Chapter 165: 165
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
If there is one thing that Kingdom of Sezeria has done well, it is teaching me how not to feel for villains. Or, in fact, teaching me not to feel at all. After so many weeks of dealing with cocky vampires staring me down the hallways whispering death threats as I pass, and several bullshit attempts on my life, I have emerged a Queen who will not only slay a creature, but an entire horde of them. That is not to say I do not care for vampires, rather there are many I would like to see reformed and liberated. But that does not mean I have to put up with their shit.
Azrael is no exemption from this. As soon as I get my hands around his scrawny little neck, I am going to strangle him into submission, and skewer his heart for silver for good measure. After all, in this place, everyone gets what they deserve.
I try not to listen to the calls of Azrael's illusion after me, and try my best not to think of the form he has taken- if only to provoke me. Largely, I try not to think of anything at all, leaving matters to the rage that boils in my stomach, content in knowing that if I so wished, I could burn this entire place to cinders another time over.
I suppose that's what happens after you marry a vampire Prince trained in the art of outwardly lacking feeling or emotions. Things start to rub off on you: over the many vivid weeks of my stay, even I- an angel once taught in the supremacy of our kind and the cruelty of the vampires, have begun to soak up his habits like a dry sponge in water.
I keep on walking.
"Serena," the illusion growls, patience clearly waning. "Turn round and look at me, Serena," it hisses once more, voice rising with a seething rage. The glow around me brightens, and desperately I hope my defences against this illusion will hold. I do not stop walking.
Finally, Azrael's illusion reaches breaking point.
"I command you to stop walking." It screeches, and just like that, everything stops.
My feet stop dead, suddenly fatigued, like leaden weights beneath my body. The power of the glamour roots me to the spot, stiffening my limbs as if they were suddenly made out of granite rock and not immortal bone and flesh. Fear bubbles in my throat, fear and rage. All colliding inside of me, threatening to spill from my body in a tidal wave of destructive power. But I keep myself steady.
Continuing to strain, I attempt to wrench my body free of Azrael's glamour. But no matter how hard I strain and pull, my body simply won't move, bound by those simple words to fulfil one unforgiving action.
"Now then, there you go, that wasn't so hard, was it?" grins the illusion, bringing itself up in front of me, an icy chill fanning off its skin like a desert tundra. I wince away from the sight.
Perhaps if I hadn't seen the real Soren only a few seconds ago, I might have believed this one to be real- might have found myself convinced by the tone of its voice, or the subtle curl of its hair. 'Might have' being the key word, because I would have grilled the illusion with questions before it could even lay its hands on me. Besides, there is something missing in the golden glow of its eyes, an empty void that somehow lack life. Soren's eyes were never like that- that is where the illusion's falls staunchly short of its expectations.
Grittily, I narrow my eyes, my lips pulling together in a dissatisfied frown.
"Stop using your brother's body as an illusion, you bitch. No matter what you do, you will never be him, and you will never, ever, get me to love you. So wipe your delusions clean, because they aren't happening."
The fake Soren throws back his head with a laugh, his eyes glittering from gold to red, teeth flashing with an untold malice that makes my body shiver with unease. This is not my Soren, nor will it ever be. But that doesn't push aside the fact that the experience is at best extremely unnerving.
The illusion takes a few steps closer, causing me to suck in my breath out of instinct, my heart pounding in my throat. Silently and inwardly, I continue to fight against the invisible bonds that hold me in place, lashing out like a tiger bound in a trap. But it is to no avail.
"Now now- what is it he calls you?- little dove. You have no reason to fear me, I am just here to wish you the best of luck with the next stage," he admits, splaying a hand out in reassurance, although the action is very far from that. I give him a long grimace.
"Don't you fucking call me that you prick," I hiss, spitting at his feet, causing the illusion to hurriedly take a few steps back. For a moment, it stares at the spot on the ground, then raises its head, disappointed, clicking it's tongue in shame. Then it wipes off it Prussian blue suit, straightens the rose in its pocket, and turns back to me, eyes flaming crimson, shortly over the matter.
But the malicious grin on its face is truly what makes it a horror scene. Before I know it, Azrael's body is pressed close to mine.
