FANTASY

Maladorme and the Pan-demon
Daniel Gustafsson

A raw wind ate at Maladorme’s ears as he plunged through the
fissure between gates. He could not open his eyes, and even then,
what would he see? His body descended soundlessly through the icy
cold toward the exit. His wish to explore the other side was about to
be fulfilled.
Maladorme shot from the elemental egress, hands first onto the
soft, damp ground. He slowly opened his eyes. A foul stench raided
his nostrils, curling the ends of his moustache and tingling the roots
of his shaggy brown hair. Maladorme looked upon the dirty ground
peppered with moss and dead leaves. Nightfall cast a shroud of deep
blue all around.
He stood, brushing the dark earth from his pale hands. He
removed clinging mud from his knees, darker than the cloth.
Standing straight, Maladorme adjusted the drape of his brown
magician’s cloak to hang evenly off his shoulders.
A thick bog several strides ahead was the source of the stench.
It bubbled fiercely, as if a fire raged below. Air pockets burst on
the surface of olive-green sludge, sending a foul aroma into the air.
Oddly, the marsh gave off a faint glow.
The atmosphere around Maladorme was uncomfortably humid,
in harsh contrast to the tundra-like temperature of the fissure he
had come from. Patchy islands of grass broke up the surface of the
bog ahead. At the far end was a forest of tall but crooked trees,
overshadowed by ominous clouds. The thick cloudbank stretched
across the entire marsh, masking the sky and any stars.

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A humid wind tugged at Maladorme’s cloak. He turned his
back to the bog to examine a clump of trees close to his position.
The marsh forged a clearing in the midst of the warm woodland;
Maladorme stood at its edge.
“Where am I?” the magician muttered. Nothing looked familiar.
No lush greenery, no trickling stream, nothing that smelled of home.
It was rumoured that some gates led to other realms, though that
could be an exaggeration.
He stepped toward the gateway he had come from, treading upon
leaves. Distracted, Maladorme halted to look down at his muddy
boots. He picked up a faded green leaf, spade-shaped, edged in
brown. After a moment, he turned his attention to the forest ahead
and noticed that the trees had no leaves.
Maladorme dropped the leaf to look once again at the gateway.
The elemental egress seemed quite out of place, being the only
beautiful thing in sight. It was composed of two elegant, pale trees,
trained into a circular shape. With bare branches at the top, this egress
reminded him of large deer antlers, like the sibling gate Maladorme
had initially stepped through.
He scratched his chin, fiddling with his small beard before
recoiling from the smell the ground had painted on his hands.
His nostrils flared.
“Such a dreadful place,” Maladorme said, on the verge of a
cough. He looked into the trees, squinting to sharpen his night
vision. When that did not help, he summoned his aura, the magic
his people collectively possessed. He needed some light.

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A bright magenta membrane layered over Maladorme’s brown
eyes. He raised a hand with purpose, conjuring an orb in his palm. It
grew as large as an apple, then stopped. The magenta pulsed within
the sphere, purring faintly. Maladorme gripped the ball in one hand
and waved the other over it as he muttered a spell. The pink in his
eyes faded, leaving the energetic orb to exist independently.
The magician approached one of the trees, intrigued by its
irregular bark. It was unlike any tree he had seen before. The entire
fleshy surface was wet, as if lathered in sweat. Maladorme stared at
it momentarily, then walked to the tree beside it that had a concave
knot. The hole made an odd, squishy sound when the orb-light hit
it. Cautious but curious, the magician peered closer and saw what
appeared to be a human hand stuck in the tree. Without warning,
the hand sprang from its hole and grabbed hold of Maladorme. He
recoiled in horror as a multi-fingered alien squeezed his wrist, sliming
it with a layer of thick mucus.
“Ten thousand tongues!” Maladorme cried. The pink sphere
fell to the ground, rolling away from the tree. Maladorme tugged
his wrist free of the disturbing trap. Squirming, he snatched up the
sphere and hustled back towards the elegant gateway. He watched
from safety as the irregular hand slowly slunk back into its knot.
It was attached to a lanky arm with several lumpy elbows, which
disappeared with an unsettling noise.
Maladorme gazed up at the forest, knowing it was not as it
seemed. The limbs of the fleshy, gelatinous trees were alarmingly
human-like. His heart rate increased. The twisted branches ended in
small, stiff, chubby hands with long nails. Maladorme realized the
trunk resembled a torso more than a tree, with the outline of ribs
visible beneath the squishy bark. What was this place? What kind of
trees grew here, if one could call them trees at all? His curiosity had
quickly morphed into discomfort and fear.

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A small tingling began to grow in the magician’s wrist. Large redorange boils erupted from his slimed skin, which dried and peeled
painfully, and throbbed like a barrage of bee stings. Maladorme was
horrified at the transformation that had happened in seconds. He
trembled at first, then yelled.
Maladorme slowed his breathing to calm himself, releasing his
death-grip on the pink orb. He no longer wished to explore but
to return home and leave this pandemonium to its own miserable
existence.
Ignoring the hot pulsing below his flesh, Maladorme turned back
to the gate, looking for any sign of activation. He’d come through
that gate; he’d leave through it. Then he would take an axe to the
sibling gate to ensure no one could ever visit this realm again.
Maladorme pondered how the gateway operated in his world.
There, it activated when he stood within a foot. He moved closer to
this gate, doing his best to ignore the swollen discomfort of his wrist.
With his good arm, he held up the magenta orb to the egress and
waited. Nothing. Stepping back, his boot crunched a leaf.
The leaves. The sibling gate needed greenery to activate. They
whirled around in the middle of the circle, forming a portal that
sucked him here through the cold fissure. He looked on the ground
for moss and leaves—the only natural-looking things in this twisted
world. He gathered all he could find to pile them before the exit. This
was his way out!
A sinister noise behind Maladorme, like a boar being impaled by
a pitchfork, interrupted his excitement. Then, a hot, uncomfortable
breeze scattered the greenery he had carefully gathered. Something
else drew near.
Sweating, heart galloping, Maladorme gripped the magenta
sphere tighter. Through the fleshy trees, a large creature approached.
It lumbered toward the orb-light, laboriously huffing with every

