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When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 154

Published at 28th of October 2021 09:46:43 AM


Chapter 154: 154

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At the mercy of Azrael's claws, the creatures head is torn of in one swift motion, fiery flames rolling out and spilling onto the ground as the creature rolls lifeless onto the floor.

From then, everything seems to happen in slow motion.

A shock of pain runs through me, jolting through my system like icy needles of pure, unadulterated pain as Azrael wipes his hands, sauntering towards me. Kal screams are blurred into the ringing of my ears, noise flaring up around me in a singular consistent hum, like a chorus of bees without any notes. But I barely notice.

In an instant I am bent double, spluttering up a cough that is wet with blood. The iron taste claws at my mouth, bittersweet and potent, making my head sway with nausea and sickness, as though with the destruction of my creation, a piece of my own life has been plucked from my soul. Azrael kicks away the flaming remains of the head that lolls lifelessly on the floor, an enraged look on his face, as though he can't quite bring himself to understand why I had fought against him so.

As if I would ever want to join him. As if I would ever agree to be his  wife.

The flames on the floor dissolve in an instant, crawling their way back into my body to renew me of the life that had been stripped of me. Kal trembles as he makes his way to my side, fingers clutched tightly around my arm, holding me steady, talking in a low undertone that I cannot quite hear.

The realisation hits me then life a slap to the face: that after all this, I am still not quite enough. That my powers still have not fully developed, have not reached the dizzying heights of glory that Azrael and Soren boast. They are still stagnant, untested, a power tapped only at the surface, but nothing further. I have not harnessed them fully yet, had not had the hundreds of years that my other soul counterparts have had to perfect and strengthen their resolve, polish their skills to a fine pinpoint.

Azrael knows this, of course he does. And that only makes the burden all the more worrisome to bear. If I don't manage to harness my powers soon, then it will be too late.

After a few seconds of healing I am up again, but Azrael has had enough. He dusts off his burnt hands, the red, inflamed skin already healing as he grits his teeth with vexation.

"I told you," he hisses, running his fingers back over his scraggly white hair, nose wrinkling with pure disgust. "That I didn't want to fight you. I planned a little game for you, a chance to change the outcome of these events, and yet you still remain ungrateful for my generous offer. Your job is to find your mate before I lose my patience and take his soul, but it seems you don't like the prospect of that little game. So perhaps I shall provide some incentive."

I catch a glimpse of a wild grin, before he disappears from sight, vanishing into a trail of wispy white smoke and cinders. Kal shoots me a worried look.

"Incentive?" 

Kal's answer comes quick in the form of a high pitched scream of a child.

"Now then," Azrael growls, raising up the small winged by the back of her neck, his long clawed fingers circling maliciously around her neck. My breath catches in my throat. "Here is you first incentive. I bought her out just for you, isn't she pretty?"

"No! Dawn!" I scream, my voice cracking in an effort to maintain composure, but my efforts are futile. Kal is muttering frantically beside me, shaking his head in disbelief. I can hear his heart pounding in his chest, quicker and quicker with every passing second, threatening to burst from his chest entirely. My heart surely sounds no better.

I knew Azrael was one for games- the epitome of a vampire who delights in blood and death, and to toy with his prey like a cat to a mouse, but this...

This isn't a game. This is torture.

Azrael raises the small white haired angel up further, his hand tightening round the back of her neck as we attempt to come closer, causing us both to fall back. Dawn chokes.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Azrael scolds mockingly, wagging a finger at us with his free hand. "This is my game, not yours, and I would rather insist you play it, since I devised it especially for you. I do so love to see you struggle, Serena," he adds, lowering his eyes to me. "It is rather cute."

Angrily, I spit at the floor, but that only makes things worse. Azrael's fingers clamp down further, causing Dawn's eyes to bulge hideously as she gasps for breath. He gives me a pointed look, a look of commandment, and its obvious what he wants me to do. Gritting my teeth, I step back rigidly, and Azrael's fingers loosen.

As soon as I get my hands on that vampire, I am going to kill him.

"Good girl. Now, allow me to make some rules clear," he adds, placing a finger on Dawn's chest. He draws a line down.

"Your job is to come and find me before I finish my preparation to take the next soul. If you do, I will allow you to take Soren's place, and maybe even spare your friends if you ask very nicely. Not that I think you will be able to, but it is such fun to watch you try. And if you don't play," he starts, his nail digging into her flesh. Dawn screams in response as blood wells beneath his fingertip, beading up like droplets of water on a leaf. "I draw one more line. Down, down, down until her organs are inside out. The more you disobey, the further down this line goes, and the greater the pain. Won't that be a shame? And once Dawn is dead…" he flickers out of existence one more. A second later he is back, two figures by his side, both bound in silver chains.

"Then I move on to these two."

It is all I can do but watch in horror at the two figures bound by Azrael's side, held partially aloft by the back of their necks, limp and lifeless, as though they have been sedated. Both figures are blindfolded and gagged, the one on his left, a small fox, bound tightly by the legs. The figure to his right sits still, burning red marks scorched into his flesh were the silver bites into his skin, a slight steam rising from his skin. He is visibly shaking, but obviously trying to keep it under control, his fists clenching into tight balls, his knuckled white.

My heart drops to my stomach.

"Ithuriel, Soren!" I scream, to which both of them weakly raise their heads, searching side to side blindly for the source of my voice. I stare in shocked horror, knowing that if I take another step closer, Azrael has full leverage over his subjects and can do anything he wants. I am just a helpless bystander, a mouse who has been cornered by a very sly, very sadistic cat. If I were to lunge at them now, one of them, if not both, would surely die.

"You are a monster," Kal whispers, bringing himself up to my side, his fingers pointed accusingly at Azrael, shaking with fear. A singular tear catches on his cheek, sweeping down his face like rain on a window pane despite his bests efforts to hold it in.

Angrily, I clench my fingers into fists.

"And if I play your stupid game," I hiss through my teeth. "You will let me take Soren's place? You will take my soul instead?"

At this the bound figure by his side squirms frantically, a muffled cry coming beneath the tightly bound gag. The silver chains flare up against his skin, burning a bright orange as wisps of smoke rise like death clouds from his skin. Spitting angrily, Azrael jerks out a boot to kick Soren in the stomach, causing a choking sound to issue behind the gag as he bends over double, pain flaring up through his body. The struggling Soren falls to a deadly quiet.

"I will, yes," Azrael says simply, but I don't trust him one bit. But it isn't like I have much of a choice.

Suddenly, in my mind, I hear Soren's voice, so weak it almost breaks my heart.

Serena… don't…

Comes his disjointed voice, fatigued with the effort of simply keeping himself conscious. He clutches his stomach tightly, his face scrunching up tightly underneath the blindfold. I have never seen him in so much pain. I have never seen him this… broken.

I will find you, I promise. I will not let Azrael take your soul.

At this, Soren only groans, his fingers clenching against his sides, the knuckles turning white as snow. Once more Azrael barks at him to shut up, aiming a jabbing kick at his ribs, which Soren senses and weakly tries to avoid. But the blow still lands, his body falling limp. I almost scream. 

Why isn't he fighting?

Don't let him… get near you… Soren's voice pleas in my mind, fragmented like shards of a broken mirror, a cruel parody of the tyrannous Scarlet Prince he once was. He has… silver injections.. Please Serena, don't… don't come looking for me.




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