Chapter 195: 195
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Azrael stands in the doorframe, his white hair swept up into an uncouth mess, his eyes red and bloodied from the sheer effort of maintaining his ritual for hours on end. There are cuts on his wrists and tears in the fine silken embroidery of his trousers that somewhat dishevel his appearance, but somehow only add to the air of foreboding he carries with his being. His face is gaunt, paled by physical exhaustion and the clear loss of blood from his wrists that trickle out in a thin stream. I suppose that would explain why the air has such an irony tang to it.
"No need to hesitate now," he repeats once more with a false gooeyness to his voice, a sickly sweet hum that sends goose bumps pricking my skin. Part of me considers slapping him. Then another, more sane part of my mind quickly refutes that idea. I am supposed to be down here to exchange Soren's soul for mine, not start any open ended fights- at least not yet.
Slapping will just have to be put on the back burner for now.
Opening the door a little further, stepping aside to reveal the blinding streaks of light that spring from the room, Azrael ushers me in with a curl of his finger, a maniacal excitement playing in his voice.
"Come on now, little girl. We have all been waiting for you- some more impatient than others," he ends with a growling chuckle, pulling down his sleeve to hide the bloodied cuts that adorn his arm. Lowering my eyes, I push past him without a word, enjoying the surprise on his features as he topples back slightly, but the feeling is short lived as a stronger and ever growing sensation of dread rippling through me.
At least someone managed to give Azrael a run for his money- those cuts on his wrists look deep and mightily inconvenient, especially considering they haven't healed yet. Serves him right, I suppose.
Clutching the blood pendant tight in my fists, I hope that as Azrael closes the door delicately behind him, the others have managed to usher their way in too.
For the room that is supposedly the most essential, most important room in the palace, the room that holds the eternal flame, is somewhat inconspicuous. It does not reach the dizzying heights of grandeur that I witnessed in Soren's part of the labyrinth, and barely even touches a fraction of the magnificence of the underwater kingdom Areen had guided us through. It is merely a single room, circular, with a pedestal in the centre that encapsulates a crystalline flame, glowing and pulsing with an eerie golden light that washes the room of all other colour. It is a magnificent sight, encaptivating, invigorating, to see the flame of my people once more.
But there is something chilling about seeing it now, no longer with the rose tinted glasses the council had placed on my head. Instead it seems icy, foreboding, gold magic shining with the ill lost lives of souls that Azrael had sought to claim and a much greater potential that even the council had never hoped to realise.
Who knew such an ancient relic of the angels would be the one thing that would spell out our doom?
"It's beautiful isn't it?" Azrael whispers beside me, breath tickling my neck in a way that causes each hair to stand on end as his hands come to linger over my shoulders. Lip twitching in disgust, I throw him a sideways glare.
"It used to be. But now it swims with the souls of the dead. You have tainted it," I spit, and promptly push him off. Much to my pleasure, Azrael does not follow.
Buying for time, I make my assessment of the rest of the room, intent on keeping Azrael's gaze captivated on me for as long as possible.
Stemming down from the pedestal are a series of lines etches in white chalk- a jumble of patterns and swirls that are seemingly at first glance incoherent. They spiral outwards to form one great decorative circle, laden with patterns and swirls that look like they might have taken hours to draw out to a careful precision. Right in the centre of that chalky circle is a giant chalked up eye in the centre of a five sided star- the symbol of black magic.
All this is lit only by several candles on giant candle holders at the perimeter of the room, and the golden light of the flame that flickers in and out of existence.
"Be a good girl and don't step on the chalk, hmm?" Azrael asks, planting his hands on my shoulders as he draws me back towards him, my body prickling with unease at the feeling of his cold, dead touch. Gritting my teeth I shake him off me. While I might be here to keep Azrael talking, I certainly am not here to let him touch me up- especially considering he wants my soul for his own- or Soren's.
"I won't touch your fucking masterpiece, just keep your hands to yourself, got it?"
Azrael merely shrugs.
"Fine, I will let you have this one. I have things to get on with, anyway," he sighs, dancing his way around the room in that perfectly graceful manner that is evident of all vampires, his body a timeless symphony, all one singular movement. Fucking prick.
