Nue Note: If you have no idea who Sol is, check the chapter where all those coffins are occupying the Black Order Headquarters. Reever/ River/ Riba notes Sol Galen as one of the fallen exorcists on his handy clipboard. She was in Cloud Nine's team, but they all died. :/
Anyway, my buddy Jay challenged me to write a fanfiction about dear Sol. This is what I came up with. It was written at night, mind, so it might be a tad sketchy...
.xXx.
She had not raised a soul from the dead. She could not cheat death of its grasp on her own self let alone anyone else.
"Please, my son is dying!"
They were ignorant of the ways of life and death. Those that approached her did not understand how the world, under the rule of God and the Earl both, truly worked. Even she did not claim to know more than a pitifully small fraction.
"Please, listen to me!" The cries were becoming more desperate. "You must stay until he passes on so that you can bring him back! Do not leave us here with death in our household. I know that you are not as heartless as the others say you are."
"Leave me," came the raspy reply. Weary, indifferent gray eyes flickered only momentarily to the hysterical woman before gazing doggedly ahead once more. The usual default frown graced her cracked lips and her hands hung limply at her sides. Her concern was obviously directed elsewhere.
A hand, slick with tears and blood, grabbed at her wrist. Finally drawing to a stop, the young woman glared back at the mother. Hair fallen from its messy bun framed a tear-stained face that looked like that of a madwoman. This was not good...
Trembling, the mother fell to her knees in the mud. Her wide, mad eyes pleaded just as loudly as her mouth. Her grip on the other woman's arm tightened until her captive's fingers began to twitch in protest. "My son..."
All you want from me is the life of your child! her mind screamed indignantly. And yet... A grin slowly overtook her usual frown, causing the crushing grip on her wrist to become even tighter if it was possible. Her back snapped painfully as the mother savagely tugged her arm downward, but still the almost maternal grin remained.
Now that the witch's face was nearly even with her own, the mother lowered her voice to a whisper. "I will do anything to save my child. I would die for him if I had to! It is easy to see in your eyes that you are considering. Please, hear me out!"
The other lightly tanned hand gingerly reached out and tucked a strand of that wild hair behind the poor creature's ear. Her gaze softened and, for a moment, it seemed as if tears were threatening to spill from her ever-empty eyes. She could feel the hope rising from the woman at her feet as if it were gust of wind.
"Have mercy on my poor family."
Bent double in the middle of the road, with the evening sky boiling with dark clouds, she knew what was to come. Nodding solemnly, she gave the kneeling woman's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Take me to him, if you love your son as much as you say."
.xXx.
Her house was small, but it was warm and proved cozy after the rain that had started on the short trek from the main road. A lingering smell of baking bread welcomed the pair, but the stranger of the duo paused upon entering. Death and decay snaked its way between the intoxicating scent of fresh food and the various vases of potent flowers.
The room where the boy's corpse lay was filled to the brim with people. An aura of dread loomed over them, but it only seemed to darken when the women entered. The older adults shifted the children behind them. Those who were crying turned away shamefully.
A man stepped forward with a scowl. "Lana, why have you brought her here?" he asked, obviously speaking the question clouding the minds of the others. He returned the stranger's indignant glare with one of his own, but then the shorter woman turned away as Lana sighed.
"Dear husband, she has come to make Jake better," Lana breathed quietly. "She will breath life into him again!"
A collective murmur, just barely inaudible, swept through the room suspiciously. The short, stocky woman in their midst was known in the village as a witch or spirit talker, but she had no love for the living. She kept to her dead and those whose hearts still beat tended to like keeping it that way.
The boy's father was still uncertain, but his wife snatched the witch's wrist and practically dove to her son's side. "Here! Look at my boy! He's dead already and now the spirit woman can bring him back!"
Eyes wide with surprise, the woman looked down at the pale form of boy not yet in his teens. Yes, the stench of death radiated from him as the stink of rotten meat. The others could not smell it, though. The body was still healthy and warm and had not begun decomposition. It was the smell of a body without a soul. She slipped a hand under her hood and rubbed, as if embarrassed, at her neck.
"Well? Do something!" someone hissed.
Unable to contain herself, the woman's grin slipped back onto her face. "Everyone get out. Even dearest Daddy," she instructed with a hint of bitter laughter, eyes bright with the opportunity to command the wary people. "Only Lana is permitted to stay."