"What," he says in perfect mimicry of Soren's voice. "Because you are scared you might start to believe it?" he whispers harshly against my cheek, his fingers grasping under my chin, his skin separated from mine by only a few centimetres of light, shrinking back to a degree that is barely noticeable. I do my best to shy from him, but with my feet stuck in place, the action is made incredibly difficult. Stupid vampires and their stupid glamours…
"What's wrong, little dove?" says the illusion, drawing closer and closer, breath fanning over my face, eyes alight with a vicious kind of joy. "I am sure you have had Soren this close to you before. In fact," the illusion says suggestively, slipping a finger on the top of my collar, sliding it down the edges of the fabric towards the joint of the buttons. "You have been much closer."
My face flaming, rage boiling, I feel coils of heat begin to blister at my hands. Clenching them into tight fists of rock, I raise them up towards the illusions chest, and smile a wide, devious grin.
"Sorry, Azrael, no amount of trickery is going to get me to strip for you. Unfortunately for you, you glamoured my feet, not my hands, which means I can still use my powers. Now if you don't mind, kindly take your sorry ass back to hell," I smile. The illusion's eyes widen as he realises a little too late what is about to happen. With one last falsified smile, I blast right through him. The flames dissipate the illusion in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but a powdery dust in the air, and the sweet taste of victory. At last with the illusion destroyed, my limbs grind back into function again, and I stumble forward clutching my chest in an attempt to steady my heart beat.
"Fucking Azrael," I mutter to myself, but a beam of pride runs through me, realising once again that perhaps I am not so useless as I first perceived.
But there is no time to hesitate, I must press on. Straightening out my clothes and rightening my sachet on my shoulder, I continue at a run down the rest of the corridor.
I have no clue if Azrael can reform that same illusion after I destroyed it, or how long it would take him to do if he could. Soren had said it was special and could take him months to do, but at this point I would rather not stick around long enough to find out.
As I run, I take a moment to collect my thoughts.
Azrael has not touched me, so theoretically I would be safer on the next level. But in all honesty, I don't know what to expect down there. If this level was full of monsters, and in theory each one gets progressively worse, what exactly am I going to be up against?
I don't see the hole in the ground until I almost run headlong into it. Skidding to a sudden halt, I teeter on the edge of the hole, staring down into that gaping pit of nothing, my arms thrust out to the sides to keep some form of balance.
"Holy heavens, that was close," I whisper to myself, mostly out of reassurance, but partially out of loneliness. Desperately I hope to myself that Kal wakes up soon- this place is starting to get awfully quiet and a lot more foreboding. I could use a bit of charismatic Kal cheer.
Holding tight onto my sachet, I peer down, attempting to make out the length of the drop. Judging by the cold air drifting upwards, I would say it's a long way, several meters at best, hundreds at worst. Stiffening my resolve, I cast a net of light down into the shadows, hoping against hope that by the time I reach the bottom it will be waiting there and I won't have my bones smashed into pieces.
Vampire may I be, immortal and coldblooded, that does not correspond to a lack of feeling pain. Sucking in my breath, I clutch tightly onto the little dragon in my bag, hoping against hope that he will wake up soon. I don't think I can face much longer without him.
I screw up my eyes.
"Here goes nothing," I whisper, and jump right in, plummeting down into the depths of nothing.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
If there is one thing that Kingdom of Sezeria has done well, it is teaching me how not to feel for villains. Or, in fact, teaching me not to feel at all. After so many weeks of dealing with cocky vampires staring me down the hallways whispering death threats as I pass, and several bullshit attempts on my life, I have emerged a Queen who will not only slay a creature, but an entire horde of them. That is not to say I do not care for vampires, rather there are many I would like to see reformed and liberated. But that does not mean I have to put up with their shit.
Azrael is no exemption from this. As soon as I get my hands around his scrawny little neck, I am going to strangle him into submission, and skewer his heart for silver for good measure. After all, in this place, everyone gets what they deserve.
I try not to listen to the calls of Azrael's illusion after me, and try my best not to think of the form he has taken- if only to provoke me. Largely, I try not to think of anything at all, leaving matters to the rage that boils in my stomach, content in knowing that if I so wished, I could burn this entire place to cinders another time over.
I suppose that's what happens after you marry a vampire Prince trained in the art of outwardly lacking feeling or emotions. Things start to rub off on you: over the many vivid weeks of my stay, even I- an angel once taught in the supremacy of our kind and the cruelty of the vampires, have begun to soak up his habits like a dry sponge in water.
I keep on walking.
"Serena," the illusion growls, patience clearly waning. "Turn round and look at me, Serena," it hisses once more, voice rising with a seething rage. The glow around me brightens, and desperately I hope my defences against this illusion will hold. I do not stop walking.
