Chapter 188: 188
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The steady insistent thrum that beats in the back of my mind grows and dies with every foot fall, each thrum taking us deeper and deeper down the stairwell of darkness, until each step becomes a rhythm and each breath becomes dulled in anticipation.
The residual irony tang continues to grow and die around us, swirling like toxic mist in the air, and glued to the curious liquid that seeps down the rocky walls in a viscous stream. Every step further brings me closer and closer to spewing up my guts in disgust, which (to be honest) I would rather not.
The walls are damp, sticky, with this same water- perhaps a leak from the mountainous underwater palace above our heads. Or at least, that is my initial presumption, but upon inspection, I find that my hands do not come away from the water clean, but covered in a dark, glistening substance, gleaming red at the edges and fresh with the tang of rot. I do not touch the walls after that.
After the continued ensued silence, the ground begins to level out- the steps descend less steeply, and that low, continuous hum transforms into something more pronounced, but equally just as terrifying. What was once a baseless sound that lacked notes and voices of any kind, now rising up in a wailing symphony of leaden, distraught notes: the sounds of people, mortals, crying for their freedom. I hear anguish, groans of the frail and old, I hear rage and bitterness and agony all rising in a heavy array of disastrous noise. It is impossible to tell whether such a sound is really or merely a trick to my ears, for the others- who continue to pace unfazed down the steps, pose nothing but indifference on the matter.
I am not sure whether that is more terrifying or not.
However, there is one sound that all of us here unequivocally, enough to rattle us all with a shiver of unease. Beneath the wails and moans, another sound arises: a long continuous throb, or pulse, that thrums against my ears, shocking my core with a sickening and consistent jolt.
"What is that?" Kal whispers after a while, black eyes darting out against the gloom as he ducks under a particularly low ledge to avoid getting his hair plastered with whatever muck clings off of the walls. I avoid sparing him a glance- for I have already established what that noise is, and the answer is not in the least bit reassuring. Fortunately, Delina answers for him.
"It's like some sort of… heart."
And sure enough, that is exactly what it sounds like: One ginormous beating heart thrumming against the walls of this underground horror show. Perhaps that would explain the mysterious, foul substance clinging to the walls of this depressing cavern, or merely exists to terrify us from going any further. I likely would have been convinced not to do so- at least, if there weren't lives on the line.
So instead we continue, and with each step, that thud becomes louder, drilling into our bones, our skulls, and toppling us as we walk.
"Holy shit," I mutter breathily to myself. "What on earth..?"
I stop short as the squished cavern staircase opens up around me, causing my two companions to tumble into me, their faces slamming against my back, in a manner that is likely to bruise, but I do not care. My eyes latch onto the silhouette hovering in the middle of the open room.
"What the hell Serena," Kal snaps, rubbing his face in distress. "What did you-"
He promptly stops talking.
The three of us stare wide eyed up at the sight before us: A large cavernous room, a perfect parody of the throne room up on the surface, only short of the crowds of adoring people, and swarms of vampires. A throne sits upon the dais a few meters ahead of us, a bolted door a few paces behind it, but it is not any of these factors that drew us all to a halt.
The beating of my heart thrums in my chest, my bond wavering with tension as I realise with a grim understanding that I am not being led to Azrael, but to here.
Soren's trial.
Or more specifically, to him.
"Oh my fucking god," Delina whispers beside us, covering her mouth in horror. "That's him, that's actually him."
Suddenly, everything Soren said comes rushing back to me in a whirlwind of spiralling thoughts:
'There are a lot of things Azrael doesn't know about me.'
Looking upon the sight before us, I realise now was a horrifying understatement that was.
If Azrael knew about the figure that hovers above the throne, by now, we would already be dead. But Azrael would have no need to come here, would he? Soren would make sure of that. All Azrael needs is the flame, and it doesn't take a genius to scan the empty room and realise the flame is not here. Instead, there is something far, far worse.
Nobody knows what is on Soren's lair.
I suppose Fangorn was right after all.
No one tries to stop me as I blindly walk out to the centre of the room, dazed, my feet feeling as though they are crumbling beneath me with every leaden step. They simply watched in a mixture of horror and blatant anticipation as I stretch my hand out towards the creature strung up buck naked above the throne in the centre of the room, a series of tubes running through its familiar body that suspend it a few centimetres in the air.