As he looms over a table of boiling flasks and blood red vials, he contents himself with an eerie laugh, managing to spare a glance to the slumped figures at the opposite end of the room. Each one of them is veiled by shadows, and the ones with a heart seem hardly living, each thrum drowned by a dizzying hum that echoes from the golden flame.
"You friends have eagerly awaited you. Though I was sure you wouldn't make it," Azrael grunts menacingly, an implied violence lurking beneath the seemingly harmless nature of his words. Irritably, I throw him the finger.
Of course he wouldn't have expected me to make it, I think to myself with an air of disgust. Areen was supposed to stop us from going anywhere. At least if the halflings hadn't torn me to shreds first.
Sucking in my cheeks, I give a wiry smile.
"You really wanted to have me as your wife, huh? I knew you had some pretty crazy ideas, but trying to get a Siren Queen to hold us hostage..?" I mutter, trailing off as I eye the shadows around the room, settling on the two forms I had come searching for in the first place. They look barely alive.
How anticlimactic that I had striven to make my way down here for weeks and weeks, harboured secrets and hankered over where the location of the flame might be for days and nights on end. Now all that seems like a dream, a fantasy long before things got complicated, and the matter of souls came into the business. Back then things were simple, I knew who I was, I knew what my goals were. I don't even know that any more.
Azrael continues to fumble his way over to a bench of materials and vials of unknown, bubbling liquids, some trothing, others releasing a fumigating stench into the air that makes my nose wrinkle with a vile disgust. He takes a moment to consider my statement, mixing several potions into a chalice, before stirring vigorously, his eyes glazed in concentration.
"Admittedly, I would prefer if you hadn't made it down here," he replies stonily, an obvious spite sinking into his voice. He takes another moment to add a few drops of another liquid, causing the concoction of mixtures in the chalice to puff up in a flurry of purple smoke.
"You see, as much as I would love to take your powers, you are currently much greater use to me alive than dead. You have a lot of potential, and would make an excellent Queen by my side- for multiple reasons" he muses, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked smile. Absently, my fists clench into balls at my side.
"As if I would ever willingly become that," I snarl, the hackles on my back raising with rage. Flames coil at my fingertips, but upon noticing this with a downward glance, I shut them off, cutting off my power. There is no use expending my energy here, not when I will be needing it later.
It takes me a good few seconds to awaken from my daze and realise that Azrael is staring at me. When I finally meet his gaze, an unfathomable look glows on his features, a mixture of menacing slyness, and cold, hard authority. Absently, he flicks his nails off each other.
"What?" I snarl impetuously, but my answer does not come immediately.
"Little girl," he whispers, just low enough that I can hear him from across the other side of the room. Enough to send my blood rocketing through my body. Then, with a gyrating slowness, he gestures to the pendant at my neck.
"If I got that necklace off you, I could make you anything I want. I could enchant your mind, reform it, make you susceptible to my every command.. And there would be nothing you could do to stop it."
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Azrael stands in the doorframe, his white hair swept up into an uncouth mess, his eyes red and bloodied from the sheer effort of maintaining his ritual for hours on end. There are cuts on his wrists and tears in the fine silken embroidery of his trousers that somewhat dishevel his appearance, but somehow only add to the air of foreboding he carries with his being. His face is gaunt, paled by physical exhaustion and the clear loss of blood from his wrists that trickle out in a thin stream. I suppose that would explain why the air has such an irony tang to it.
"No need to hesitate now," he repeats once more with a false gooeyness to his voice, a sickly sweet hum that sends goose bumps pricking my skin. Part of me considers slapping him. Then another, more sane part of my mind quickly refutes that idea. I am supposed to be down here to exchange Soren's soul for mine, not start any open ended fights- at least not yet.
Slapping will just have to be put on the back burner for now.
Opening the door a little further, stepping aside to reveal the blinding streaks of light that spring from the room, Azrael ushers me in with a curl of his finger, a maniacal excitement playing in his voice.
"Come on now, little girl. We have all been waiting for you- some more impatient than others," he ends with a growling chuckle, pulling down his sleeve to hide the bloodied cuts that adorn his arm. Lowering my eyes, I push past him without a word, enjoying the surprise on his features as he topples back slightly, but the feeling is short lived as a stronger and ever growing sensation of dread rippling through me.
