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Jim stared intently at the small, elaborately engraved ring sat in the middle of his palm. Such a small, inoffensive object had supposedly brought upon so much violence. Supposedly held a soul. He rolled it in his palm a few times over, before holding it up to the sun. It glowed just past normal, refracting the light into a small rainbow upon the sidewalk. Jim tucked the ring into his back pocket, then looked both ways before hopping on his bike. Despite the fact that no cars were moving, having a nurse for a mother was a sure fire way to teach you the horrors of car accidents. He was sure the world could be taken over by zombies (or trolls) and he would still look both ways before crossing the street.
The world was quieter than he thought possible, and he leaned closely into the rumbling of his bike trying to drown out the silence.
He pulled his phone out from his back pocket. [9:52]. He revved his Vespa, weaving slowly in between street cars. Jim pulled up to the school, parking his bike next to where Toby stood, face frozen in terror. Jim pulled the ring out of his pocket once more, staring in tense silence. He had been doing his best to avoid the question all day, but it seemed finally time to face the truth.
Option A: Wear the ring. Control a deadly, cruel troll assassin that had slaughtered and destroyed the souls of his predecessors. Ensure both his and his companions safety without question. Or…
Option B: Fulfill his promise to the assassin, the one who marked him for death, tormented him day and night, and return the ring. He would gain the trust and most likely favor of the assassin, but he would have no assurance as to what the man- troll would choose from then on. He could easily choose to kill him regardless.
Option A was safer, smarter, and all around more solid than “give the ring back and see what happens”. In every way, his companions were right. The assurance of wearing the ring and controlling Angor Rot was far superior to- well, any other idea, really.
…
But could he do that? This thing- this “Inferna Copula” as Blinky called it, was Angor Rot’s soul. To be completely honest, Jim was still quite new to all the magic and troll-fuckery that had invaded his life, and wasn’t sure what a soul really was. But seeing as Angor Rot was so desperate for it, and that a simple ring could be used to yank him around like a puppet, it couldn’t be anything less than priceless.
Could Jim really do such a thing? Steal a troll’s soul? Control him? Manipulate him to his whims? Was that the purpose of a trollhunter? Could he trade Angor Rot’s trust and livelihood, his being, for security? If a trollhunter was supposed to answer every call, was it not his duty to answer Angor's? Jim had never been without his soul (knock on wood), but could not imagine it was a very pleasant experience.
He dug around in his backpack for a thin chain necklace Claire had left at his house a couple weeks ago. He had worn it to school so as to not forget it, and she had let him keep it. Said it looked better on him anyways, which definitely didn’t send his stomach twisting in loops. He slipped the ring on the chain before tucking it securely beneath his shirt.
[8:32]
He gave a sorrowful glance towards his friends, frozen in time, before pulling off the sidewalk and back onto the road. He already knew their stance, and he needed time to think about this. At the very least, he needed to get some perspective.
_____________________________
“Don’t be foolish, boy. The ring is the only chance you have to keep your friends safe.”
A familiar anger rose to Jim’s face and colored his cheeks as Kangijar condescended to him once again.
“He’s right!” a high voice wailed from behind him. “Angor rot is ruthless! Without the ring you stand not a single chance!”
A chorus of other voices chimed in agreement, some familiar, some new. Angor Rot was quite the hot topic.
“You said my duty as the trollhunter was to protect trolls, right?” Jim reminded him, just a smidge rudely. It’s not like Jim had a reputation of being particularly polite to trolls in positions of authority. Or anyone in a position of authority.“Is Angor Rot suddenly the exception?”
“Don’t play with me, youngling. From its conception, our duty has always consisted of harming other trolls, for the good of trollkind!” Kanjigar snapped back, leaning into Jim’s space.
“You can’t possibly believe that manipulating another troll’s soul, playing into dark magic, is the right course of action! It’s, It’s-It’s” Jim searched for the right words to convince the elder troll. “It’s not befitting of a trollhunters honor!”
Jim could tell Kanjigar was already starting to lose steam, but if there was one trait they both had in spades it was sheer stubbornness. Kanjigar lowered his head, gazing into the star filled abyss of the void between worlds.
“I understand that this is… a difficult situation, but you must understand.” Kanjigar looked back at Jim, staring into his eyes with a heavy weight. "Hard decisions are yours to be made for the safety of the world. Trolls, humans, and blackened souls like Angor Rot included. Perhaps…” Admitting defeat came as easily to Kangijar as it did to Jim. “Perhaps you are right. It is not honorable to manipulate another troll’s soul, no matter the circumstances. But that decision has already been made for you. His soul has already been disfigured by evil magic, and his mind has gone with it.”