Though some immediately began to shuffle out, the majority being those with children, some stubbornly remained. The boy's father was among them. His defiant stare plainly stated that he did not intend to move.
Barring her teeth in a full smile, the witch winked companionably. "I can't work with silly humans hanging over my shoulder. Get going!" Her expression was lighthearted, but there was malice hiding underneath the mask. She knew that the man could see it even if his wife could not. "If you don't leave, I will."
With a glare from Lana, the man ushered the others through the door before cautiously backing out himself. "If I hear anything strange, I'm coming right in!" he warned before closing the door.
There was a heavy silence as Lana and the witch momentarily looked at the boy's halo of blonde hair about his head. He was a fair child even in death. The hooded witch could not begin to guess why this poor woman wanted him filled with life once again.
"Um, aren't you supposed to do something?" Lana asked at last, anxious. She was wringing her hands as if she were trying to slough the skin off of them. "Why are you just standing there?"
The witch shifted her weight from one foot to the other before gingerly sinking to her knees beside the bed. She extended a hand and settled it on Jake's cool forehead, none too gently swatting messy bangs away. "Your boy is dead. Are you not just a little angry at God for taking him away from you?"
Taken aback, Lana was suddenly inarticulate. "Er, what do you mean?" she finally managed.
It did not matter. Despite the woman's apparent happiness of bringing her son to life, there was still bitterness welled inside of her somewhere. Her family had not wanted help from a 'spirit talker'. Lana had brought one. She had succumbed to the darkness her son's inevitable death had brought upon her.
The witch knew this because she could see the light glinting off a set of sparkling teeth in the shadows. Only some sort of resentment could have summoned the Earl. Ducking her head to hide her nearly manic grin, the witch barely managed to keep back a chuckle.
"So this is Jake, isn't it?" came the voice from the shadows. "Do you want me to resurrect him?"
.xXx.
They had waited patiently, anxiously on the other side of the door. Family members of little Jake mingled in the hall, the kitchen, the sitting room, and every open space in between. Their tension was a tangible, suffocating cloud of depression. A shriek of horror sent every single one of them rampaging toward the boy's room.
By the time Lana's husband rammed the door open, whatever had terrified his wife had apparently gone. She sat sprawled on the floor, blood spilling from her mouth and a fresh wave of tears streaming to her chin to mingle with the red liquid. The witch was huddled in the corner. Jake still lay motionless on the bed.
"Lana?" He was instantly at her side. He knew something was wrong, but he was not sure what. Her eyes, usually so expressive, did not so much as blink as he waved a hand in front of her face. "Lana, what did she do?"
He could hear some of the other men going to the witch and dragging her from her corner. Though he was busy trying to get a response from his wife, he could hear feminine chuckles behind him. "Lana, say something!"
Lana looked up completely for the first time. There was a bloody gash just above the collarbone. Her spinal column was visible. It was made of metal.
Chuckles became laughter, hysterical and terribly loud. As the man watched his wife transform, her body twisting grotesquely, the witch roared with her horrid laughter. Her words were drowned out by the screams of terror from the other family members, but it would not have matter. No one would have cared for the foul things spewing from her bitter mouth.
The husband was the first killed. As the first wave of bullets hammered the walls, nearly every dark barrel of death pointing toward the fleeing family members, the witch jumped out the window. Her hands groped for a staff-like object from her waist just before a pair of bullets tailed after her. Twirling the object absently, the bullets crumbled upon touching it.
"How terrible," she murmured, taking a few steps backward and holding up her weapon. It was a short halberd with a dull black metal head. Adoringly tracing the curved blade with a finger, she turned and left the screaming family behind. Though her laughter had died away, nothing in the world could have wiped off the manic smile splitting her face.
The boy's spirit had returned. Lana had died for him to be resurrected just like she said she would. But I'll be back for you, Jake. Evolve a little before I return. I want a decent hunt after all the trouble you've put me through.
A girl streaked past the hooded woman, her skin already speckled with the disease from a blood bullet. Her cries of pain echoed in the forest behind the tiny house, but they soon ended. As if this reminded her of something, the woman immediately peeled a piece of loosely stitched leather from the left side of her jacket. A silver cross was unveiled from underneath.
The heavens cried for its dying children, but the soldier of life resumed a low chuckle. Thunder rolled in the distance in disapproval. The rain continued to fall, steady and uncaring.