From a distance, the creature appears like glass, or marble, completely unmoving, almost inhuman. So much so that even as I inspect a little closer, I can see no ripple of life along its skin, its appearance almost artificial in its perfection.
Had it not been for the bond that tugs at my heart with an insistent thrum as I reach out for it, I would have presumed this figure to be fake.
But it's real.
Parts of its body are laced with dark skin and blackened veins, running up from the tips of one black nailed hand, and swirling around the left side of his cheek. It is familiar and yet, different- familiar in those golden eyes, and the sweet curls of his hair, the bend of his horns, and yet different in the blackened skin and the leathery bat-like wings that adorn his back, as though a creature that has arisen straight from the depths of hell. Familiar in the attractive swell of his lips, and the stark paleness of his skin, and yet different in the beating throb of a heart that I never knew he had, so prominent it almost seems staged- for no mortal's heart could beat so loudly. He doesn't seem to be breathing, or moving, his eyes dimmed to a close, his face sunken into a lulling stillness.
My heart pounds in my throat.
The heart of the palace.
What a cruel joke.
Gingerly, I lean my hand out to touch the creature, a shake in my stance that I wish I didn't have. I shouldn't be scared- not of him. And yet there is something about this primordial form which makes me absolutely terrified.
As soon as my hand comes into contact with the skin of his face, the creature opens its eyes. This doesn't happen slowly, but all at once, snapping open with a wisp of my fingers over its skin as though a switch had been turned, awaiting for my touch. Two twin amber orbs stare back at me, unrecognising at first, until a look of swimming compassion crosses over them, a smile playing on it's features.
A spark of electricity runs through my touch, causing me to draw my hand away in shock, rubbing my palm over with my finger. As this happens, the beating of the heart stops, the tubes in his body clicking as they shut themselves off, detaching themselves from his form as it drops him down onto the throne with a heavy thud. Hurriedly, I reach forward to catch his body as it falls, holding him steady. Steadily, Soren's eyes flicker open then shut, testing.
"Serena," he murmurs, as though saying my name for the first time, his fingers running over my skin, my hair, feeling over my body as though fearing to let go.
"Soren? I-" I hesitate on my words, throat working as I stumble for the most appropriate things to say. "What's happening? What... what are you? And why are you-" I look around for a moment. "...here?" I ask warily, raising my head to look at him. There are many things off about his appearance, yet it would be a lie to say that the tug of my heart does not draw me to him- and another place too.
Two places at once, but why?
Tenderly, he brings a hand out to caress the side of my cheek.
"Do not be afraid, my dove, it is me," he whispers, bringing his forehead close to mine, the bare skin of his body pressing up against me, wings cocooned around my form. My breath quickens in my throat as I lean closer into him.
"But," I whisper, fumbling for my words, mind more hazed by the second. "How?"
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The steady insistent thrum that beats in the back of my mind grows and dies with every foot fall, each thrum taking us deeper and deeper down the stairwell of darkness, until each step becomes a rhythm and each breath becomes dulled in anticipation.
The residual irony tang continues to grow and die around us, swirling like toxic mist in the air, and glued to the curious liquid that seeps down the rocky walls in a viscous stream. Every step further brings me closer and closer to spewing up my guts in disgust, which (to be honest) I would rather not.
The walls are damp, sticky, with this same water- perhaps a leak from the mountainous underwater palace above our heads. Or at least, that is my initial presumption, but upon inspection, I find that my hands do not come away from the water clean, but covered in a dark, glistening substance, gleaming red at the edges and fresh with the tang of rot. I do not touch the walls after that.
After the continued ensued silence, the ground begins to level out- the steps descend less steeply, and that low, continuous hum transforms into something more pronounced, but equally just as terrifying. What was once a baseless sound that lacked notes and voices of any kind, now rising up in a wailing symphony of leaden, distraught notes: the sounds of people, mortals, crying for their freedom. I hear anguish, groans of the frail and old, I hear rage and bitterness and agony all rising in a heavy array of disastrous noise. It is impossible to tell whether such a sound is really or merely a trick to my ears, for the others- who continue to pace unfazed down the steps, pose nothing but indifference on the matter.
