Archangel

By Lindsay R. Honosky

Chapter Ten: Sacrifice

Aw, this one is, like, 3,000 words shorter D: Kinda makes me a little mad, but I was using my Mac, and I don't have a good writer thingy so I'm sorry ;-;. THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEEEEEWS!~ And to answer someone's question: I haven't really decided yet. Either one would be nice, but I'm trying to see who would fit better, you know? I just hope I don't disappoint ;-;

Not many recognize a man when they wear a black hood, or they were smart enough to ignore them. Reaver, for once, enjoyed his solitude, even if it were to be shared by many patrons of the Leper's Arm. At least the smell of sick and mead had yet to be driven from the place.

The stools were always so damn hard. Reaver shifted uncomfortably in his wooden bar stool, missing the nice blush chairs of his manor. The rabble around him had grown even louder once the storm hit, yet it was nothing compared to the old days of Bloodstone. Alas, instead of hardened pirates, ladies (and men) of the night, and his black market lackies walking the streets, there were now hard working fishermen, sailors, mothers and fathers, and even children. He assumed he was the worst thing to grace the cobblestone streets in years, save the so-called mercenaries that were making far to much noise for his liking in the corner.

To his surprise one of the men stood from the rest of his crew, babbling on drunkenly without much sense until a few choice words graced Reaver's ears. Sloshing his beer to-and-fro, the man shouted, "And here's to the new queen! May she not have that stick so far up her arse like her dear brother!"

"Aye!" Was the answering chorus, though another pounded on the table, scowling. The man was rather ugly, fat with boils all about his face and a rather angry scar stretching from one eye to the corner of his lip. He looked up at his companions, hate burning in his small, pig eyes, "Damn that whore to hell, I says..."

"Oi, Marty, what crawled up your arse?" Asked the man who'd proposed the toast.

Marty stood, palms flat on the table's surface, "I'll tell you why. That little bitch is the reason I ain't got a job! She killed half the men I was workin' with three months ago, and I had to come to this bleedin' place to saves my own skin! Now I got a price on my head worth half'n all Bloodstone, and there ain't no way I can see of makin' that kind o' money!"

The drunk leaned in, "Who were you workin' fer?"

"It was that Ferret bastard and his gang. Somethin' about holdin' a kid hostage 'til his little wifey paid up. Then that damn princess showed up and nearly burned us all to hell!"

"A proper place to be, for miscreants like yourselves." Reaver pushed away from the bar, his stool screeching like a banshee. He walked over to the mercenaries' table, smiling under his hood.

The man known as Marty gave him a look, then drew a knife, "Lissen here, fancy boy, we've no time for the likes of lick-spittle like you, so you best clear out."

Reaver put a hand on his chest, "Oh, dear me! Whatever will I do? One truly does shudder in fear in the presence of such horrid creatures!"

"Wassat supposed to mean?"

"Must I spell it out for you? I was calling you ugly, my good man. And that is my being generous. Now," his voice grew more serious, and his hand dropped back to his side, "unless you are planning to utilize that knife, I suggest you put it away least you get hurt."

Marty looked to the drunk man, "Jimmy, let's teach this tart a lesson."

Jimmy cracked his knuckles, "Oh yeah, I've been itching for a good fight."

Reaver lowered his head, smirking, "Do be gentle..."

Jimmy threw a right jab, to which Reaver parried with his left arm, flung it away, and landed a tailored boot into the man's chest. He went sprawling backwards, crashing into the table of a few more gents enjoying the company of some ladies of the evening. Their shrieks echoed into the night, and Reaver let out a taunting laugh, "Now now! We mustn't frighten these fine ladies!"

"You son of a-!" Something silver glinted in he corner of his eye, and Reaver lazily avoided a stab to his face, grabbing the hand of its wielder and flipping him over his shoulder, watching as the air left his lungs. Marty tried to get back to his feet, only to have a boot slammed down on his stomach, forcing him back to the ground.

