “If any will hear them.”

He continued advancing on the prisoner, who – blubbering and begging for clemency – backed himself into a corner. At that point, with nowhere left to run, the man dropped to his knees.

“Please, show mercy!” the prisoner pleaded. “Mercy! Mercy!”

“There is none to be had for you in this world,” Zagol told him. “You must seek it in the afterlife.”

With that, he reached out and laid a flaming hand upon the prisoner’s head. The man shrieked in pain as his hair – unruly and unkempt – suddenly caught fire, blazing like a torch. Then, as Nightwing watched, the conflagration swiftly spread to the rest of his body, moving down from his scalp to his feet in mere seconds.

More surprising, however, was the fact that – as the prisoner morphed into a human bonfire – the flames covering Lord Zagol seemed to die out. In truth, it appeared as if they simply flowed from Zagol to the prisoner, like water being poured from one receptacle to another. After a moment, Nightwing realized that was essentially what had happened: Lord Zagol had somehow passed his affliction on to the convict.

And all the while the prisoner continued to scream in agony.

As to Lord Zagol himself, with the flames now extinguished, Nightwing finally got a good look at him and realized a few things immediately. First and foremost, his host was almost completely outfitted in chainmail (which explained the clinking sound Nightwing had heard). Aside from armored boots, it covered him from head to foot, with nothing of his body showing except his face and hands. As to why he was dressed in this fashion, the answer was obvious: ordinary clothes would be destroyed by the flames that had engulfed him moments earlier.

Taking a look at Zagol’s features, Nightwing saw what he expected: a charred, blackened visage that had been marred and disfigured by fire. The flames had been as merciless with Zagol as he had been with the prisoner, leaving him with a countenance that was skeletal in appearance, punctuated by lidless eyes, exposed cheekbones, and a mouth devoid of lips. Likewise, his hands were withered and burned, and Nightwing assumed that much of his body under the chainmail was of similar appearance.

Needless to say, it was not the first time Nightwing had observed the ravaging effects of fire on flesh. He had seen that and worse – much, much worse – regularly at Bleakblood. But what he saw next was something that surprised even him: Lord Zagol’s wounds began to heal.

Before his very eyes, the man’s injuries vanished: singed hair regrew; burned flesh became whole; damaged skin became unblemished. Thus in less than a minute, Lord Zagol’s cadaverous appearance was replaced by one that was handsome, hale and hearty.

“I’ve been given a short reprieve,” Lord Zagol announced. “Now, let us attend to business.”