I am not sure whether that is more terrifying or not.
However, there is one sound that all of us here unequivocally, enough to rattle us all with a shiver of unease. Beneath the wails and moans, another sound arises: a long continuous throb, or pulse, that thrums against my ears, shocking my core with a sickening and consistent jolt.
"What is that?" Kal whispers after a while, black eyes darting out against the gloom as he ducks under a particularly low ledge to avoid getting his hair plastered with whatever muck clings off of the walls. I avoid sparing him a glance- for I have already established what that noise is, and the answer is not in the least bit reassuring. Fortunately, Delina answers for him.
"It's like some sort of… heart."
And sure enough, that is exactly what it sounds like: One ginormous beating heart thrumming against the walls of this underground horror show. Perhaps that would explain the mysterious, foul substance clinging to the walls of this depressing cavern, or merely exists to terrify us from going any further. I likely would have been convinced not to do so- at least, if there weren't lives on the line.
So instead we continue, and with each step, that thud becomes louder, drilling into our bones, our skulls, and toppling us as we walk.
"Holy shit," I mutter breathily to myself. "What on earth..?"
I stop short as the squished cavern staircase opens up around me, causing my two companions to tumble into me, their faces slamming against my back, in a manner that is likely to bruise, but I do not care. My eyes latch onto the silhouette hovering in the middle of the open room.
"What the hell Serena," Kal snaps, rubbing his face in distress. "What did you-"
He promptly stops talking.
The three of us stare wide eyed up at the sight before us: A large cavernous room, a perfect parody of the throne room up on the surface, only short of the crowds of adoring people, and swarms of vampires. A throne sits upon the dais a few meters ahead of us, a bolted door a few paces behind it, but it is not any of these factors that drew us all to a halt.
The beating of my heart thrums in my chest, my bond wavering with tension as I realise with a grim understanding that I am not being led to Azrael, but to here.
Soren's trial.
Or more specifically, to him.
"Oh my fucking god," Delina whispers beside us, covering her mouth in horror. "That's him, that's actually him."
Suddenly, everything Soren said comes rushing back to me in a whirlwind of spiralling thoughts:
'There are a lot of things Azrael doesn't know about me.'
Looking upon the sight before us, I realise now was a horrifying understatement that was.
If Azrael knew about the figure that hovers above the throne, by now, we would already be dead. But Azrael would have no need to come here, would he? Soren would make sure of that. All Azrael needs is the flame, and it doesn't take a genius to scan the empty room and realise the flame is not here. Instead, there is something far, far worse.
Nobody knows what is on Soren's lair.
I suppose Fangorn was right after all.
No one tries to stop me as I blindly walk out to the centre of the room, dazed, my feet feeling as though they are crumbling beneath me with every leaden step. They simply watched in a mixture of horror and blatant anticipation as I stretch my hand out towards the creature strung up buck naked above the throne in the centre of the room, a series of tubes running through its familiar body that suspend it a few centimetres in the air.
From a distance, the creature appears like glass, or marble, completely unmoving, almost inhuman. So much so that even as I inspect a little closer, I can see no ripple of life along its skin, its appearance almost artificial in its perfection.
Had it not been for the bond that tugs at my heart with an insistent thrum as I reach out for it, I would have presumed this figure to be fake.
But it's real.
Parts of its body are laced with dark skin and blackened veins, running up from the tips of one black nailed hand, and swirling around the left side of his cheek. It is familiar and yet, different- familiar in those golden eyes, and the sweet curls of his hair, the bend of his horns, and yet different in the blackened skin and the leathery bat-like wings that adorn his back, as though a creature that has arisen straight from the depths of hell. Familiar in the attractive swell of his lips, and the stark paleness of his skin, and yet different in the beating throb of a heart that I never knew he had, so prominent it almost seems staged- for no mortal's heart could beat so loudly. He doesn't seem to be breathing, or moving, his eyes dimmed to a close, his face sunken into a lulling stillness.
My heart pounds in my throat.
The heart of the palace.
What a cruel joke.
Gingerly, I lean my hand out to touch the creature, a shake in my stance that I wish I didn't have. I shouldn't be scared- not of him. And yet there is something about this primordial form which makes me absolutely terrified.
