Chapter Four
Michael would make his life as he saw fit and he would damn anyone who saw fit to interfere. He was of one of the utmost powerful beings. No, he corrected himself, there was no greater power than his. Both Angelic and Demonic blood flowed through his veins. Darkness took up the vicinity of his heart so there was no room for weakness.
He'd left the Witches for the moment. Let them revel in the awe and power of what he and Mallory had accomplished. He had committed from memory their future. Their future. From the molecule moldings on the chairs to the finest detailed crown moldings. He had paid special homage to the table.
He wanted her to know he hadn't forgotten. He wasn't going to forget.
He wasn't going to let her forget.
Because that was going to be where he took her. The very first time, that was going to be where he took her and sacrificed her virginal body over his.
He felt the stirrings of desire in his blood. His cock twitched. He wanted Mallory. Wanted her more than anything he'd wanted in his entire life. Was it because she was the forbidden fruit to him? Was it because she wanted to fight him?
He wanted Mallory to see that good wasn't always good and bad...wasn't always bad.
But sometimes it felt so good to be bad. There was so much to be had in the darkness and he wanted Mallory to see that, the other side, he wanted her to experience that wicked folly.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the miles and miles of green. It almost sickened him. The Coven stood out in stark contrast alabaster white glory. He could destroy it with a flick of his wrist.
He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the green path behind him. His footsteps had left decay in his wake. The grass lay. withered beneath his feet, dying, the green fading into crippled brown.
He was death and even the earth knew that.
His blue eyes hardened.
He harbored the name Michael, the same name as one of the archangels. Wasn't his life parallel to that of Jesus? He came from a higher, powerful being. He rose from the dead. Prophets followed him…
His lips twisted into a silent snarl. He hadn't wanted to destroy the world. He wanted to destroy the Witches, so that he could bring the world to heel. If not...the witches would come kneel.
All witches were descendants of Angels and the pathetic mortals weren't even aware. They refused to believe otherwise. Mallory...there was something powerful in her.
He wanted her to fall just like all the other Fallen before her.
Anger filtered through him and then disgust. He'd been manipulated his whole life. His choices weren't his own and because the Bible deemed him evil incarnate, so it must be?
He was Michael Langdon; but he wasn't. He was only seen as the Biblical Antichrist, Satan's spawn.
No more. He was fucking Michael Langdon, and his will would be his own and HIS will be done.
He waved his hand and the decay left in his wake riveted to life with bloomed roses. He paused and lifted his head.
Rage filtered through him as he turned and looked down on the Coven. The roses withered and died with his rising anger before he disappeared.
Michael had made the place in his own image. Mallory could see his elegant touches. Even the wide staircase bore his touch through the gold and marbled hand rail that curved and winded upward beside the stairs.
It screamed of glorious purpose.
Mirrors framed the walls while others were touched with dark pieces of gore. Surprisingly, they weren't out of place. After all, this was a witches Coven.
She paused in front of one picture. The colors were dark with the red and black dominant. It was obviously demonic in nature. And sexual. The horned demon held a female's body, while the other hand cupped her breast. It was finely detailed, gruesome, with the threat of violence.
She shivered.
She located Michael's room instantly. She knew it was his. He had a touch for dark flair and this room screamed of it. Nothing in the room was light. Everything was just...dark. The curtains were a deep burgundy and black, blocking out any light. The lamps on the wall and fireplace cast the only light.
The massive bed sat off against the other side of the room. And it was huge, easily fitting...at least six people. Dark wood steps connected from the bed to the floor because no doubt, the bed wasn't easily accessed for even her.
Mallory cringed.
The thick blankets were black and she caught sight of black silk beneath. He intended to stay here then.
She cursed beneath her breath and left the room.
The next room; how had he known that this was hers previous? Hers was as light and airy as his was dark. The vanity harbored crystals and liquid vials and books.
And a rose so red she was swore it was blood.
Her heart twisted and her stomach somersaulted. She trailed her fingers over the petals and the long stem. There were no thorns.
This was so wrong.
A door set off to one side of the room and when she opened it, she stared in disbelief at the dark interior. She closed it instantly and then twisted the lock on her side.
No. Oh, oh no, no, no.
She waved her hand and plaster and wall took the place of the door. Absolutely not. Michael was going to learn just how easy she was not.
Raised voices drew her attention and she stepped back out into the hallway. She leaned over the gold and marbled railing and peered down. Men. The Warlocks. She grimaced at the raised tones. This wasn't going to be as easy as Michael suggested. There was a lot of unjust discord between the Witches and Warlocks that couldn't be settled overnight.