Kanjigar placed his large hand on Jim’s shoulders, guiding him deeper into the void. Statues stretched far into the horizon, stars accompanying each one.
“Do you see those stars, all the way back there?” Kanjigar pointed at what seemed to be the edge of the abyss.
“Um- yes! They’re very faint, but I see them. Why?” Jim strained his eyes, making out the faint smudges on the sky, (can it be called sky?) though he couldn’t see their statues.
“Being in the void, especially for so long, is not easy on one’s psyche. When a troll’s soul spends too long separate from the body, it begins to decay. For us trollhunters, it is a painless, and even peaceful seperation. We slowly drift off into the void, rejoining the fabric and returning to the beginning.”
He placed his hand upon Jim’s chest, feeling the slow pulsing of the amulet that matched Jim’s heartbeat.
“A small part of us returns to the amulet, accompanying the next wielder on their sacred mission. For us, the Ascension is a beautiful and revered process. For a cursed being such as Angor Rot, I cannot even begin to imagine the suffering. He has lived for a very long time without his soul, and the damage that must have caused to his heart and mind cannot be under emphasized. You cannot trust his words, nor his promises.”
“Angor Rot is very dangerous, a cold hearted killer. To kill him would be kinder than any fate I would lay out for him. A mercy.”
“He has slaughtered hundreds of innocents, and dozens of trollhunters! He is scum! Any violent actions done against him are not crimes, but justice!”
“Make him pay for his crimes! Force him to chop off his own head! Make him run around in the center of trollmarket naked covered in gorshaal dung!”
Similar cries rang out from all around Jim, souls of past trollhunters swirling about him and ruffling his hair. Was wearing the ring… Really his only option? He glanced around in desperation, hoping for a troll, any troll to offer a second opinion.
“Kanjigar is right.” a gentle, rickety voice called out from behind him. The room drew to a hush as Jim spun around, a dull spirit floating just feet from his face. “But so is the trollhunter.”
Kanjigar fell into a kneel beside Jim, and he did his best to copy the former trollhunter’s pose.
“Ildaiss,” started Kanjigar. “It is an honor to have you in our presence. Forgive us for disturbing you. Have you insight on our quarry?”
If Jim was being honest, it was odd to see Kanjigar so reverent. Sure, he was usually somewhat polite, and spoke like a knight of ye old, but this was another level entirely. Just who was this woman?
“I’m afraid we have yet to meet, young one.” She bobbed gently, up and down, like she was floating in the ocean. “My energy is not what it used to be, so please do excuse me. It won’t be long before I join my brothers and sisters within your amulet.”
“Of course! I mean- It’s no problem at all, that is. I’m, uh, very honored to meet you, miss… Trollhunter… Eeedass?”
Jim could feel the scorn radiating off of the trolls behind him (mainly Kanjigar), but the Troll before him merely laughed.
“Il-Daiss, little one. And it is I who is honored to meet you, new trollhunter. After all, we two are the only Trollhunters who have fought Angor Rot more than once.”
Jim cocked his head to the side.
“Why has nobody fought him more than that? I thought a trollhunter never ran from a fight.” He realized how stupid a question it was only moments after it left his mouth.
The scorn from behind him increased tenfold, and he was sure there must be a hole burned in the back of his skull by how powerful it was. If he had any brains in his head, they had surely leaked out by now. Though she was just a glowing figure in the vague imprint of a trollhunter, he could imagine the spirit in front of him shaking her head as she spoke.
“I’m afraid they never lived to see a second fight.”
“...My apologies.” You’ve really done it now, Jim. Speaking ill of the dead, on top of all your past tomfoolery. Perhaps Ildaiss would rip the amulet from his chest as punishment. He would probably deserve it. Yeesh.
“I am one of the oldest trollhunters that remain conscious in this place. More importantly, I knew Angor Rot before he became the troll you have faced.”
“Was he any different? Before he… Sold his soul or whatever? ” Jim had to admit, he had never considered Angor Rot in the beginning stages of his life. The image of a baby Angor Rot was… disturbing to say the least. (Did trolls have babies? What were they like? How did rock skin grow? How did trolls-NOPE, FOCUS).
“So different, so much that you would not believe.” She too grew wistful; if Jim could see her eyes he was sure they would be glazed over, staring into the distance like Kanjigar. “He worked beside me, rescuing those in need from the gumm-gumms. He was resilient, diving headfirst into fires and battles, a model of heroism."