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squishy footstep. Quickly, Maladorme threw the glowing sphere
far into the trees, distracting the monster. It followed the arc of the
pink light, ignoring the magician. Maladorme resummoned his aura,
crafting several more apple-sized balls. He threw them all toward the
creature, who devoured them. He fashioned a final orb to throw,
but his aim was off. The orb hit a fleshy tree and deflected near him.
Maladorme hastily kicked the ball into the bog, where it floated on
the marsh’s oily surface. The magician held his breath, dimming the
magenta from his eyes. Waiting, freezing, in the dark, he feared what
was about to come.
The laborious huffing and wheezing were getting closer, along
with multiple thudding footsteps. Maladorme stood unmoving as he
watched the monster emerge from the treeline.
The hideous creature bore countless red-orange boils like the ones
on Maladorme’s wrist. It had sixteen limbs, or more, lanky human
legs ending in chubby children’s feet. Its appendages led the way,
protruding unevenly before the creature’s disturbingly humanoid
head. Its limbs stretched out over the bog, unable to reach the pink
orb resting on the foul surface. The monster grumbled as if cursing
under its breath. The bog bubbled below, pushing the orb closer.
Maladorme gingerly turned around to gather the scattered
greenery. He carefully returned it below the egress, checking over his
shoulder to monitor the multi-legged lifeform.
He remade his pile, and stood before the gateway awaiting
activation, but again nothing happened. Holding his breath, he
waited a moment more, sweat dripping down the back of his neck.
Still nothing.
Breathing heavily, the creature grabbed the orb and consumed it
in one sharp, toothy gulp. The pink orb-light disappeared, replaced
by the blue of night.

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Maladorme remained a statue. His night vision had not
yet adjusted, but his hearing was hyperaware. The exit remained
inactive. Maladorme listened as the beast slowly stepped away from
the shore, making its way back into the disturbing forest. This
unnatural place—nothing but a pandemonium of darkness––was
clearly not of the earth.
After the lumbering creature faded from earshot, Maladorme
could breathe normally. He let his nerves settle while he looked
upon the dormant egress. The magician huffed and muttered in
frustration. He knew the leaves and moss were key, but they were
not working. Unless…
Maladorme swallowed a gob of spit and quickly summoned a ball
of light. With it in hand, he darted around the antler-like gateway
looking for anything green he had missed. Behind him in the
forest, the creature screamed, once more attracted to the magenta.
Maladorme ignored it, continuing his search. Finally, he located the
last handful of moss. He scooped it up and raced back to the egress.
The harsh breathing and multi-footsteps of the monster approached.
Its many eyes reflected the pink light it sought. Maladorme quickly
piled the greenery, watching as the beast stumbled towards him on
its chubby, clumsy feet.
He chucked the orb into the bog, but the monster did not stray
from its path. Maladorme held his ground as the gateway slowly
stirred. Magenta glowed from his elbows, wreathing his forearms
in a crisscross pattern that intensified as it quickly extended to his
hands. Maladorme’s palms surged with energy in a synchronized
explosion, burning with pink fire that left the magician unharmed.
Magenta rings erupted from the fire’s centre, orbiting Maladorme’s
hands to signify the pinnacle of a full-strength aura. The magic
purred deeply, filling Maladorme with confidence as he assumed a
firm stance, arms at the ready.

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“I’ve had enough of this place,” he said. Breaking past the
treeline, the creature continued toward the light source. In the egress
behind Maladorme, the small pile of greenery began to levitate. “The
Pandemonium is no place for me!” The leaves whirled, nearly ready.
The monster drew nearer, choking at the sight of all the light. “And I
will not be struck down by a pan-demon!”
The pan-demon raised its mandibles, its multiple eyes like magenta
mirrors. Maladorme instinctively raised his arms to shield himself from
the creature’s strike, emitting an array of pink sparks. The pan-demon
jolted back just as the leaves reached peak activation. With a scream,
the monster brandished his multi-rowed teeth as the gateway carried
Maladorme out of the Pandemonium with a swift whoosh.
All became quiet. The freezing temperature quickly cooled the
sweat on Maladorme’s skin. His eyes once again felt welded shut.
A moment later, the magician sailed through the other side of the
elemental egress which then closed behind him. He landed on the
ground, cushioned by a familiar texture. Maladorme opened his eyes
and stared down at a mattress of lush green moss. Though the boils
on his arm remained, the magician knew he was safe. He let his aura
dissipate.
Maladorme slowly got to his feet amidst a moss-bedded forest. The
straight white trees stood proudly with him, their leaves chattering in
a cool passing breeze. The sun had nearly reached midday, casting its
golden rays through the high, leafy canopy. Maladorme stood with
his eyes closed, listening to the wind, birds, and a small nearby river.
The magician inhaled a deep, chilly breath, then headed off to
find an axe.

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