There was one thing that she agreed with Michael on. It was time the Witches and Warlocks united. Mallory wasn't too keen on that fact, either, but it was the hard reality of what needed to happen.
Mallory took a deep breath, counted to five and then started down the stairs. Some were subjugated to combining the Covens, while others were too prejudiced to even think of considering the matter.
They didn't have a choice.
They could leave.
The rest...they weren't too happy with the fact of Michael period.
"He's the fucking antichrist. Have you forgotten that part?" One Warlocks said through clenched teeth, planting his palms as he stared Cordelia down across the table.
"No, believe me when I say, we have not." Cordelia said, clearly as agitated.
"He ended the world. He ended us."
Mallory wasn't one for confrontation, but when the opportunity called for it, "He also brought us back. He did all of this." Mallory said, sweeping her hand out in a wide arc.
Was she really defending Michael? The thought made her physically ill. But she spoke the truth.
"To what means?" The Warlock spat. He was afraid. Mallory could feel it, could hear it in his voice. "We can fight him together, if that's what it comes down to. He's evil."
Mallory knew he was part of that sanction that didn't believe in the Witches and Warlocks working together. She shook her head. "You can't. You'd die before you even lifted a hand."
Together, it would just be one mass casualty.
He slammed his hands down on the table, turning on Cordelia. "You're the Supreme. You can end this stupidity."
Cordelia shook her head. "No, I'm not." She said, looking towards Mallory.
"Then how are you…" He looked towards Mallory, a sour expression crossing his features. "Michael?" He questioned and then cursed. "You're fools, all of you. He's setting you up, all of us. He wants your trust."
The man rounded the table and then gripped Mallory's forearms. "Don't let him do this to you, to all of us. He's clouding your mind and you don't even see it." Desperation and fear rang in every word and Mallory felt for him. She didn't even know how to reassure him. His fingers tightened, digging into her flesh. "You're the Supreme. Act like it. Don't let him destroy everything again."
He was frantic. God.
"Let me go." Mallory reached up and pushed at his arms gently.
He shook her in desperation and then shifted his hold to just one arm and turned her around so that they were facing the entire room. "This is why we don't govern with the Witches. They maybe strong, but they don't have a sense of what's right. And this, they make a GIRL their Supreme. She'd rather leave us suffer-"
"Stop it." Mallory gritted out and then let a current of energy ripple through her skin so that the Warlock released her and stumbled back. He was starting a heated argument that, she had the feeling, more would follow than not.
He cursed again and then swept his arm out. The hard current of wind knocked her backward into the wall before she crumpled to the ground.
The temperature in the room plummeted, the sudden dense atmosphere in the room quieting everyone's argument. Because Michael stood in the once empty doorway. One moment it was empty...and then he was just there.
And Michael, he seethed with a silent rage. It was there in his stature, in the ominous flood of anger that poured from him. It was there in the burning flames in his eyes. His eyes fucking burned blue. Shadows swirled at his feet, rising behind him to dominate the light beyond him until the room was suddenly dim.
Not a whisper of sound was made as Michael crossed the room, not even his shoes. He crossed the room and then stopped in front of her. She wasn't mistaken; flames burned in the depths of his eyes.
He wasn't angry. Oh, no. Murderous rage burned in his eyes. But he presented nothing more than a calm facade. He didn't say anything, just reached his hand down to hers.
Mallory felt their eyes burning into her as she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers and then he pulled her to her feet.
And then he turned that murderous rage on the center of the room.
The Warlock flew backwards, as if he were jerked from behind on a cord, his body nearly folding forward on itself. His body knocked every adornment off the table until he rolled off the end over backwards, landing in a tangled heap on the floor.
Michael walked forward slowly, the soles of his shoes and a heavy groan the only sound in the room.
"I warned you." Michael said softly, staring down at the Warlock.
Mallory's breath froze in her lungs like ice. "Michael, no." She breathed, sensing death. The intent, the retribution, it all came from Michael. Michael lifted his hand and she watched in horror as the Warlock burst into flames. His screams fell on disbelieving ears until the hall echoed with them.
No one moved to intervene, not even when the flames died down to reveal the charred, hardened twisted flesh.
Michael waved the palm of his hand over the Warlocks deceased body and then Mallory watched as a dim light rose from his body. His soul, Mallory realized.
"I promised retribution." Michael said just as softly. He closed his fist and a more soul ripping scream rose up. The sorrowful, painful, relentless scream rippled across the room. The intensity of it sent chills down her spine.
And then there was nothing but silence. No body, no pile of ash, nothing left but the empty memory of a foolish mistake.