Jim was stunned. An innocent Angor Rot, he could stretch his imagination to accept. An Angor Rot not yet killing babies and kicking puppies. But a hero? That was just too ridiculous, even after all the madness he had experienced as the trollhunter.
“I know what you’re thinking, trollhunter, and after all these years I, too, understand. How does such a brave and selfless troll transform into the monster prowling trollkind? I’m afraid even I don’t know. During the war with the gumm-gumms, death stained our past, present, and future. Every day, we lost more and more soldiers, more civilians, more children.
"I did my best, but I am but one troll. One day, Angor Rot reached his breaking point. He left on a raft, seeking power strong enough to defeat gumm-gumms, perhaps even Gunmar himself. I begged him not to, but he knew better than I what sort of situation we were in. He was gone for about a year before I caught wind of him again. He sat upon another battlefront, claiming victory after victory against our enemy. Overcome with relief at his survival and apparent victories, I rushed over the moment I could, to greet my brother-in-arms.”
I barely escaped with my life that day. Angor Rot fought with an anger, a vengeance I had never seen him display, not even in the worst of massacres. He took my arm, but I took something more important. His reputation. One does not nearly slaughter the trollhunter and retain their status, and so he was shunned. Ridiculed from all angles, deprived of every ally.
"At the time, I was certain he deserved it. That it was his punishment. We clashed many times in later years, up until my defeat at Gunmar’s hands. Wherever he went to receive that power, it destroyed him. Turned him into a troll I no longer recognize.”
“...So, I guess I should wear the ring then? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No. I am telling you that Angor Rot is not all he appears to be. When he lost his soul… he was manipulated into another person altogether. Whether you believe who he was before could still be salvaged is up to you. I have been dead for far too long to tell you what to do, but I can tell you this: No matter how vile or wretched one’s past may be, the future is still up to them to change, as long as it is placed in their hands.”
Jim brought his hands to clutch at the ring strung around his neck, and brought it forward to be cradled in his armored palm. The rough cuts in the gem caught on the blue cast from Ildaiss’ fine glow, gently lighting his palm.“While I have his soul, Angor Rot cannot make any choices, good or bad. If I give him the ring... Then I will be giving him a choice, right? To help people again. And if he chooses wrong…" Jim blew out a breath. "Then I will have to live with the consequences.”
“The choice is yours, hunter. I believe you will make the right one.”
_____________________________
An angry red [1:59] glared up at him from his palm. He kicked the stand out from under his vespa before shoving his phone in his pocket and running his hands roughly down his face.
He had approximately two minutes to decide whether he trusted the words of a violent, deranged serial killer out for his blood who had nearly killed him several times and killed hundreds of innocent people or… Wield a cursed black magic ring and control the decayed, rotting soul of who was technically manipulated into killing all those people and actually used to be a great guy?
Why why whyyyy was this his life? Couldn’t he be worrying about the spring fling or something? Maybe sneaking beer bottles from his mom’s totally secret liquor cabinet? Not, he doesn't know, deciding whether to trade his morals for the assured safety of his friends and family.
He pulled out his phone again.
[0:30]
Well, shit. If he was going to make a decision, it was gonna have to be fast. He turned around to at least look Angor in the eye before potentially perpetuating a cycle of harm and black magic. As he raked his eyes over Angor Rot's permenant scowl etched into his stone face, A green, ethereal glint caught his eye.
No way.
Sat in Angor’s left hand, primed and ready for the taking, was the god forsaken Killstone. He could not believe his luck!
[0:20]
Oookkayy. It's getting tight now. Now or never, Jimbo. He walked over to Angor, and pried the Killstone out of his rough, stone claws. He had to scrabble at Angor's tight grip for several seconds before the stone finally popped free. Okay so, a little less primed than he had thought. He didn’t take a step back when the killstone was in his hands, just gently held it up to the dull lighting in the sewers. Stupid rock better have been worth all the trouble. Finally, Jim took the ring off his chain with shaking hands, gripping it in his palm for the last(?) time.
[0:10]
Just do it Jim! Put on that stupid ring, and screw your morals to hell! He has tried to kill you like, 100 times! And your friends! Even if he used to be a good guy, so what‽ He’s certainly not a good guy now and, unless you forgot, is currently trying to kill you! Wake up, and put on the damn ring!
His palms were sweating so badly through his armor he thought he might drop the cursed thing. Was the room spinning? It felt like it was spinning.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it god Jim this is a terrible idea don’t do it you’re gonna die the stupidest trollhunter death they're gonna rename you Jim the- the- I don’t know- Jim the IDIOT. You’ll make Unkar the Unfortunate look like Ildaiss!
