Chapter 151: 151
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Together the two of us sprint out of the room, both fully aware that time is of the essence, and lives could be on the line. With the newfound strength of my body, and the slight lengthening of my limbs, I find that making my way through the long hallways is not as tiresome as it used to be. In fact, it is rather easy- sprinting down empty corridors at high speeds, no longer having to be conscious of running into any snarling vampires or panicking butlers making their usual rounds around the palace. Perhaps it may also be down to the anger that spills through my body that makes traversing that much quicker: a rage that gnaws at my insides like a dog at a tether. With each footfall, sparks flare, shadows springing into existence as the light that exudes from my body pushes outwards, swamping the hallways in an eerie golden glow, shimmering with the promise of violence.
As soon as I find Azrael, I am going to kill him. Soul or not.
"Remember to stay calm," Kal reminds me lowly as we zip through another corridor, his breath beginning to labour from the extent of our journey. "Whatever Azrael has done, angering him is not the ideal solution- he might hurt somebody. Promise me you won't do anything rash," he begs, giving me a pleading look. Unmoving, I keep my gaze fixed forward, my lips curling in dissatisfaction.
In an ideal world, I would gladly tear Azrael limb from limb for what he has done to my friends. But Kal is right- angering him is, and never will be, the best solution, especially considering the powers he has. Before I do anything, I must learn what he is up to, maybe then I can spare a little room for his annihilation.
"Fine," I smoulder, gritting my teeth. "Just for now."
It doesn't take long for us to reach the throne room- the cavernous space unnaturally empty, and oddly still, as though the soul had been sucked out of the very room, leaving nothing but a husk in its place. Nowhere are the rowdy drinkers and raunchy vampire dancers, no devilish red eyed flirtations or familiar death stares that had so often accompanied me through the room. It is empty, a lifeless mimicry of what once resided here. The chandeliers are hardly burning, as though with the disappearance of their sovereign master everything had faded into a grim parody of itself.
My heart almost stops when I see who is on the throne.
"Sor-" I stop short, drawing myself to a halt.
Silence draws on as I peer at this familiar but strangely abnormal figure. The hair is the same, the curve of his lips, the cheeks, even down to the build which I have so often doted on in my weeks at the palace. But there is something off about him, a peculiar lack of a vital presence, some darkness that had always seemed tangible, now faded. When his eyes meet mine, I suddenly understand why.
No warmth swims there, no spark or recognition or comforting intimacy that we so often shared between strings of kisses under the speckled light of midnight stars. His eyes are dull, lifeless, filled with nothing but a sickening cold, and the lightless aura of death.
This is not Soren. Nor will it ever be.
Staring at the intruder, the hackles on my back raise, sparks of light clicking around me like roaring flames on an open fire.
"Stop using Soren's body, you blood sucking bitch," I hiss, spitting on the ground in full sight of the imposter. Azrael- still in Soren's form, shifts on his seat, uncrossing his legs as he arises from the throne, pouting a little, pulling Soren's face down into an odd angle that I had never hoped to see before. Watching him move, there is no doubt about it: for as much as he may look like Soren, perfected every curve and detail of his appearance, there are aspects that no amount of mimicry could ever hope to capture. His mannerisms, the way he walks, the subtle gestures of his body and the loving look that swims in the depths of his eyes- these actions are Soren's and no one else's.
Azrael can never be his brother, no matter how hard he tried.
"What's the matter, did you not like the show?" he asks mockingly, splaying his hands as he strides closer, heels clacking menacingly against the floor. His form flickers under the shadows in an obviously purposeful manner, one minute Soren's, the next his own, switching in between as clearly as the cycles of night and day.
In that moment, everything that Kal asked of me goes completely out the window. Anger spreads through me like a wildfire.
"Show me your real form, you coward!" I scream bitterly, running forward, raging boiling in my veins, filling me with a hot headed steam. My fingers tingle with power, welling from the very essence of my soul, and with one quick movement, I lob a flaming ball of fire at him which streaks through the air with a blast of heat. Behind me Kal calls out in protest, but I can barely hear him over the sound of my breathing heart and the rage that throbs like an infection coursing through my veins. The golden ball of fire hits Azrael right in the chest, exploding on impact with a flurry of white fizzling sparks. From behind me, Kal stops his protests, watching in awe as Azrael staggers back, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.
