Everkant ep. 21 - 1st draft - The Candyman

Pre-cataclysm

'No more Candyman.' 

Twigs and branches crack all around her while she flees from her pursuers. Who would've known that killing a witch, that witch, would be such a hassle. Not that she couldn't handle them. The Guard only sent a small group to grab her. 'Such arrogance.' thought Claire. She could sense no more than five. A part of her wanted to do it. She was already a baby killer, these were mere adults, much more helpless and defenseless. 'They're not worthy of candyman.' That's the name she came up with. It happened naturally, you see. After a kill, The Witch would be kind enough to offer her a little man-shaped sugar treat. Candyman seemed appropriate. She hated the taste, but would lower her head with a bow as a sign of gratitude. The Witch could read her mind after all. At first. She was a quick learner. A couple of years of training and she was more than capable to let her inside the part of the mind that she wanted. The trick, Claire used to say to herself, in one of her own conversations with the birds and trees that dared approach her in the wild, was to slice her mind in several pieces. 'See, it's easy. You show her just enough and keep the rest hidden in the other fragments.' As time went by, the amount of information, training and skill she was capable of caught The Witch by surprise when Claire decided it was time to leave - and by leave - she meant kill the crone. She'd often forget things as a side effect of this practice. To her surprise it became very much a mechanical process. It was like grabbing a piece of memory by hand and putting it inside a locked box that only she could open with the right keys, words, process. Sometimes it was hard to remember where was what. She always thought that she'd reunite them all. A time when her business was over, but that belief too was forgotten at some point in time.

Back to the chase. The air was wet with humidity, a mild fog was settling in and the sunlight was running out fast. 'Straight up from one of those horror stories.' she thought while dodging an arrow. This scene seemed familiar somehow. Where did she see this before? Was this one of her Candyman missions? She couldn't tell. No time to figure out. She was actively fighting the urge to kill them. She was done with that. 'No more Candyman. No more Candyman.' she kept repeating out loud as to make her seem more determined. 

Even with most of her memories resting in oblivion that part she would always remember. Years before she eviscerated her, Claire made sure The Witch also knew them. It remained in the part of her brain that the wicked old lady could access. In fact, she would make sure that was the first thing The Witch could hear. 'No more Candyman. No more Candyman. No more Candyman. No more Candyman. No more Candyman. No more Candyman." With its childish twisted tune, it got to the point where she was actually free from the mind readings, but never from the words themselves. They stuck to her like glue and became second nature like a shadow that lingers even when all the lights go out. 

Two of the men caught up to her. Swords in hand. 'Child's play.' she smiled. She cast a quick reinforcement spell on her feet and legs and jumped high. Too high. The fall was going to hurt if she didn't act, but Claire was never known for her slow reflexes. Maybe before all this...time and time again a piece from her past would surface. A past she couldn't quite remember, but was sure to have lived. The swordsmen stood there looking at this person jumping almost ten meters high above them. They looked at each other with a sudden realization this was more that they could handle, but their three companions didn't get the memo. Claire was struggling to force a landing. She recast the same spell from before and aimed, more or less, to the softest piece of ground she could find in a matter of seconds. 'This will do' she thought to herself 'The energy from the impact will be contained to my feet, maybe a bit will leak to my legs, but that's nothing.' That's when it hit her. An arrow in her shoulder. The aim was true and the pain was bearable, but the focus was gone and the energy dispersed from her feet and legs. This would mean a hard landing. Behind, a proud little man with incredible accuracy saw two of his companions running to him shouting something he couldn't understand. They seemed preoccupied with something. Why? He hit her after all. No one could survive that fall. Not with an injury like that. Yet, a dreadful feeling became apparent. The settled night seemed to have darken and the fog turned into a choking smog. Something was happening. Too late for that poor little man to realized what he had done.

'Candyman, Candyman.' she said.