Chapter 150: 150
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The door of room 7 is open: cracked ajar so that the faint trickled of pale luminescence can seep out into the hallways, along with the pungent smell of death. The floor is wetted with a familiar, viscous red liquid, still warm with the beating freshness of life, fading out until cold.
Blood.
The lion knocker on the front is skewed, boasting a few small claw marks on the bottom of the door- an obvious sign of struggle. The carpet below my feet is scratched up, tufts of multi-coloured fluff sticking up and out, clawed into oblivion. Apprehensively, I grimace, not daring to breathe.
It is like a crime scene.
My hand trembles before the handle of the door, courage slinking away from me like a fox slinking off into its lair. Vampires are supposed to be bold, brave creatures, unfazed by the mortality that so many other creatures share, creatures that live spontaneously and without fear, creatures who can kill without thought and dance without reason. I am supposed to be one of those monsters- the bold and unafraid, but the more I linger there, facing the impending damnation of whatever lies behind this door, the more I start to realise I will never be like them, no matter how hard I strive. Because at heart, I am a mortal and in my bones, there will always be fear.
Maybe that is what makes me different.
Creeping up to the door, I push it wide open… and stop still.
I am not sure what to expected to see when I opened this door, what horrors might have awaited me behind this thin film of scratched up wood. But whatever scene I imagined, it certainly is not this one.
Kal sits in the middle of the room, cradling my sword and sachet, his face streaked with wet tears, his eyes swollen and puffy. He weeps blindly into his arms, wings sunken and droopy, a mere shell of his former glory, a husk of his prior self. Never in my life have I seen someone look to broken, so utterly... defeated.
Apprehensively, I scan the damage.
Just as in Soren's room, the entire room is in disarray. Armchairs tipped to the side, coffee tables crashed and shattered against the wall, as though a bull had stampeded through at full speed. The carpet is torn up by a series of claw marks, blood splattered in a series of non uniformed streaks, dotting the walls, the armchairs, the fireplace all with a smattered array of ruby red. On any other terms, the whole scene might appear rather like a picture of modern art, but the blood is real, and the air is filled with the pungent scent of rot.
Whatever Azrael has done, I am not letting him get away with it alive.
Kal looks up drearily, but there is no recognition in his eyes, just a dead, melancholy sadness. If he notices the changes in my body, the horns on my head, he doesn't care to say, continuing to cradle the items in his hands as though it were a body.
"Kal," I whisper softly, padding forward cautiously, for fear of scaring him out of his daze. No reply.
The fire burns low in the grate as I make my way across the room, kneeling down in front of Kal to place my hand tentatively over his. Kal doesn't move.
"It was Azrael, wasn't it," I whisper, tilting my head to get a better look at him, to which he only clutched the objects tighter. There are specs of white fur over his red imperial jacket, ones in my angel form I otherwise would have missed, but my enhanced abilities pick up just about anything now.
Soren had said Kal had been comforting Ithuriel when I was under stasis- though to what extend Ithuriel had wanted that I am unsure. It is only now that I realise Kal in fact never left, but was awaiting my return to Ithuriel's side.
A return which has come only too late.
Realising that silence is not the most efficient of answers, Kal raises his head and nods slowly. Desperately, he swallows back a sob.
"Azrael took him… he took Ithuriel. He was... he was... I couldn't stop him, Serena, I am sorry, I have failed you both." He purses his lips together, desperately trying to hold back the tears, a low sob dying away in his throat. I shush him a little, lulling him into calmness as my thumb runs over his hand. But in reality, rage is boiling in my veins.
"Hey, it's okay, just tell me what happened. I am going to get him back, I promise," I reassure, to which Kal gives a grateful but obviously strained smile. "Just tell me what happened."
Kal breathes out a steady breath, mentally preparing himself. Anxiously, he fiddles with the items in his hands, pressing them against his chest.
"Azrael came in some time this morning, he was raving on about something, some souls or something. He had a shard of black glass in his heart, it looked like it had been bleeding for days. He was muttering, he looked insane, talking about how it was 'finally time'- whatever the hell that meant. He came after-" Kal stops, taking a gasping breath as tears choke up his voice. I place my hand on his shoulder gently, soothing him with soft words.
"Take your time."
Kal nods, steading himself as his grip tightens on my sword. After a few seconds, he wipes away the tears and continues.
"He came after Ithuriel. I had made myself invisible- a spell my clan often used, but it was too late for Ithuriel, Azrael had already spotted him. He tried to take Ithuriel right then and there, but he put up a fight. Scratched up the walls, Azrael's legs, there was so much blood everything. And then suddenly there was a bright flash and Ithuriel was lying there unconscious," he sniffs, pointing a wavering finger at a patch of carpet soaking in a plume of blood. My insides go deathly cold.