As soon as my hand comes into contact with the skin of his face, the creature opens its eyes. This doesn't happen slowly, but all at once, snapping open with a wisp of my fingers over its skin as though a switch had been turned, awaiting for my touch. Two twin amber orbs stare back at me, unrecognising at first, until a look of swimming compassion crosses over them, a smile playing on it's features.
A spark of electricity runs through my touch, causing me to draw my hand away in shock, rubbing my palm over with my finger. As this happens, the beating of the heart stops, the tubes in his body clicking as they shut themselves off, detaching themselves from his form as it drops him down onto the throne with a heavy thud. Hurriedly, I reach forward to catch his body as it falls, holding him steady. Steadily, Soren's eyes flicker open then shut, testing.
"Serena," he murmurs, as though saying my name for the first time, his fingers running over my skin, my hair, feeling over my body as though fearing to let go.
"Soren? I-" I hesitate on my words, throat working as I stumble for the most appropriate things to say. "What's happening? What... what are you? And why are you-" I look around for a moment. "...here?" I ask warily, raising my head to look at him. There are many things off about his appearance, yet it would be a lie to say that the tug of my heart does not draw me to him- and another place too.
Two places at once, but why?
Tenderly, he brings a hand out to caress the side of my cheek.
"Do not be afraid, my dove, it is me," he whispers, bringing his forehead close to mine, the bare skin of his body pressing up against me, wings cocooned around my form. My breath quickens in my throat as I lean closer into him.
"But," I whisper, fumbling for my words, mind more hazed by the second. "How?"
The steady insistent thrum that beats in the back of my mind grows and dies with every foot fall, each thrum taking us deeper and deeper down the stairwell of darkness, until each step becomes a rhythm and each breath becomes dulled in anticipation.The residual irony tang continues to grow and die around us, swirling like toxic mist in the air, and glued to the curious liquid that seeps down the rocky walls in a viscous stream. Every step further brings me closer and closer to spewing up my guts in disgust, which to be honest I would rather not.The walls are damp, sticky, with this same water- perhaps a leak from the mountainous underwater palace above our heads. Or at least, that is my initial presumption, but upon inspection, I find that my hands do not come away from the water clean, but covered in a dark, glistening substance, gleaming red at the edges and fresh with the tang of rot. I do not touch the walls after that.After the continued ensued silence, the ground begins to level out- the steps descend less steeply, and that low, continuous hum transforms into something more pronounced, but equally just as terrifying. What was once a baseless sound that lacked notes and voices of any kind, now rising up in a wailing symphony of leaden, distraught notes: the sounds of people, mortals, crying for their freedom. I hear anguish, groans of the frail and old, I hear rage and bitterness and agony all rising in a heavy array of disastrous noise. It is impossible to tell whether such a sound is really or merely a trick to my ears, for the others- who continue to pace unfazed down the steps, pose nothing but indifference on the matter.I am not sure whether that is more terrifying or not.However, there is one sound that all of us here unequivocally, enough to rattle us all with a shiver of unease. Beneath the wails and moans, another sound arises: a long continuous throb, or pulse, that thrums against my ears, shocking my core with a sickening and consistent jolt."What is that?" Kal whispers after a while, black eyes darting out against the gloom as he ducks under a particularly low ledge to avoid getting his hair plastered with whatever muck clings off of the walls. I avoid sparing him a glance- for I have already established what that noise is, and the answer is not in the least bit reassuring. Fortunately, Delina answers for him."It's like some sort of heart."And sure enough, that is exactly what it sounds like: One ginormous beating heart thrumming against the walls of this underground horror show. Perhaps that would explain the mysterious, foul substance clinging to the walls of this depressing cavern, or merely exists to terrify us from going any further. I likely would have been convinced not to do so- at least, if there weren't lives on the line.So instead we continue, and with each step, that thud becomes louder, drilling into our bones, our skulls, and toppling us as we walk."Holy shit," I mutter breathily to myself. "What on earth..?"I stop short as the squished cavern staircase opens up around me, causing my two companions to tumble into me, their faces slamming against my back, in a manner that is likely to bruise, but I do not care. My eyes latch onto the silhouette hovering in the middle of the open room."What the hell Serena," Kal snaps, rubbing his