"You bastard," I say, lobbing another fire ball with as much might as I can muster. Once more, it hits him in the chest, but he does not fall, his feet remaining grounded on the marble floor, his form flickering at an ever increasing rate. I throw another, and another, over and over, each one hitting harder than the last, each one causing the white haired vampire to stumble a little further back, feet tumbling out beneath him.
For some reason, Azrael doesn't move, he doesn't even attempt to dodge, standing in point blank range, letting me land his after hit. After a few more rounds, I finally realise what it is he is doing: that its not because he isn't strong enough to dodge, but that he is letting me do it.
That thought only serves to rile me up further.
At that moment I wonder if I got my hands around his neck whether I might kill him- snap him in two and skewer him on a silver stake, then leave him to burn in the fires of hell. It would certainly serve him right, for whatever he has done to my mate, whatever he has done to Ithuriel.
"You bitch, you asshole, you fucking dirty rat!" I scream, close enough now to reach him, to crush him if I so desired. Without a second thought or any regards to Kal's wails of protest, I raise my hand and slap him straight across the face. The sound of impact is much harder than I expected, stone against stone, leaving my hand burning slightly from impact. The worst part however, is when my ring makes contact with his face- the cold hard steel indenting into my palm, biting into my flesh. It is painful, but it is bearable. Besides, if it means getting my friends back, I will do just about anything.
As soon as my hand leaves contact with his skin, Azrael flickers back into his usual form. His white hair is an unkempt mess, crimson eyes gleaming, his fine suit stained with blood that appears to have long since dried. A shard of glass, about as thick as my wrist, is embedded into his body, just above where his heart would be. It looks like it had been firmly wedged in by some accident, or someone using great force, but what really confuses me is why Azrael has not bothered to take it out. Or why he has not bothered to kill me yet.
Within a split second, Azrael darts away, evaporating into a fine misty shadow before reappearing a few meters ahead, perched on Soren's throne like he owns the place, his long nails tapping insistently against the arm of the throne. Slowly bringing up a hand, he rubs his face, fingers skimming tenderly over the read welt my slap had left him- a mark that would no doubt be gone in a matter of minutes, and grins.
Perhaps I should have slapped him harder.
"Such language. I thought you out of all people might have some manners in this place, little girl. Did you enjoy taking your anger out on me? Truly, it was rather intoxicating seeing you so... alive," Azrael says, grimacing a little as he readjusts his position to shift the weight away from the shard of glass in his chest. I spit at him from across the room, prepared to launch myself across to tear out his throat, only to find a small hand on my shoulder, grounding me into reality.
"Don't," Kal whispers desperately in my ear, his hand gripping me tighter, as though fearing that loosening it may give me the unwanted opportunity to wreck havoc on Azrael. My eyes remain fixed on the smouldering holes I have burnt into Azrael fine shirt, my body unwavering. Kal is right, of course. Killing Azrael right now would serve little to no purpose aside from a short lived victory. I have yet to find out where he has taken Soren and Ithuriel, and if they are even still alive at all.. I have to stay level headed, if only a little bit.
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Together the two of us sprint out of the room, both fully aware that time is of the essence, and lives could be on the line. With the newfound strength of my body, and the slight lengthening of my limbs, I find that making my way through the long hallways is not as tiresome as it used to be. In fact, it is rather easy- sprinting down empty corridors at high speeds, no longer having to be conscious of running into any snarling vampires or panicking butlers making their usual rounds around the palace. Perhaps it may also be down to the anger that spills through my body that makes traversing that much quicker: a rage that gnaws at my insides like a dog at a tether. With each footfall, sparks flare, shadows springing into existence as the light that exudes from my body pushes outwards, swamping the hallways in an eerie golden glow, shimmering with the promise of violence.
As soon as I find Azrael, I am going to kill him. Soul or not.
"Remember to stay calm," Kal reminds me lowly as we zip through another corridor, his breath beginning to labour from the extent of our journey. "Whatever Azrael has done, angering him is not the ideal solution- he might hurt somebody. Promise me you won't do anything rash," he begs, giving me a pleading look. Unmoving, I keep my gaze fixed forward, my lips curling in dissatisfaction.
In an ideal world, I would gladly tear Azrael limb from limb for what he has done to my friends. But Kal is right- angering him is, and never will be, the best solution, especially considering the powers he has. Before I do anything, I must learn what he is up to, maybe then I can spare a little room for his annihilation.
"Fine," I smoulder, gritting my teeth. "Just for now."
