He launches himself at me, and on instinct, I use his own momentum to smash the glass of water against his face. I’m going down, but I’m taking at least one of these psychopaths with me. A jagged piece of the glass sticks in my hand, and I shriek in agony, but it’s nothing compared to the elation of seeing chunks of it stuck in his cheek and forehead.
The other guards are too far to get to him before he can attack me again. He wraps his hands around my neck, slowly squeezing the life out of me. As I start to see stars, I hear Alastor’s frantic voice shouting at Taylor to stop, but we’re both far past listening. The harder he tries to hold me, the louder Alastor screams to no avail, yelling for someone to open my cage before Taylor ruins everything.
Before I go unconscious, I have one last chance to take this fucker with me. The blood running down his face drips all over his hands, ruining his grip on my neck and giving me a moment to form a haphazard plan.
This is going to hurt like a bitch.
I swing my already fucked up hand with all my force to his uncovered neck, jamming the chunk of glass still embedded in it into his jugular.
His eyes widen with surprise before his brows pinch in pain. The two expressions fight on his face like he can’t decide whether to be shocked or hurt. After a few seconds of his internal fight, he pulls away from me, overwhelming fear taking hold of his features.
Knowing my face matches his, I try to school my expression as I rip the glass from my hand and throw it beside him. His last sight of me will not be one of fear, but one of triumph. When he makes it to hell, I want him to remember who sent him there.
He falls crookedly to his knees, then a hip, before laying on his side, trying to no avail to hold all the blood inside his body. The last thing I want is to watch, but I won’t cower away from my sins. I’m not like him.
Once all the life has left his body, Alastor arrives, the briefest expression of relief flitting across his face before vanishing again “Huh,” he nudges his fallen comrade with a booted toe, “good shot, but you must know it won’t make a difference. You’re dead, too.”
“Then I’ll fuck him up in hell when I get there,” I spit a mouthful of blood at him.
With a grin, he takes a step toward me, eyes sparkling like this is the most fun he’s had in years, “It’s too bad you picked the wrong side. You’ve got fire. We would have made a great team in all of this. Had a little fun along the way.”
Keeping my nausea at bay, I vow, “I’m going to kill you. Every single one of you.”
Eyes wide with excitement, he leans like he might grab hold of me. My body tenses, readying for another fight, “Oh, my sweet Red, you have no idea what-”
His words are cut off with an alarm blaring and red lights flashing.
“Well, look at that. It looks like your boyfriends are here,” he comments before shouting orders to his men in some kind of code. Rather than run off to defend the compound with them, he pulls up a chair and sits right next to me, gun pointed directly at my temple, “Let’s see which one gets to you first, shall we?”
Kicking and Screaming
Caspian
Letting the demon follow Bel’s pain is equally the best and worst thing in the world. I’ve never been so sure of where I’m supposed to go or what I need to do. I know I’ll find her if it’s the last thing I do. But with that knowledge comes the fear of how much pain she’s in. Sporadically, I feel the pain ripping across my flesh, urging me faster and faster.
I feel I’m getting closer as I run further south, towards the outskirts of town. Everything has turned from a sprawling city into industrial buildings. Smog coats my tongue as I blur between factories and deserted businesses. I think about what could possibly be happening to Bel and push my body as fast as I can.
I feel a shift in the air beside me. Suddenly, Eamon’s true form is running beside me, teeth glinting in the light as he grins, “We’re almost to the condemned storage facility Isla guessed they’d be at. We gotta slow down and scope it out. You can’t just run in there full steam ahead.”
Much to my chagrin, I slow to a walk and glance around us at the decrepit neighborhood. I can see nothing of interest around us, just countless piles of garbage, empty office buildings, and wild cats digging through the trash searching for food.
“Why would they have their headquartershere?” I ask.
With a disgusted glance around, Eamon explains, “Because no one would ever look at this part of town. Oh, and it’s not their headquarters. Just one compound of many around the world.”
We continue walking in the direction Bel’s pain pulls me as I ask for clarification. As we traverse, I ask Eamon how the Sanctum has become what it has.
“They started out pretty small, just a handful of families. I’m sure that’s what you remember of the Sanctus Scutulis.” I nod, so he continues, “But in the 1800’s, they found… something. Somehow. No one really knows where they got it, but some believe they dug up the word of God, claiming knowledge lost since the beginning of the Sanctum. Supposedly, it contained instructions on creating and fueling more magical objects.
“Thehowis the ugliest part. The bloodline had grown, as they do, and their instructions told them to feed the chosen objects with the blood of an eldest daughter in the bloodline. Nasty stuff. But the worst of it, is that they have to keep bathing the objects in blood every few generations or something.”
“Why does everything come down to sacrifice?” I ask aloud, wondering if somehow this all could have been avoided. If everyone in this world was better off without the knowledge they have, even if it meant my kind would remain stuck in Vankhala for eternity.
Eamon shrugs, “Don’t know. Don’t even know why they consider the host’s sacrifices as it is. There’s no need for them to die, really. No need for thesacrifice. It’s just a few drops of blood.” His point makes sense, but as is usually true, mankind will call things whatever they like to illicit the right emotion from those they want to mislead.
I try to shake the mild pain ricocheting through my hand before I realize what it means. I look down, wondering if this injury will show the way the others have been.Nothing.
Eamon glances at my hand, commenting, “Must not be anything too bad,” before stopping me with a hand on my chest, “That’s them.” He nods his chin toward a couple of kids lounging against the wall, shabbily dressed and laughing about something or other. But while I see all of them standing there and hear their laughter, I can’t sense them.