Finally, Azrael's illusion reaches breaking point.
"I command you to stop walking." It screeches, and just like that, everything stops.
My feet stop dead, suddenly fatigued, like leaden weights beneath my body. The power of the glamour roots me to the spot, stiffening my limbs as if they were suddenly made out of granite rock and not immortal bone and flesh. Fear bubbles in my throat, fear and rage. All colliding inside of me, threatening to spill from my body in a tidal wave of destructive power. But I keep myself steady.
Continuing to strain, I attempt to wrench my body free of Azrael's glamour. But no matter how hard I strain and pull, my body simply won't move, bound by those simple words to fulfil one unforgiving action.
"Now then, there you go, that wasn't so hard, was it?" grins the illusion, bringing itself up in front of me, an icy chill fanning off its skin like a desert tundra. I wince away from the sight.
Perhaps if I hadn't seen the real Soren only a few seconds ago, I might have believed this one to be real- might have found myself convinced by the tone of its voice, or the subtle curl of its hair. 'Might have' being the key word, because I would have grilled the illusion with questions before it could even lay its hands on me. Besides, there is something missing in the golden glow of its eyes, an empty void that somehow lack life. Soren's eyes were never like that- that is where the illusion's falls staunchly short of its expectations.
Grittily, I narrow my eyes, my lips pulling together in a dissatisfied frown.
"Stop using your brother's body as an illusion, you bitch. No matter what you do, you will never be him, and you will never, ever, get me to love you. So wipe your delusions clean, because they aren't happening."
The fake Soren throws back his head with a laugh, his eyes glittering from gold to red, teeth flashing with an untold malice that makes my body shiver with unease. This is not my Soren, nor will it ever be. But that doesn't push aside the fact that the experience is at best extremely unnerving.
The illusion takes a few steps closer, causing me to suck in my breath out of instinct, my heart pounding in my throat. Silently and inwardly, I continue to fight against the invisible bonds that hold me in place, lashing out like a tiger bound in a trap. But it is to no avail.
"Now now- what is it he calls you?- little dove. You have no reason to fear me, I am just here to wish you the best of luck with the next stage," he admits, splaying a hand out in reassurance, although the action is very far from that. I give him a long grimace.
"Don't you fucking call me that you prick," I hiss, spitting at his feet, causing the illusion to hurriedly take a few steps back. For a moment, it stares at the spot on the ground, then raises its head, disappointed, clicking it's tongue in shame. Then it wipes off it Prussian blue suit, straightens the rose in its pocket, and turns back to me, eyes flaming crimson, shortly over the matter.
But the malicious grin on its face is truly what makes it a horror scene. Before I know it, Azrael's body is pressed close to mine.
"What," he says in perfect mimicry of Soren's voice. "Because you are scared you might start to believe it?" he whispers harshly against my cheek, his fingers grasping under my chin, his skin separated from mine by only a few centimetres of light, shrinking back to a degree that is barely noticeable. I do my best to shy from him, but with my feet stuck in place, the action is made incredibly difficult. Stupid vampires and their stupid glamours…
"What's wrong, little dove?" says the illusion, drawing closer and closer, breath fanning over my face, eyes alight with a vicious kind of joy. "I am sure you have had Soren this close to you before. In fact," the illusion says suggestively, slipping a finger on the top of my collar, sliding it down the edges of the fabric towards the joint of the buttons. "You have been much closer."
My face flaming, rage boiling, I feel coils of heat begin to blister at my hands. Clenching them into tight fists of rock, I raise them up towards the illusions chest, and smile a wide, devious grin.
"Sorry, Azrael, no amount of trickery is going to get me to strip for you. Unfortunately for you, you glamoured my feet, not my hands, which means I can still use my powers. Now if you don't mind, kindly take your sorry ass back to hell," I smile. The illusion's eyes widen as he realises a little too late what is about to happen. With one last falsified smile, I blast right through him. The flames dissipate the illusion in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but a powdery dust in the air, and the sweet taste of victory. At last with the illusion destroyed, my limbs grind back into function again, and I stumble forward clutching my chest in an attempt to steady my heart beat.
"Fucking Azrael," I mutter to myself, but a beam of pride runs through me, realising once again that perhaps I am not so useless as I first perceived.
But there is no time to hesitate, I must press on. Straightening out my clothes and rightening my sachet on my shoulder, I continue at a run down the rest of the corridor.