Ildaiss.
[0:05]
Jim blew out a sharp breath through his nose, and hesitantly raised the ring between his pointer and thumb.
[0:04]
The future was in his hands.
[0:03]
To control another troll, take away its freedom to choose?
[0:02]
Sorry Kanjigar. Jim had always liked to do things his way.
[0:01]
Jim shoved the ring on Angor’s pointer finger, still extended from when Jim had pried the Killstone out of his hands.
[0:00]
The tunnel was silent for a whole second, so quiet Jim wondered if his timer had been off. Then he heard it. A few feet from his head, a drop of water dripped down onto one of the exposed pipes. Time was moving. Angora eyes slid to Jim before him, quickly contorting into rage. Jim stumbled backwards, tripping over his vespa and falling gracelessly on his ass.
Angor sprung up, posture stiff and aggressive as he brought his hand before him to call upon the dark curse he had marked Jim with weeks ago- bringing his hand directly in front of his face. His eyes slid over to his index finger, finally noticing the ring sat crooked on the very edge of it. Angor gasped, nearly jumping back like a frightened cat shakily bringing his right hand to adjust the ring. As he touched it, three glowing spheres floated out, drifting in front of his face. The crosseyed look may have been funny in another moment, but the pure, unadulterated fear and hope on Angor’s face crushed any humor in Jim.
They gracefully swam through the air down to Angor’s chest, finally merging with their owner after countless centuries. Angor swooned, collapsing onto his knees and grasping at his chest. His eyes locked back onto the ring with an open expression, tears pooling near imperceptibly at the bottom of his stone eyelids. His eyes changed slightly from the pallid, sickly shade of yellow they once were to a rich, glowing and golden hue. He mumbled quietly to himself, still holding his left hand- now bearing an empty ring -over where his soul had merged with his body.
Jim, now feeling rather uncomfortable with the somewhat intimate and personal scene before him, rose to his feet as quietly as possible. Which is to say- not quietly at all, as he was covered in loud, metal armour and sprawled across a metal vespa.
The cacophony accompanying his movements seemed to shake Angor out of his stupor, and he similarly rose to his feet. They eyed each other warily for a moment before Angor swept into a bow at the waist.
“Our agreement has been fulfilled, trollhunter. I will not seek out you or your companions for vengeance or combat any longer. You have my word.”
Despite Angor’s near omnipresent violence, trickery, and ruthlessness. He couldn’t quite recall Angor Rot ever lying to him specifically. Plotting, yes. Cruelty? No doubt about it. But, despite everything, Jim found himself managing to trust Angor’s word.
Jim gripped the Killstone in his gloved palm, glancing from it to Angor and back again, but Angor seemed far more preoccupied with the ring sitting snug on his left index finger.
“And you’ll- you’ll leave Trollmarket alone?”
Angor met his eyes, a deep sorrow Jim had never seen before welled up in his new golden pupils.
“You have my word.”
There were a million things Jim wanted to ask. If he was serious, for starters. How in the world was Jim supposed to trust him, was another big one. Then, beneath all those about his and his friends' safety lied another hundred about his past. Who took his soul? How did that work? Would he have to wear the ring forever? What was it like without a soul? (Definitely NOT asking that one).
But currently Angor was looking all at his surroundings with a sort of shaking awe. He stared deep into the cracks in the stone walls, the moss crawling along the floor, and the eyes of the curled up cockroach beside Jim’s vespa with a fascination Jim hadn’t seen… maybe ever. Like Angor was looking for himself all around him.
Finally, Angor walked over to a greenish puddle near the tunnel wall, and gazed melancholically at his reflection, He brought his hands across the deep gashes in his chest and arms, hunks of flesh he had dug out himself. The gnarled, blackened ends of his horns, chipped away by time and battle. Finally, he brought his hand up to his sunken eyes, glowing a gentle, easy gold, much like the soft rays of the summer sun; the gentle warmth of the sun was something Angor had been devoid of his entire life. Finally Angor’s eyes, like sunlight, drifted back over to Jim, and he nodded slowly. Jim returned his gaze with a quick jerk of his head, and got back onto his vespa quickly, with his hands still trembling. As he drove off into the depths of the sewers, he could faintly hear Angor rots voice call out from behind. His voice was so faint and tender Jim wasn’t even sure he hadn’t imagined it.
“Thank you, trollhunter.”