At least someone managed to give Azrael a run for his money- those cuts on his wrists look deep and mightily inconvenient, especially considering they haven't healed yet. Serves him right, I suppose.
Clutching the blood pendant tight in my fists, I hope that as Azrael closes the door delicately behind him, the others have managed to usher their way in too.
For the room that is supposedly the most essential, most important room in the palace, the room that holds the eternal flame, is somewhat inconspicuous. It does not reach the dizzying heights of grandeur that I witnessed in Soren's part of the labyrinth, and barely even touches a fraction of the magnificence of the underwater kingdom Areen had guided us through. It is merely a single room, circular, with a pedestal in the centre that encapsulates a crystalline flame, glowing and pulsing with an eerie golden light that washes the room of all other colour. It is a magnificent sight, encaptivating, invigorating, to see the flame of my people once more.
But there is something chilling about seeing it now, no longer with the rose tinted glasses the council had placed on my head. Instead it seems icy, foreboding, gold magic shining with the ill lost lives of souls that Azrael had sought to claim and a much greater potential that even the council had never hoped to realise.
Who knew such an ancient relic of the angels would be the one thing that would spell out our doom?
"It's beautiful isn't it?" Azrael whispers beside me, breath tickling my neck in a way that causes each hair to stand on end as his hands come to linger over my shoulders. Lip twitching in disgust, I throw him a sideways glare.
"It used to be. But now it swims with the souls of the dead. You have tainted it," I spit, and promptly push him off. Much to my pleasure, Azrael does not follow.
Buying for time, I make my assessment of the rest of the room, intent on keeping Azrael's gaze captivated on me for as long as possible.
Stemming down from the pedestal are a series of lines etches in white chalk- a jumble of patterns and swirls that are seemingly at first glance incoherent. They spiral outwards to form one great decorative circle, laden with patterns and swirls that look like they might have taken hours to draw out to a careful precision. Right in the centre of that chalky circle is a giant chalked up eye in the centre of a five sided star- the symbol of black magic.
All this is lit only by several candles on giant candle holders at the perimeter of the room, and the golden light of the flame that flickers in and out of existence.
"Be a good girl and don't step on the chalk, hmm?" Azrael asks, planting his hands on my shoulders as he draws me back towards him, my body prickling with unease at the feeling of his cold, dead touch. Gritting my teeth I shake him off me. While I might be here to keep Azrael talking, I certainly am not here to let him touch me up- especially considering he wants my soul for his own- or Soren's.
"I won't touch your fucking masterpiece, just keep your hands to yourself, got it?"
Azrael merely shrugs.
"Fine, I will let you have this one. I have things to get on with, anyway," he sighs, dancing his way around the room in that perfectly graceful manner that is evident of all vampires, his body a timeless symphony, all one singular movement. Fucking prick.
As he looms over a table of boiling flasks and blood red vials, he contents himself with an eerie laugh, managing to spare a glance to the slumped figures at the opposite end of the room. Each one of them is veiled by shadows, and the ones with a heart seem hardly living, each thrum drowned by a dizzying hum that echoes from the golden flame.
"You friends have eagerly awaited you. Though I was sure you wouldn't make it," Azrael grunts menacingly, an implied violence lurking beneath the seemingly harmless nature of his words. Irritably, I throw him the finger.
Of course he wouldn't have expected me to make it, I think to myself with an air of disgust. Areen was supposed to stop us from going anywhere. At least if the halflings hadn't torn me to shreds first.
Sucking in my cheeks, I give a wiry smile.
"You really wanted to have me as your wife, huh? I knew you had some pretty crazy ideas, but trying to get a Siren Queen to hold us hostage..?" I mutter, trailing off as I eye the shadows around the room, settling on the two forms I had come searching for in the first place. They look barely alive.
How anticlimactic that I had striven to make my way down here for weeks and weeks, harboured secrets and hankered over where the location of the flame might be for days and nights on end. Now all that seems like a dream, a fantasy long before things got complicated, and the matter of souls came into the business. Back then things were simple, I knew who I was, I knew what my goals were. I don't even know that any more.