It doesn't take long for us to reach the throne room- the cavernous space unnaturally empty, and oddly still, as though the soul had been sucked out of the very room, leaving nothing but a husk in its place. Nowhere are the rowdy drinkers and raunchy vampire dancers, no devilish red eyed flirtations or familiar death stares that had so often accompanied me through the room. It is empty, a lifeless mimicry of what once resided here. The chandeliers are hardly burning, as though with the disappearance of their sovereign master everything had faded into a grim parody of itself.
My heart almost stops when I see who is on the throne.
"Sor-" I stop short, drawing myself to a halt.
Silence draws on as I peer at this familiar but strangely abnormal figure. The hair is the same, the curve of his lips, the cheeks, even down to the build which I have so often doted on in my weeks at the palace. But there is something off about him, a peculiar lack of a vital presence, some darkness that had always seemed tangible, now faded. When his eyes meet mine, I suddenly understand why.
No warmth swims there, no spark or recognition or comforting intimacy that we so often shared between strings of kisses under the speckled light of midnight stars. His eyes are dull, lifeless, filled with nothing but a sickening cold, and the lightless aura of death.
This is not Soren. Nor will it ever be.
Staring at the intruder, the hackles on my back raise, sparks of light clicking around me like roaring flames on an open fire.
"Stop using Soren's body, you blood sucking bitch," I hiss, spitting on the ground in full sight of the imposter. Azrael- still in Soren's form, shifts on his seat, uncrossing his legs as he arises from the throne, pouting a little, pulling Soren's face down into an odd angle that I had never hoped to see before. Watching him move, there is no doubt about it: for as much as he may look like Soren, perfected every curve and detail of his appearance, there are aspects that no amount of mimicry could ever hope to capture. His mannerisms, the way he walks, the subtle gestures of his body and the loving look that swims in the depths of his eyes- these actions are Soren's and no one else's.
Azrael can never be his brother, no matter how hard he tried.
"What's the matter, did you not like the show?" he asks mockingly, splaying his hands as he strides closer, heels clacking menacingly against the floor. His form flickers under the shadows in an obviously purposeful manner, one minute Soren's, the next his own, switching in between as clearly as the cycles of night and day.
In that moment, everything that Kal asked of me goes completely out the window. Anger spreads through me like a wildfire.
"Show me your real form, you coward!" I scream bitterly, running forward, raging boiling in my veins, filling me with a hot headed steam. My fingers tingle with power, welling from the very essence of my soul, and with one quick movement, I lob a flaming ball of fire at him which streaks through the air with a blast of heat. Behind me Kal calls out in protest, but I can barely hear him over the sound of my breathing heart and the rage that throbs like an infection coursing through my veins. The golden ball of fire hits Azrael right in the chest, exploding on impact with a flurry of white fizzling sparks. From behind me, Kal stops his protests, watching in awe as Azrael staggers back, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.
"You bastard," I say, lobbing another fire ball with as much might as I can muster. Once more, it hits him in the chest, but he does not fall, his feet remaining grounded on the marble floor, his form flickering at an ever increasing rate. I throw another, and another, over and over, each one hitting harder than the last, each one causing the white haired vampire to stumble a little further back, feet tumbling out beneath him.
For some reason, Azrael doesn't move, he doesn't even attempt to dodge, standing in point blank range, letting me land his after hit. After a few more rounds, I finally realise what it is he is doing: that its not because he isn't strong enough to dodge, but that he is letting me do it.
That thought only serves to rile me up further.
At that moment I wonder if I got my hands around his neck whether I might kill him- snap him in two and skewer him on a silver stake, then leave him to burn in the fires of hell. It would certainly serve him right, for whatever he has done to my mate, whatever he has done to Ithuriel.
"You bitch, you asshole, you fucking dirty rat!" I scream, close enough now to reach him, to crush him if I so desired. Without a second thought or any regards to Kal's wails of protest, I raise my hand and slap him straight across the face. The sound of impact is much harder than I expected, stone against stone, leaving my hand burning slightly from impact. The worst part however, is when my ring makes contact with his face- the cold hard steel indenting into my palm, biting into my flesh. It is painful, but it is bearable. Besides, if it means getting my friends back, I will do just about anything.