"W-what happened? Is Ithuriel okay? He isn't... he isn't... dead?" I say, my voice trailing off into little more than a faint whisper. Kal's eyes glaze over as he stares at the ground, cold and empty.
"I thought he was dead at first, but he was still breathing, his heart was still working. He is still alive but… I don't know for how long, I don't know where Azrael took him."
A flood of relief washes over me, a temporary feeling, but a welcome one nonetheless. Ithuriel isn't dead, only kidnapped. And if Ithuriel is still alive, that means Soren surely must be too. Azrael, if I know that sneaky bastard at all, will use them as bargaining chips. Clearly, he wants something from me, and its high time I figure out what.
Firmly, I get up, offering my hand down to Kal, who stares at it without a hint of recognition. At last I roll my eyes.
"Come on Kal," I instruct firmly, "Quit moping, we have a royal ass to kick."
Scooping up the possession tightly clutched in his arms, I sling my sachet over my shoulder. For a minute I stare at the sword, remembering the words Soren had uttered to me, and wondering faintly whether being half vampire will render me incapable of using it.
For where I am surely heading, my sword would surely not be useful. Magic is what I need to use right now, and yet…
Tentatively I reach down, relieved to find the silver does not burn the tips of my fingers on contact. Guiltily, I strap the sword to the belt at my hip. Just in case.
Then I go about preparing.
Frantically searching the cabinets- at least the ones that are still in tact- pulling out bottles of iron filings, a few bottles of potion that we made to block Azrael's powers, a knife, and various other things. Kal watches me as I do, finally coming to his senses as he rubs his eyes and heaves himself up from the floor. He pulls his own smaller bag around his waist out and begins to stuff it with a similar assortment of things, obviously realising my plan.
I try my best to keep myself calm, to not feel the rage that is seeping just inches beneath my skin, but my newfound power is much larger and much more expressive than I had imagined, as though the vampire blood itself had awakened the soul inside me to its maximum capacity. Even if I wanted to, there would be no use in smothering the golden glow that surrounds me now.
It's funny, I muse to myself, the silhouette of a vampire and the powers of an angel. I have truly become something to fear.
As though thinking the same thing as me, Kal murmurs:
"It's a good look."
Without turning to him, I raise my brows, continuing to pack things into my bag next to the bracelets Fangorn gave me- I will have to keep those safe.
"You think so?" I ask, finally zipping up my sachet before it bursts under the influence of all the things I have crammed into it. Heavily, Kal nods, dusting off the remnants of fur from his shoulders and straightening himself up.
"I know it's not what Soren was trying to do- he wanted to preserve your angel form because he knew you would hate it otherwise. But I think it works for you. You look badass. Besides, hybrid or not, you will always have a place here, my Queen."
He dips his head slightly to indicate a bow. Gratefully, I nod my assent.
"Thank you, Kal. Now, let's go kick that bitch's ass."
Kal grins.
"Lets."
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The door of room 7 is open: cracked ajar so that the faint trickled of pale luminescence can seep out into the hallways, along with the pungent smell of death. The floor is wetted with a familiar, viscous red liquid, still warm with the beating freshness of life, fading out until cold.
Blood.
The lion knocker on the front is skewed, boasting a few small claw marks on the bottom of the door- an obvious sign of struggle. The carpet below my feet is scratched up, tufts of multi-coloured fluff sticking up and out, clawed into oblivion. Apprehensively, I grimace, not daring to breathe.
It is like a crime scene.
My hand trembles before the handle of the door, courage slinking away from me like a fox slinking off into its lair. Vampires are supposed to be bold, brave creatures, unfazed by the mortality that so many other creatures share, creatures that live spontaneously and without fear, creatures who can kill without thought and dance without reason. I am supposed to be one of those monsters- the bold and unafraid, but the more I linger there, facing the impending damnation of whatever lies behind this door, the more I start to realise I will never be like them, no matter how hard I strive. Because at heart, I am a mortal and in my bones, there will always be fear.
Maybe that is what makes me different.
Creeping up to the door, I push it wide open… and stop still.
I am not sure what to expected to see when I opened this door, what horrors might have awaited me behind this thin film of scratched up wood. But whatever scene I imagined, it certainly is not this one.