face in distress. "What did you-"He promptly stops talking.The three of us stare wide eyed up at the sight before us: A large cavernous room, a perfect parody of the throne room up on the surface, only short of the crowds of adoring people, and swarms of vampires. A throne sits upon the dais a few meters ahead of us, a bolted door a few paces behind it, but it is not any of these factors that drew us all to a halt. The beating of my heart thrums in my chest, my bond wavering with tension as I realise with a grim understanding that I am not being led to Azrael, but to here.Soren's trial.Or more specifically, to him."Oh my fucking god," Delina whispers beside us, covering her mouth in horror. "That's him, that's actually him."Suddenly, everything Soren said comes rushing back to me in a whirlwind of spiralling thoughts:'There are a lot of things Azrael doesn't know about me.' Looking upon the sight before us, I realise now was a horrifying understatement that was.If Azrael knew about the figure that hovers above the throne, by now, we would already be dead. But Azrael would have no need to come here, would he? Soren would make sure of that. All Azrael needs is the flame, and it doesn't take a genius to scan the empty room and realise the flame is not here. Instead, there is something far, far worse.Nobody knows what is on Soren's lair. I suppose Fangorn was right after all.No one tries to stop me as I blindly walk out to the centre of the room, dazed, my feet feeling as though they are crumbling beneath me with every leaden step. They simply watched in a mixture of horror and blatant anticipation as I stretch my hand out towards the creature strung up buck naked above the throne in the centre of the room, a series of tubes running through its familiar body that suspend it a few centimetres in the air.From a distance, the creature appears like glass, or marble, completely unmoving, almost inhuman. So much so that even as I inspect a little closer, I can see no ripple of life along its skin, its appearance almost artificial in its perfection.Had it not been for the bond that tugs at my heart with an insistent thrum as I reach out for it, I would have presumed this figure to be fake.But it's real.Parts of its body are laced with dark skin and blackened veins, running up from the tips of one black nailed hand, and swirling around the left side of his cheek. It is familiar and yet, different- familiar in those golden eyes, and the sweet curls of his hair, the bend of his horns, and yet different in the blackened skin and the leathery bat-like wings that adorn his back, as though a creature that has arisen straight from the depths of hell. Familiar in the attractive swell of his lips, and the stark paleness of his skin, and yet different in the beating throb of a heart that I never knew he had, so prominent it almost seems staged- for no mortal's heart could beat so loudly. He doesn't seem to be breathing, or moving, his eyes dimmed to a close, his face sunken into a lulling stillness.My heart pounds in my throat.The heart of the palace.What a cruel joke.Gingerly, I lean my hand out to touch the creature, a shake in my stance that I wish I didn't have. I shouldn't be scared- not of him. And yet there is something about this primordial form which makes me absolutely terrified.As soon as my hand comes into contact with the skin of his face, the creature opens its eyes. This doesn't happen slowly, but all at once, snapping open with a wisp of my fingers over its skin as though a switch had been turned, awaiting for my touch. Two twin amber orbs stare back at me, unrecognising at first, until a look of swimming compassion crosses over them, a smile playing on it's features.A spark of electricity runs through my touch, causing me to draw my hand away in shock, rubbing my palm over with my finger. As this happens, the beating of the heart stops, the tubes in his body clicking as they shut themselves off, detaching themselves from his form as it drops him down onto the throne with a heavy thud. Hurriedly, I reach forward to catch his body as it falls, holding him steady. Steadily, Soren's eyes flicker open then shut, testing."Serena," he murmurs, as though saying my name for the first time, his fingers running over my skin, my hair, feeling over my body as though fearing to let go. "Soren? I-" I hesitate on my words, throat working as I stumble for the most appropriate things to say. "What's happening? What... what are you? And why are you-" I look around for a moment. "...here?" I ask warily, raising my head to look at him. There are many things off about his appearance, yet it would be a lie to say that the tug of my heart does not draw me to him- and another place too.Two places at once, but why?Tenderly, he brings a hand out to caress the side of my cheek. "Do not be afraid, my dove, it is me," he whispers, bringing his forehead close to mine, the bare skin of his body pressing up against me, wings cocooned around my form. My breath quickens in my throat as I lean closer into him."But," I whisper, fumbling for my words, mind more hazed by the second. "How?"