As soon as my hand leaves contact with his skin, Azrael flickers back into his usual form. His white hair is an unkempt mess, crimson eyes gleaming, his fine suit stained with blood that appears to have long since dried. A shard of glass, about as thick as my wrist, is embedded into his body, just above where his heart would be. It looks like it had been firmly wedged in by some accident, or someone using great force, but what really confuses me is why Azrael has not bothered to take it out. Or why he has not bothered to kill me yet.
Within a split second, Azrael darts away, evaporating into a fine misty shadow before reappearing a few meters ahead, perched on Soren's throne like he owns the place, his long nails tapping insistently against the arm of the throne. Slowly bringing up a hand, he rubs his face, fingers skimming tenderly over the read welt my slap had left him- a mark that would no doubt be gone in a matter of minutes, and grins.
Perhaps I should have slapped him harder.
"Such language. I thought you out of all people might have some manners in this place, little girl. Did you enjoy taking your anger out on me? Truly, it was rather intoxicating seeing you so... alive," Azrael says, grimacing a little as he readjusts his position to shift the weight away from the shard of glass in his chest. I spit at him from across the room, prepared to launch myself across to tear out his throat, only to find a small hand on my shoulder, grounding me into reality.
"Don't," Kal whispers desperately in my ear, his hand gripping me tighter, as though fearing that loosening it may give me the unwanted opportunity to wreck havoc on Azrael. My eyes remain fixed on the smouldering holes I have burnt into Azrael fine shirt, my body unwavering. Kal is right, of course. Killing Azrael right now would serve little to no purpose aside from a short lived victory. I have yet to find out where he has taken Soren and Ithuriel, and if they are even still alive at all.. I have to stay level headed, if only a little bit.
Together the two of us sprint out of the room, both fully aware that time is of the essence, and lives could be on the line. With the newfound strength of my body, and the slight lengthening of my limbs, I find that making my way through the long hallways is not as tiresome as it used to be. In fact, it is rather easy- sprinting down empty corridors at high speeds, no longer having to be conscious of running into any snarling vampires or panicking butlers making their usual rounds around the palace. Perhaps it may also be down to the anger that spills through my body that makes traversing that much quicker: a rage that gnaws at my insides like a dog at a tether. With each footfall, sparks flare, shadows springing into existence as the light that exudes from my body pushes outwards, swamping the hallways in an eerie golden glow, shimmering with the promise of violence. As soon as I find Azrael, I am going to kill him. Soul or not."Remember to stay calm," Kal reminds me lowly as we zip through another corridor, his breath beginning to labour from the extent of our journey. "Whatever Azrael has done, angering him is not the ideal solution- he might hurt somebody. Promise me you won't do anything rash," he begs, giving me a pleading look. Unmoving, I keep my gaze fixed forward, my lips curling in dissatisfaction. In an ideal world, I would gladly tear Azrael limb from limb for what he has done to my friends. But Kal is right- angering him is, and never will be, the best solution, especially considering the powers he has. Before I do anything, I must learn what he is up to, maybe then I can spare a little room for his annihilation."Fine," I smoulder, gritting my teeth. "Just for now."It doesn't take long for us to reach the throne room- the cavernous space unnaturally empty, and oddly still, as though the soul had been sucked out of the very room, leaving nothing but a husk in its place. Nowhere are the rowdy drinkers and raunchy vampire dancers, no devilish red eyed flirtations or familiar death stares that had so often accompanied me through the room. It is empty, a lifeless mimicry of what once resided here. The chandeliers are hardly burning, as though with the disappearance of their sovereign master everything had faded into a grim parody of itself.My heart almost stops when I see who is on the throne."Sor-" I stop short, drawing myself to a halt.Silence draws on as I peer at this familiar but strangely abnormal figure. The hair is the same, the curve of his lips, the cheeks, even down to the build which I have so often doted on in my weeks at the palace. But there is something off about him, a peculiar lack of a vital presence, some darkness that had always seemed tangible, now faded. When his eyes meet mine, I suddenly understand why.No warmth swims there, no spark or recognition or comforting intimacy that we so often shared between strings of kisses under the speckled light of midnight stars. His eyes are dull, lifeless, filled with nothing but a sickening cold, and the lightless aura of death.This is not Soren. Nor will it ever be.Staring at the intruder, the hackles on my back raise, sparks of light clicking around me like roaring flames on an open fire."Stop using Soren's body, you blood sucking bitch," I hiss, spitting on the ground in full sight of the imposter. Azrael- still in Soren's form, shifts on his seat, uncrossing his legs