Kal sits in the middle of the room, cradling my sword and sachet, his face streaked with wet tears, his eyes swollen and puffy. He weeps blindly into his arms, wings sunken and droopy, a mere shell of his former glory, a husk of his prior self. Never in my life have I seen someone look to broken, so utterly... defeated.
Apprehensively, I scan the damage.
Just as in Soren's room, the entire room is in disarray. Armchairs tipped to the side, coffee tables crashed and shattered against the wall, as though a bull had stampeded through at full speed. The carpet is torn up by a series of claw marks, blood splattered in a series of non uniformed streaks, dotting the walls, the armchairs, the fireplace all with a smattered array of ruby red. On any other terms, the whole scene might appear rather like a picture of modern art, but the blood is real, and the air is filled with the pungent scent of rot.
Whatever Azrael has done, I am not letting him get away with it alive.
Kal looks up drearily, but there is no recognition in his eyes, just a dead, melancholy sadness. If he notices the changes in my body, the horns on my head, he doesn't care to say, continuing to cradle the items in his hands as though it were a body.
"Kal," I whisper softly, padding forward cautiously, for fear of scaring him out of his daze. No reply.
The fire burns low in the grate as I make my way across the room, kneeling down in front of Kal to place my hand tentatively over his. Kal doesn't move.
"It was Azrael, wasn't it," I whisper, tilting my head to get a better look at him, to which he only clutched the objects tighter. There are specs of white fur over his red imperial jacket, ones in my angel form I otherwise would have missed, but my enhanced abilities pick up just about anything now.
Soren had said Kal had been comforting Ithuriel when I was under stasis- though to what extend Ithuriel had wanted that I am unsure. It is only now that I realise Kal in fact never left, but was awaiting my return to Ithuriel's side.
A return which has come only too late.
Realising that silence is not the most efficient of answers, Kal raises his head and nods slowly. Desperately, he swallows back a sob.
"Azrael took him… he took Ithuriel. He was... he was... I couldn't stop him, Serena, I am sorry, I have failed you both." He purses his lips together, desperately trying to hold back the tears, a low sob dying away in his throat. I shush him a little, lulling him into calmness as my thumb runs over his hand. But in reality, rage is boiling in my veins.
"Hey, it's okay, just tell me what happened. I am going to get him back, I promise," I reassure, to which Kal gives a grateful but obviously strained smile. "Just tell me what happened."
Kal breathes out a steady breath, mentally preparing himself. Anxiously, he fiddles with the items in his hands, pressing them against his chest.
"Azrael came in some time this morning, he was raving on about something, some souls or something. He had a shard of black glass in his heart, it looked like it had been bleeding for days. He was muttering, he looked insane, talking about how it was 'finally time'- whatever the hell that meant. He came after-" Kal stops, taking a gasping breath as tears choke up his voice. I place my hand on his shoulder gently, soothing him with soft words.
"Take your time."
Kal nods, steading himself as his grip tightens on my sword. After a few seconds, he wipes away the tears and continues.
"He came after Ithuriel. I had made myself invisible- a spell my clan often used, but it was too late for Ithuriel, Azrael had already spotted him. He tried to take Ithuriel right then and there, but he put up a fight. Scratched up the walls, Azrael's legs, there was so much blood everything. And then suddenly there was a bright flash and Ithuriel was lying there unconscious," he sniffs, pointing a wavering finger at a patch of carpet soaking in a plume of blood. My insides go deathly cold.
"W-what happened? Is Ithuriel okay? He isn't... he isn't... dead?" I say, my voice trailing off into little more than a faint whisper. Kal's eyes glaze over as he stares at the ground, cold and empty.
"I thought he was dead at first, but he was still breathing, his heart was still working. He is still alive but… I don't know for how long, I don't know where Azrael took him."
A flood of relief washes over me, a temporary feeling, but a welcome one nonetheless. Ithuriel isn't dead, only kidnapped. And if Ithuriel is still alive, that means Soren surely must be too. Azrael, if I know that sneaky bastard at all, will use them as bargaining chips. Clearly, he wants something from me, and its high time I figure out what.
Firmly, I get up, offering my hand down to Kal, who stares at it without a hint of recognition. At last I roll my eyes.
"Come on Kal," I instruct firmly, "Quit moping, we have a royal ass to kick."
Scooping up the possession tightly clutched in his arms, I sling my sachet over my shoulder. For a minute I stare at the sword, remembering the words Soren had uttered to me, and wondering faintly whether being half vampire will render me incapable of using it.
For where I am surely heading, my sword would surely not be useful. Magic is what I need to use right now, and yet…
Tentatively I reach down, relieved to find the silver does not burn the tips of my fingers on contact. Guiltily, I strap the sword to the belt at my hip. Just in case.