I have no clue if Azrael can reform that same illusion after I destroyed it, or how long it would take him to do if he could. Soren had said it was special and could take him months to do, but at this point I would rather not stick around long enough to find out.
As I run, I take a moment to collect my thoughts.
Azrael has not touched me, so theoretically I would be safer on the next level. But in all honesty, I don't know what to expect down there. If this level was full of monsters, and in theory each one gets progressively worse, what exactly am I going to be up against?
I don't see the hole in the ground until I almost run headlong into it. Skidding to a sudden halt, I teeter on the edge of the hole, staring down into that gaping pit of nothing, my arms thrust out to the sides to keep some form of balance.
"Holy heavens, that was close," I whisper to myself, mostly out of reassurance, but partially out of loneliness. Desperately I hope to myself that Kal wakes up soon- this place is starting to get awfully quiet and a lot more foreboding. I could use a bit of charismatic Kal cheer.
Holding tight onto my sachet, I peer down, attempting to make out the length of the drop. Judging by the cold air drifting upwards, I would say it's a long way, several meters at best, hundreds at worst. Stiffening my resolve, I cast a net of light down into the shadows, hoping against hope that by the time I reach the bottom it will be waiting there and I won't have my bones smashed into pieces.
Vampire may I be, immortal and coldblooded, that does not correspond to a lack of feeling pain. Sucking in my breath, I clutch tightly onto the little dragon in my bag, hoping against hope that he will wake up soon. I don't think I can face much longer without him.
I screw up my eyes.
"Here goes nothing," I whisper, and jump right in, plummeting down into the depths of nothing.
If there is one thing that Kingdom of Sezeria has done well, it is teaching me how not to feel for villains. Or, in fact, teaching me not to feel at all. After so many weeks of dealing with cocky vampires staring me down the hallways whispering death threats as I pass, and several bullshit attempts on my life, I have emerged a Queen who will not only slay a creature, but an entire horde of them. That is not to say I do not care for vampires, rather there are many I would like to see reformed and liberated. But that does not mean I have to put up with their shit.Azrael is no exemption from this. As soon as I get my hands around his scrawny little neck, I am going to strangle him into submission, and skewer his heart for silver for good measure. After all, in this place, everyone gets what they deserve.I try not to listen to the calls of Azrael's illusion after me, and try my best not to think of the form he has taken- if only to provoke me. Largely, I try not to think of anything at all, leaving matters to the rage that boils in my stomach, content in knowing that if I so wished, I could burn this entire place to cinders another time over.I suppose that's what happens after you marry a vampire Prince trained in the art of outwardly lacking feeling or emotions. Things start to rub off on you: over the many vivid weeks of my stay, even I- an angel once taught in the supremacy of our kind and the cruelty of the vampires, have begun to soak up his habits like a dry sponge in water.I keep on walking."Serena," the illusion growls, patience clearly waning. "Turn round and look at me, Serena," it hisses once more, voice rising with a seething rage. The glow around me brightens, and desperately I hope my defences against this illusion will hold. I do not stop walking.Finally, Azrael's illusion reaches breaking point."I command you to stop walking." It screeches, and just like that, everything stops.My feet stop dead, suddenly fatigued, like leaden weights beneath my body. The power of the glamour roots me to the spot, stiffening my limbs as if they were suddenly made out of granite rock and not immortal bone and flesh. Fear bubbles in my throat, fear and rage. All colliding inside of me, threatening to spill from my body in a tidal wave of destructive power. But I keep myself steady.Continuing to strain, I attempt to wrench my body free of Azrael's glamour. But no matter how hard I strain and pull, my body simply won't move, bound by those simple words to fulfil one unforgiving action. "Now then, there you go, that wasn't so hard, was it?" grins the illusion, bringing itself up in front of me, an icy chill fanning off its skin like a desert tundra. I wince away from the sight.Perhaps if I hadn't seen the real Soren only a few seconds ago, I might have believed this one to be real- might have found myself convinced by the tone of its voice, or the subtle curl of its hair. 