The thread wasn't a physical thing. I could see it, a wavering line of crimson against the dark, but it was like looking at heat distortion, or a mirage. The sensation it created, however, was very real. It started in the spot on my forearm where the light had appeared, a strange, hollow ache. It was the same spot he'd pointed at earlier, the 'conduit' he'd claimed was there. Now, it felt like a tiny hook had been sunk into my bone, and someone was pulling.
The pull wasn't violent. It was a steady, inexorable drain. I could feel the warmth from my chest, that tiny, comforting knot of energy, start to flow toward my arm. It was a slow, reluctant trickle at first, then a stronger, more insistent current. The knot in my chest began to shrink, the comforting beat fading into a dull throb.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice strained. The drain was disorienting. It made the world feel slightly off-kilter, the edges of my vision blurring. I felt my legs start to shake, my knees suddenly weak.
"Testing a theory," he said, his focus entirely on the crimson thread. His expression was one of intense concentration, a scientist examining a particularly stubborn specimen. He didn't seem to notice my distress, or if he did, he didn't care.
The drain increased. The knot in my chest was now a cold, empty hollow. The strength seemed to seep out of my limbs, and my grip on the parapet behind me tightened, my knuckles white. I could feel my pulse, a frantic, fluttering beat in my throat. The world started to spin, the stars in the sky blurring into streaks of white against the black.
"Stop," I gasped, my breath coming in short, ragged pants. "I'm going to... you're going to make me faint again."
"A distinct possibility," he said, not looking up. "A tedious, but informative, outcome."
He finally raised his other hand, the one that wasn't connected to me by the crimson thread. He held it over the thread, not touching it, just hovering above it. Then, he began to draw symbols in the air, his fingers tracing complex, glowing patterns. The symbols hung in the air for a moment, then dissolved, absorbed by the thread. The thread began to glow brighter, the crimson deepening to a dark, almost black, red.
The drain intensified. It was no longer a trickle. It was a floodgate. The last of the warmth in my chest was ripped away, leaving behind an icy, aching void. The strength went out of my legs completely. I would have collapsed, but the demon king still had a firm grip on my arm. He was holding me up, my body dangling from his grip like a puppet with its strings cut.
My vision tunneled, the world narrowing to a single point of light. The last thing I saw was his face, a mask of cold, scientific curiosity, illuminated by the crimson glow of the magic he was tearing from my body. Then, the world went black.
***
I woke up in my bed. The scratchy wool blanket was pulled up to my chin, and the room was dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window. My head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and my body felt heavy, as if I were filled with lead. My arm, the one he had held, was numb, a deep, bone-deep cold that no amount of blankets could chase away.
I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over me, forcing me back against the pillows. I closed my eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning. I could hear the faint, muffled sounds of the tavern below, the clinking of tankards and the low murmur of conversation. Life in Brackenwallow went on, oblivious to the fact that I had just been magically drained to the point of unconsciousness on the roof.
A soft, muffled groan came from the other bed. I turned my head, the movement sending a fresh spike of pain through my skull. Angus was still there, curled into a tight ball, his face buried in the pillow. He seemed to have survived his encounter with the gator stew.
A thought occurred to me. A terrible, ridiculous thought. I pushed myself up again, more slowly this time, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room spun for a moment, then settled. I stood up, my bare feet planted firmly on the cold wooden floor. I took a deep breath, and held out my arm, the one he had drained.
I focused on the spot where he had pointed, the spot where the crimson light had appeared. I pictured the warmth in my chest, the tiny, comforting knot that I now knew was my magic. I pictured it flowing down my arm, concentrating in that one spot. I poured all my will, all my focus, into that one small patch of skin.
Nothing happened.
Of course nothing happened. I was a hikkikomori from Earth, not a mage from Yarventhril. I didn't have a clue what I was doing. I let my arm drop to my side, a fresh wave of despair washing over me. I was useless. A pathetic, useless burden.
Ugh.
No. I can't start insulting myself now. That Demon King has used up all the insult slots.
I groaned and press my fingers to my forehead. I felt sick. The world was too bright, the sounds from downstairs too loud. I needed silence. I needed to be alone. I needed to recharge. But how? The door was right there. I could just… leave. I could walk out of the inn and into the swamp and find a nice, quiet patch of mud to lie in until the world made sense again.
A moan from the other bed reminded me why that was a bad idea. I couldn't leave Angus. He was my responsibility. My useless, projectile-vomiting, celestial responsibility. But I also couldn't stay here. Not with him. Not with the memory of the demon king's touch, the feeling of my life being drained away through a crimson thread.
I looked around the room. The window. It was small, but it was big enough for me to squeeze through. The drop wasn't that far. The roof of the porch below looked sturdy enough. It was a terrible idea. It was reckless and stupid and dangerous.
It was perfect.
I crept to the window, my movements slow and careful. The latch was old and rusty, but it opened with a soft click. I pushed the window open, the cool night air rushing in, carrying the scent of the swamp. I climbed out onto the sill, my heart thumping against my ribs. I looked down. The porch roof was about ten feet below, a dark, shadowy expanse of wooden shingles. It looked a lot farther from up here.
I took a deep breath. Then I jumped.