as he arises from the throne, pouting a little, pulling Soren's face down into an odd angle that I had never hoped to see before. Watching him move, there is no doubt about it: for as much as he may look like Soren, perfected every curve and detail of his appearance, there are aspects that no amount of mimicry could ever hope to capture. His mannerisms, the way he walks, the subtle gestures of his body and the loving look that swims in the depths of his eyes- these actions are Soren's and no one else's.Azrael can never be his brother, no matter how hard he tried."What's the matter, did you not like the show?" he asks mockingly, splaying his hands as he strides closer, heels clacking menacingly against the floor. His form flickers under the shadows in an obviously purposeful manner, one minute Soren's, the next his own, switching in between as clearly as the cycles of night and day.In that moment, everything that Kal asked of me goes completely out the window. Anger spreads through me like a wildfire."Show me your real form, you coward!" I scream bitterly, running forward, raging boiling in my veins, filling me with a hot headed steam. My fingers tingle with power, welling from the very essence of my soul, and with one quick movement, I lob a flaming ball of fire at him which streaks through the air with a blast of heat. Behind me Kal calls out in protest, but I can barely hear him over the sound of my breathing heart and the rage that throbs like an infection coursing through my veins. The golden ball of fire hits Azrael right in the chest, exploding on impact with a flurry of white fizzling sparks. From behind me, Kal stops his protests, watching in awe as Azrael staggers back, clutching his chest and gasping for breath."You bastard," I say, lobbing another fire ball with as much might as I can muster. Once more, it hits him in the chest, but he does not fall, his feet remaining grounded on the marble floor, his form flickering at an ever increasing rate. I throw another, and another, over and over, each one hitting harder than the last, each one causing the white haired vampire to stumble a little further back, feet tumbling out beneath him. For some reason, Azrael doesn't move, he doesn't even attempt to dodge, standing in point blank range, letting me land his after hit. After a few more rounds, I finally realise what it is he is doing: that its not because he isn't strong enough to dodge, but that he is letting me do it.That thought only serves to rile me up further.At that moment I wonder if I got my hands around his neck whether I might kill him- snap him in two and skewer him on a silver stake, then leave him to burn in the fires of hell. It would certainly serve him right, for whatever he has done to my mate, whatever he has done to Ithuriel."You bitch, you asshole, you fucking dirty rat!" I scream, close enough now to reach him, to crush him if I so desired. Without a second thought or any regards to Kal's wails of protest, I raise my hand and slap him straight across the face. The sound of impact is much harder than I expected, stone against stone, leaving my hand burning slightly from impact. The worst part however, is when my ring makes contact with his face- the cold hard steel indenting into my palm, biting into my flesh. It is painful, but it is bearable. Besides, if it means getting my friends back, I will do just about anything. As soon as my hand leaves contact with his skin, Azrael flickers back into his usual form. His white hair is an unkempt mess, crimson eyes gleaming, his fine suit stained with blood that appears to have long since dried. A shard of glass, about as thick as my wrist, is embedded into his body, just above where his heart would be. It looks like it had been firmly wedged in by some accident, or someone using great force, but what really confuses me is why Azrael has not bothered to take it out. Or why he has not bothered to kill me yet.Within a split second, Azrael darts away, evaporating into a fine misty shadow before reappearing a few meters ahead, perched on Soren's throne like he owns the place, his long nails tapping insistently against the arm of the throne. Slowly bringing up a hand, he rubs his face, fingers skimming tenderly over the read welt my slap had left him- a mark that would no doubt be gone in a matter of minutes, and grins. Perhaps I should have slapped him harder."Such language. I thought you out of all people might have some manners in this place, little girl. Did you enjoy taking your anger out on me? Truly, it was rather intoxicating seeing you so... alive," Azrael says, grimacing a little as he readjusts his position to shift the weight away from the shard of glass in his chest. I spit at him from across the room, prepared to launch myself across to tear out his throat, only to find a small hand on my shoulder, grounding me into reality."Don't," Kal whispers desperately in my ear, his hand gripping me tighter, as though fearing that loosening it may give me the unwanted opportunity to wreck havoc on Azrael. My eyes remain fixed on the smouldering holes I have burnt into Azrael fine shirt, my body unwavering. Kal is right, of course. Killing Azrael right now would serve little to no purpose aside from a short lived victory. I have yet to find out where he has taken Soren and Ithuriel, and if they are even still alive at all.. I have to stay level headed, if only a little bit.