'Might have' being the key word, because I would have grilled the illusion with questions before it could even lay its hands on me. Besides, there is something missing in the golden glow of its eyes, an empty void that somehow lack life. Soren's eyes were never like that- that is where the illusion's falls staunchly short of its expectations. Grittily, I narrow my eyes, my lips pulling together in a dissatisfied frown."Stop using your brother's body as an illusion, you bitch. No matter what you do, you will never be him, and you will never, ever, get me to love you. So wipe your delusions clean, because they aren't happening."The fake Soren throws back his head with a laugh, his eyes glittering from gold to red, teeth flashing with an untold malice that makes my body shiver with unease. This is not my Soren, nor will it ever be. But that doesn't push aside the fact that the experience is at best extremely unnerving. The illusion takes a few steps closer, causing me to suck in my breath out of instinct, my heart pounding in my throat. Silently and inwardly, I continue to fight against the invisible bonds that hold me in place, lashing out like a tiger bound in a trap. But it is to no avail."Now now- what is it he calls you?- little dove. You have no reason to fear me, I am just here to wish you the best of luck with the next stage," he admits, splaying a hand out in reassurance, although the action is very far from that. I give him a long grimace."Don't you fucking call me that you prick," I hiss, spitting at his feet, causing the illusion to hurriedly take a few steps back. For a moment, it stares at the spot on the ground, then raises its head, disappointed, clicking it's tongue in shame. Then it wipes off it Prussian blue suit, straightens the rose in its pocket, and turns back to me, eyes flaming crimson, shortly over the matter.But the malicious grin on its face is truly what makes it a horror scene. Before I know it, Azrael's body is pressed close to mine."What," he says in perfect mimicry of Soren's voice. "Because you are scared you might start to believe it?" he whispers harshly against my cheek, his fingers grasping under my chin, his skin separated from mine by only a few centimetres of light, shrinking back to a degree that is barely noticeable. I do my best to shy from him, but with my feet stuck in place, the action is made incredibly difficult. Stupid vampires and their stupid glamours"What's wrong, little dove?" says the illusion, drawing closer and closer, breath fanning over my face, eyes alight with a vicious kind of joy. "I am sure you have had Soren this close to you before. In fact," the illusion says suggestively, slipping a finger on the top of my collar, sliding it down the edges of the fabric towards the joint of the buttons. "You have been much closer."My face flaming, rage boiling, I feel coils of heat begin to blister at my hands. Clenching them into tight fists of rock, I raise them up towards the illusions chest, and smile a wide, devious grin."Sorry, Azrael, no amount of trickery is going to get me to strip for you. Unfortunately for you, you glamoured my feet, not my hands, which means I can still use my powers. Now if you don't mind, kindly take your sorry ass back to hell," I smile. The illusion's eyes widen as he realises a little too late what is about to happen. With one last falsified smile, I blast right through him. The flames dissipate the illusion in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but a powdery dust in the air, and the sweet taste of victory. At last with the illusion destroyed, my limbs grind back into function again, and I stumble forward clutching my chest in an attempt to steady my heart beat."Fucking Azrael," I mutter to myself, but a beam of pride runs through me, realising once again that perhaps I am not so useless as I first perceived.But there is no time to hesitate, I must press on. Straightening out my clothes and rightening my sachet on my shoulder, I continue at a run down the rest of the corridor.I have no clue if Azrael can reform that same illusion after I destroyed it, or how long it would take him to do if he could. Soren had said it was special and could take him months to do, but at this point I would rather not stick around long enough to find out.As I run, I take a moment to collect my thoughts.Azrael has not touched me, so theoretically I would be safer on the next level. But in all honesty, I don't know what to expect down there. If this level was full of monsters, and in theory each one gets progressively worse, what exactly am I going to be up against?I don't see the hole in the ground until I almost run headlong into it. Skidding to a sudden halt, I teeter on the edge of the hole, staring down into that gaping pit of nothing, my arms thrust out to the sides to keep some form of balance. "Holy heavens, that was close," I whisper to myself, mostly out of reassurance, but partially out of loneliness. Desperately I hope to myself that Kal wakes up soon- this place is starting to get awfully quiet and a lot more foreboding. I could use a bit of charismatic Kal cheer. Holding tight onto my sachet, I peer down, attempting to make out the length of the drop. Judging by the cold air drifting upwards, I would say it's a long way, several meters at best, hundreds at worst. Stiffening my resolve, I cast a net of light down into the shadows, hoping against hope that by the time I reach the bottom it will be waiting there and I won't have my bones smashed into pieces.Vampire may I be, immortal and coldblooded, that does not correspond to a lack of feeling pain. Sucking in my breath, I clutch tightly onto the little dragon in my bag, hoping against hope that he will wake up soon. I don't think I can face much longer without him.I screw up my eyes. "Here goes nothing," I whisper, and jump right in, plummeting down into the depths of nothing.
