The Irony of Pretentiousness
Chapter 4
It seemed that regardless of how silently she ran, how far from him she was, his breath could be felt upon the nape of her neck. She had never experienced such a baffling juxtaposition of hatred and fear: she wanted to fight him, to deliver the same merciless shedding of his blood that she knew Albel would partake in for sport; yet facing a murderer in his own dominion was not a beneficial start to her pursuit.
Keep running... To where? How long do these corridors stretch? What if there were a dead-end? Were he running at the moment, he would surely be trailing moments behind her, with footsteps as silent as her own.
Desperately, she searched and fumbled in the dark, praying that she could find some sort of cranny. With a secluded hiding spot she would definitely possess the attack of opportunity. Unfortunately, with all of her frantic pawing at the walls, she had found only more cells.
Her head was throbbing, her heart was pounding within the depths of her ears, and she was nearly panting. "That's it..." She thought, "There really is no exit or return to any former corridor... These halls will eventually come to a dead end. If I do not bother to turn around, I may venture too deep to return without being seen."
At this point, it was becoming ominously clear that she was not within the proper environment to properly attack her enemy, and yet it was not the central focus of her purpose for being within this castle. Had she forgotten? She was dispatched to obtain military information. Information that King Airyglyph had been rumored to store somewhere in the dungeons, as he was confident enough to not bother with a vault. That type of information would not be left lying around, there had to be a room somewhere.
She decided that she would run no deeper, she could see nothing, yet she felt an unfathomed sense of security. It were as if the Goddess was telling her that her answer was before her. She reached out, feeling a slight recession into the wall -it must be a door! She reached lower, to her delight, finding a handle. She turned the knob, opening the door without a sound, she entered.
She quietly closed the door behind her, waiting for a few moments to detect any sounds of movement beyond the door... She heard nothing. Perhaps she could use Runeology to shed some light within this darkened room. With a flick of her wrist, the room was illuminated slightly. It had been just as she had assumed, the documents were scattered across a table. To her amazement, there was an opening in the ceiling above -she could hide there, with or without the documents, until it was opportune to leave, taking everything with her. She stepped forward, holding her hand over the papers, and just as she had begun to skim the details, she felt an immense pressure on the back of her head.
Dizziness, nausea, and trouble breathing... From where was she being suspended? What had happened? The memories had returned as slowly as she had regained the ability to see her location. Sitting before her, sneering condescendingly, was Albel.
"I had been hoping the blow of the hilt did not kill you, I have been longing to indulge in that pleasure for over a few hours now..." He chuckled.
She stared at him, feeling shame. Not for her foolish allowance of capture, not for her over-obsession with vengeance, but for her overall failure to obtain for what she had been sent.
"Why sport such an apathetic expression? Did you honestly expect to escape my grasp? Those other idiots may have been easily fooled, yet the fates were against you from the moment I caught glance of you in that tavern." His eyes were reflecting the torchlight with every blink, intensifying his cold stare.
"You flatter yourself abundantly, perhaps you would best attach yourself to the ground you so ignorantly expect to float above." Even when shacked to a wall, she could exude an equally bold sense of obnoxiousness.
Albel's toothy grin quickly evolved into bearing fangs, "Were I you, I would best hold my tongue, lest it be painfully removed from your pretty head."
Why had she found that remotely complimentary? Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen.
"So tell me," His smirk returned, "Which one of Aquaria's wenches are you? With whom are you affiliated? I am adamantly aware of all of her 'secret' sub-organizations that she has been dispatching vicariously through various anonymous group leaders, so spare me any clueless act that you were instructed to perpetuate."
She smiled weakly, "What benefit would it be of yours?"
"I am in dire need of what to know to carve into the tombstone I will be returning to Aquios, alongside your corpse." He quickly shot back.
"I care not for your reputation, your confidence resonates beyond your abilities." She smirked, "That is the only reason I will tell you my name."
Half of Albel's mouth had twisted upwards, "Oh? Would you care to elaborate? I do love awaiting the prolixity of my captives."
She shot a glare towards him, burning through and beyond his eyes, "Nel Zelpher. You are certainly one to preach, you ostentatious executioner."
Albel chuckled, "My, are we not fiery? Perhaps I shall keep you alive and shackled, as a form of entertainment."
She stared vacantly into the depths of his eyes, "How you are callow..."
Albel was becoming irritated with this wench. He had thwarted her plans, captured her, and currently had her shackled to a wall, and yet she was not deterred from behaving as though she were his mortal enemy -she did not, and definitely would not submit. Albel knew that whether or not he would threaten her with torture that she possessed a strong will.
"While I find your conviction admirable, you are not doing yourself any favours, wench." He stared down his nose at her.
Little response. A heaving chest, a continuance of a pupil-less stare, and an effortless smirk painted across a docile expression.
His fists began to clench at his sides as he stood, moving slowly towards her, "No demands? Not even a request to return you to your beloved Queen?" He lifted her chin up, forcing their eyes to meet, he smirked, "You are rather interesting for Aquarian scum... I had always envisioned wenches of your flock perpetuating the damsel. This mesh of lethargy and spite is intriguing."
Without a change in expression, Nel returned the same cold eye-locked stare, "I had always envisioned men of your alleged caliber, crying to themselves at night to compensate for the false self-respect they exude throughout their living days."
As quickly as his emotionless glance had turned to a glare, Nel felt the thrash of his hand across her face, "Consider yourself lucky that I have no intention of implementing the claw-clad scar tissue."