Then I go about preparing.
Frantically searching the cabinets- at least the ones that are still in tact- pulling out bottles of iron filings, a few bottles of potion that we made to block Azrael's powers, a knife, and various other things. Kal watches me as I do, finally coming to his senses as he rubs his eyes and heaves himself up from the floor. He pulls his own smaller bag around his waist out and begins to stuff it with a similar assortment of things, obviously realising my plan.
I try my best to keep myself calm, to not feel the rage that is seeping just inches beneath my skin, but my newfound power is much larger and much more expressive than I had imagined, as though the vampire blood itself had awakened the soul inside me to its maximum capacity. Even if I wanted to, there would be no use in smothering the golden glow that surrounds me now.
It's funny, I muse to myself, the silhouette of a vampire and the powers of an angel. I have truly become something to fear.
As though thinking the same thing as me, Kal murmurs:
"It's a good look."
Without turning to him, I raise my brows, continuing to pack things into my bag next to the bracelets Fangorn gave me- I will have to keep those safe.
"You think so?" I ask, finally zipping up my sachet before it bursts under the influence of all the things I have crammed into it. Heavily, Kal nods, dusting off the remnants of fur from his shoulders and straightening himself up.
"I know it's not what Soren was trying to do- he wanted to preserve your angel form because he knew you would hate it otherwise. But I think it works for you. You look badass. Besides, hybrid or not, you will always have a place here, my Queen."
He dips his head slightly to indicate a bow. Gratefully, I nod my assent.
"Thank you, Kal. Now, let's go kick that bitch's ass."
Kal grins.
"Lets."
The door of room 7 is open: cracked ajar so that the faint trickled of pale luminescence can seep out into the hallways, along with the pungent smell of death. The floor is wetted with a familiar, viscous red liquid, still warm with the beating freshness of life, fading out until cold.Blood. The lion knocker on the front is skewed, boasting a few small claw marks on the bottom of the door- an obvious sign of struggle. The carpet below my feet is scratched up, tufts of multi-coloured fluff sticking up and out, clawed into oblivion. Apprehensively, I grimace, not daring to breathe.It is like a crime scene.My hand trembles before the handle of the door, courage slinking away from me like a fox slinking off into its lair. Vampires are supposed to be bold, brave creatures, unfazed by the mortality that so many other creatures share, creatures that live spontaneously and without fear, creatures who can kill without thought and dance without reason. I am supposed to be one of those monsters- the bold and unafraid, but the more I linger there, facing the impending damnation of whatever lies behind this door, the more I start to realise I will never be like them, no matter how hard I strive. Because at heart, I am a mortal and in my bones, there will always be fear.Maybe that is what makes me different. Creeping up to the door, I push it wide open and stop still.I am not sure what to expected to see when I opened this door, what horrors might have awaited me behind this thin film of scratched up wood. But whatever scene I imagined, it certainly is not this one.Kal sits in the middle of the room, cradling my sword and sachet, his face streaked with wet tears, his eyes swollen and puffy. He weeps blindly into his arms, wings sunken and droopy, a mere shell of his former glory, a husk of his prior self. Never in my life have I seen someone look to broken, so utterly... defeated.Apprehensively, I scan the damage.Just as in Soren's room, the entire room is in disarray. Armchairs tipped to the side, coffee tables crashed and shattered against the wall, as though a bull had stampeded through at full speed. The carpet is torn up by a series of claw marks, blood splattered in a series of non uniformed streaks, dotting the walls, the armchairs, the fireplace all with a smattered array of ruby red. On any other terms, the whole scene might appear rather like a picture of modern art, but the blood is real, and the air is filled with the pungent scent of rot.Whatever Azrael has done, I am not letting him get away with it alive.Kal looks up drearily, but there is no recognition in his eyes, just a dead, melancholy sadness. If he notices the changes in my body, the horns on my head, he doesn't care to say, continuing to cradle the items in his hands as though it were a body."Kal," I whisper softly, padding forward cautiously, for fear of scaring him out of his daze. No reply.The fire burns low in the grate as I make my way across the room, kneeling down in front of Kal to place my hand tentatively over his. Kal doesn't move."It was Azrael, wasn't it," I whisper, tilting my head to get a better look at him, to which he only clutched the objects tighter. There are specs of white fur over his red imperial jacket, ones in my angel form I otherwise would have missed, but my enhanced abilities pick up just about anything now. Soren had said Kal had been comforting Ithuriel when I was under stasis- though to what extend Ithuriel had wanted that I am