Azrael continues to fumble his way over to a bench of materials and vials of unknown, bubbling liquids, some trothing, others releasing a fumigating stench into the air that makes my nose wrinkle with a vile disgust. He takes a moment to consider my statement, mixing several potions into a chalice, before stirring vigorously, his eyes glazed in concentration.
"Admittedly, I would prefer if you hadn't made it down here," he replies stonily, an obvious spite sinking into his voice. He takes another moment to add a few drops of another liquid, causing the concoction of mixtures in the chalice to puff up in a flurry of purple smoke.
"You see, as much as I would love to take your powers, you are currently much greater use to me alive than dead. You have a lot of potential, and would make an excellent Queen by my side- for multiple reasons" he muses, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked smile. Absently, my fists clench into balls at my side.
"As if I would ever willingly become that," I snarl, the hackles on my back raising with rage. Flames coil at my fingertips, but upon noticing this with a downward glance, I shut them off, cutting off my power. There is no use expending my energy here, not when I will be needing it later.
It takes me a good few seconds to awaken from my daze and realise that Azrael is staring at me. When I finally meet his gaze, an unfathomable look glows on his features, a mixture of menacing slyness, and cold, hard authority. Absently, he flicks his nails off each other.
"What?" I snarl impetuously, but my answer does not come immediately.
"Little girl," he whispers, just low enough that I can hear him from across the other side of the room. Enough to send my blood rocketing through my body. Then, with a gyrating slowness, he gestures to the pendant at my neck.
"If I got that necklace off you, I could make you anything I want. I could enchant your mind, reform it, make you susceptible to my every command.. And there would be nothing you could do to stop it."
Azrael stands in the doorframe, his white hair swept up into an uncouth mess, his eyes red and bloodied from the sheer effort of maintaining his ritual for hours on end. There are cuts on his wrists and tears in the fine silken embroidery of his trousers that somewhat dishevel his appearance, but somehow only add to the air of foreboding he carries with his being. His face is gaunt, paled by physical exhaustion and the clear loss of blood from his wrists that trickle out in a thin stream. I suppose that would explain why the air has such an irony tang to it."No need to hesitate now," he repeats once more with a false gooeyness to his voice, a sickly sweet hum that sends goose bumps pricking my skin. Part of me considers slapping him. Then another, more sane part of my mind quickly refutes that idea. I am supposed to be down here to exchange Soren's soul for mine, not start any open ended fights- at least not yet.Slapping will just have to be put on the back burner for now.Opening the door a little further, stepping aside to reveal the blinding streaks of light that spring from the room, Azrael ushers me in with a curl of his finger, a maniacal excitement playing in his voice."Come on now, little girl. We have all been waiting for you- some more impatient than others," he ends with a growling chuckle, pulling down his sleeve to hide the bloodied cuts that adorn his arm. Lowering my eyes, I push past him without a word, enjoying the surprise on his features as he topples back slightly, but the feeling is short lived as a stronger and ever growing sensation of dread rippling through me. At least someone managed to give Azrael a run for his money- those cuts on his wrists look deep and mightily inconvenient, especially considering they haven't healed yet. Serves him right, I suppose.Clutching the blood pendant tight in my fists, I hope that as Azrael closes the door delicately behind him, the others have managed to usher their way in too. For the room that is supposedly the most essential, most important room in the palace, the room that holds the eternal flame, is somewhat inconspicuous. It does not reach the dizzying heights of grandeur that I witnessed in Soren's part of the labyrinth, and barely even touches a fraction of the magnificence of the underwater kingdom Areen had guided us through. It is merely a single room, circular, with a pedestal in the centre that encapsulates a crystalline flame, glowing and pulsing with an eerie golden light that washes the room of all other colour. It is a magnificent sight, encaptivating, invigorating, to see the flame of my people once more.But there is something chilling about seeing it now, no longer with the rose tinted glasses the council had placed on my head. Instead it seems icy, foreboding, gold magic shining with the ill lost lives of souls that Azrael had sought to claim and a much greater potential that even the council had never hoped to realise.Who knew such an ancient relic of the angels would be the one thing that would spell out our doom?"It's beautiful isn't it?" Azrael whispers beside me, breath tickling my neck in a way that causes each hair to stand on end as his hands come to linger over my shoulders. Lip twitching in