unsure. It is only now that I realise Kal in fact never left, but was awaiting my return to Ithuriel's side.A return which has come only too late.Realising that silence is not the most efficient of answers, Kal raises his head and nods slowly. Desperately, he swallows back a sob."Azrael took him he took Ithuriel. He was... he was... I couldn't stop him, Serena, I am sorry, I have failed you both." He purses his lips together, desperately trying to hold back the tears, a low sob dying away in his throat. I shush him a little, lulling him into calmness as my thumb runs over his hand. But in reality, rage is boiling in my veins."Hey, it's okay, just tell me what happened. I am going to get him back, I promise," I reassure, to which Kal gives a grateful but obviously strained smile. "Just tell me what happened."Kal breathes out a steady breath, mentally preparing himself. Anxiously, he fiddles with the items in his hands, pressing them against his chest."Azrael came in some time this morning, he was raving on about something, some souls or something. He had a shard of black glass in his heart, it looked like it had been bleeding for days. He was muttering, he looked insane, talking about how it was 'finally time'- whatever the hell that meant. He came after-" Kal stops, taking a gasping breath as tears choke up his voice. I place my hand on his shoulder gently, soothing him with soft words."Take your time."Kal nods, steading himself as his grip tightens on my sword. After a few seconds, he wipes away the tears and continues."He came after Ithuriel. I had made myself invisible- a spell my clan often used, but it was too late for Ithuriel, Azrael had already spotted him. He tried to take Ithuriel right then and there, but he put up a fight. Scratched up the walls, Azrael's legs, there was so much blood everything. And then suddenly there was a bright flash and Ithuriel was lying there unconscious," he sniffs, pointing a wavering finger at a patch of carpet soaking in a plume of blood. My insides go deathly cold. "W-what happened? Is Ithuriel okay? He isn't... he isn't... dead?" I say, my voice trailing off into little more than a faint whisper. Kal's eyes glaze over as he stares at the ground, cold and empty."I thought he was dead at first, but he was still breathing, his heart was still working. He is still alive but I don't know for how long, I don't know where Azrael took him."A flood of relief washes over me, a temporary feeling, but a welcome one nonetheless. Ithuriel isn't dead, only kidnapped. And if Ithuriel is still alive, that means Soren surely must be too. Azrael, if I know that sneaky bastard at all, will use them as bargaining chips. Clearly, he wants something from me, and its high time I figure out what. Firmly, I get up, offering my hand down to Kal, who stares at it without a hint of recognition. At last I roll my eyes."Come on Kal," I instruct firmly, "Quit moping, we have a royal ass to kick."Scooping up the possession tightly clutched in his arms, I sling my sachet over my shoulder. For a minute I stare at the sword, remembering the words Soren had uttered to me, and wondering faintly whether being half vampire will render me incapable of using it.For where I am surely heading, my sword would surely not be useful. Magic is what I need to use right now, and yetTentatively I reach down, relieved to find the silver does not burn the tips of my fingers on contact. Guiltily, I strap the sword to the belt at my hip. Just in case.Then I go about preparing.Frantically searching the cabinets- at least the ones that are still in tact- pulling out bottles of iron filings, a few bottles of potion that we made to block Azrael's powers, a knife, and various other things. Kal watches me as I do, finally coming to his senses as he rubs his eyes and heaves himself up from the floor. He pulls his own smaller bag around his waist out and begins to stuff it with a similar assortment of things, obviously realising my plan.I try my best to keep myself calm, to not feel the rage that is seeping just inches beneath my skin, but my newfound power is much larger and much more expressive than I had imagined, as though the vampire blood itself had awakened the soul inside me to its maximum capacity. Even if I wanted to, there would be no use in smothering the golden glow that surrounds me now.It's funny, I muse to myself, the silhouette of a vampire and the powers of an angel. I have truly become something to fear.As though thinking the same thing as me, Kal murmurs:"It's a good look."Without turning to him, I raise my brows, continuing to pack things into my bag next to the bracelets Fangorn gave me- I will have to keep those safe."You think so?" I ask, finally zipping up my sachet before it bursts under the influence of all the things I have crammed into it. Heavily, Kal nods, dusting off the remnants of fur from his shoulders and straightening himself up."I know it's not what Soren was trying to do- he wanted to preserve your angel form because he knew you would hate it otherwise. But I think it works for you. You look badass. Besides, hybrid or not, you will always have a place here, my Queen."He dips his head slightly to indicate a bow. Gratefully, I nod my assent."Thank you, Kal. Now, let's go kick that bitch's ass."Kal grins. "Lets."