disgust, I throw him a sideways glare."It used to be. But now it swims with the souls of the dead. You have tainted it," I spit, and promptly push him off. Much to my pleasure, Azrael does not follow.Buying for time, I make my assessment of the rest of the room, intent on keeping Azrael's gaze captivated on me for as long as possible.Stemming down from the pedestal are a series of lines etches in white chalk- a jumble of patterns and swirls that are seemingly at first glance incoherent. They spiral outwards to form one great decorative circle, laden with patterns and swirls that look like they might have taken hours to draw out to a careful precision. Right in the centre of that chalky circle is a giant chalked up eye in the centre of a five sided star- the symbol of black magic. All this is lit only by several candles on giant candle holders at the perimeter of the room, and the golden light of the flame that flickers in and out of existence."Be a good girl and don't step on the chalk, hmm?" Azrael asks, planting his hands on my shoulders as he draws me back towards him, my body prickling with unease at the feeling of his cold, dead touch. Gritting my teeth I shake him off me. While I might be here to keep Azrael talking, I certainly am not here to let him touch me up- especially considering he wants my soul for his own- or Soren's."I won't touch your fucking masterpiece, just keep your hands to yourself, got it?"Azrael merely shrugs."Fine, I will let you have this one. I have things to get on with, anyway," he sighs, dancing his way around the room in that perfectly graceful manner that is evident of all vampires, his body a timeless symphony, all one singular movement. Fucking prick.As he looms over a table of boiling flasks and blood red vials, he contents himself with an eerie laugh, managing to spare a glance to the slumped figures at the opposite end of the room. Each one of them is veiled by shadows, and the ones with a heart seem hardly living, each thrum drowned by a dizzying hum that echoes from the golden flame."You friends have eagerly awaited you. Though I was sure you wouldn't make it," Azrael grunts menacingly, an implied violence lurking beneath the seemingly harmless nature of his words. Irritably, I throw him the finger.Of course he wouldn't have expected me to make it, I think to myself with an air of disgust. Areen was supposed to stop us from going anywhere. At least if the halflings hadn't torn me to shreds first. Sucking in my cheeks, I give a wiry smile."You really wanted to have me as your wife, huh? I knew you had some pretty crazy ideas, but trying to get a Siren Queen to hold us hostage..?" I mutter, trailing off as I eye the shadows around the room, settling on the two forms I had come searching for in the first place. They look barely alive.How anticlimactic that I had striven to make my way down here for weeks and weeks, harboured secrets and hankered over where the location of the flame might be for days and nights on end. Now all that seems like a dream, a fantasy long before things got complicated, and the matter of souls came into the business. Back then things were simple, I knew who I was, I knew what my goals were. I don't even know that any more.Azrael continues to fumble his way over to a bench of materials and vials of unknown, bubbling liquids, some trothing, others releasing a fumigating stench into the air that makes my nose wrinkle with a vile disgust. He takes a moment to consider my statement, mixing several potions into a chalice, before stirring vigorously, his eyes glazed in concentration."Admittedly, I would prefer if you hadn't made it down here," he replies stonily, an obvious spite sinking into his voice. He takes another moment to add a few drops of another liquid, causing the concoction of mixtures in the chalice to puff up in a flurry of purple smoke."You see, as much as I would love to take your powers, you are currently much greater use to me alive than dead. You have a lot of potential, and would make an excellent Queen by my side- for multiple reasons" he muses, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked smile. Absently, my fists clench into balls at my side."As if I would ever willingly become that," I snarl, the hackles on my back raising with rage. Flames coil at my fingertips, but upon noticing this with a downward glance, I shut them off, cutting off my power. There is no use expending my energy here, not when I will be needing it later.It takes me a good few seconds to awaken from my daze and realise that Azrael is staring at me. When I finally meet his gaze, an unfathomable look glows on his features, a mixture of menacing slyness, and cold, hard authority. Absently, he flicks his nails off each other."What?" I snarl impetuously, but my answer does not come immediately."Little girl," he whispers, just low enough that I can hear him from across the other side of the room. Enough to send my blood rocketing through my body. Then, with a gyrating slowness, he gestures to the pendant at my neck."If I got that necklace off you, I could make you anything I want. I could enchant your mind, reform it, make you susceptible to my every command.. And there would be nothing you could do to stop it."