Reaver dug in his heel, "Yes, I rather like you this way."

Jimmy had finished digging himself up from the broken mess of the table, whatever he called a shirt covered in brown beer. He snarled, then charged, gripping Reaver like a bear. The men dashed across the pub, onlookers either gasping in horror or cheering them on, until the back of Reaver's head slammed into a wall. Dazed, Reaver could only watch as a rather sizable fist came sailing towards his face, landing on his left eye. He let out a vicious laugh, then his face grew deathly serious, and poor Jimmy never saw the knife which Reaver had so easily taken from his fellow mercenary. With a snarl he dug the blade into Jimmy's back, growling, "No one. Touches. My face-!" The man died with a look of utter surprise on his face, a strange noise leaving him as Reaver wretched the blade from his back, then kicked the corpse towards an attacking Marty. However, Reaver had not counted on the dead man's hand gripping his cloak, and as the body went flying so did his cover.

Marty went down with the body of his friend, screaming like a frightened little girl. Reaver straightened his collar, tightened his cravat, and smoothed his hair, noting the stunned silence of the room. With one warning look the room went back to its going ons, ignoring the bleeding dead man and the other that struggled beneath him. Reaver's boots splashed on the bloodstained floor, a sound he hadn't heard in quite a while. He toed at the body before him before kicking it off the struggling miscreant it covered, smirking, "Ah, there you are." The man cursed explosively, his arm reaching for his pistol, until the familiar sound of another at the ready to shoot stopped him, "Oh, I don't think you want to do that."

"Sod off you-!" Marty's eyes went wide, his face paler than his dead friend's, "M-M-M-Mister Reaver...! I didn't-!"

"Ah, so you DO know me! Well now, paint me surprised! Now if you don't mind me asking, I overheard you saying you owe quite a bit of money, yes?" Reaver held the nozzle of his Dragonstomper to his lips, smiling.

The man bowed to him as if in worship, "Oh...oh please, please no, sir! I have...I have a family! Yeah! Oh, and the little ones, what will they do without their dear Pa Pa?"

Reaver's foot slammed into the back of his head, though not hard enough to knock him unconscious, "Oh yes, how dreadful. I wonder if you know that, through Mr. Ferret, you were in MY employment?"

"Owh plwhease! Ah dihdn't know!" Reaver laughed at the muffled pleas that vibrated in his boot, digging the man's face further into the blood soaked floor.

"And I believe I over heard you saying there was no possible way to pay him back, eh?" The man was sobbing now, his words indiscernible. Reaver lifted his foot, then reached down and grabbed him by the collar, forcing him against a wall. His Dragonstomper licked the bottom of his chin, then planted a cold kiss on his neck, "I believe I know a way you can pay me back, dear Marty."

His eyes went wide, the stink of piss and beer heavy on his person, "A-a-anything, Mister Reaver! Just p-p-p-please don't kill me!"

Reaver let him go, watching in disgust as the man fell to the ground, "Please, you are worthless to me as a bleeding corpse. Besides, you are hardly worth loosing a bullet for." He ripped his cloak from the hands of the dead, slinging it over his shoulders and walking out into the rain, calling, "Come along, dear Marty! I tend to shoot those who fall behind!" He heard the hurried fumbling of the fool behind him, a wicked grin on his face as the man caught up to him.

He was surprised to find his traveling companion was still sane after all the endless fights with the walking dead and a balverine or three. However he supposed poor Marty was more afraid of him than anything in this marsh. And oh, what a strange feeling that was. It was along the borders of satisfaction...and that strange gnawing feeling he got every now and then, like a voice from a distant time trying to grab his attention. He simply ignored the matter, letting loose another bullet as a Hollow Man tried to materialize on the path before him, receiving a startled whimper from the man behind him. Twirling his pistol, Reaver called, "I do hope your other mercenary companions have more backbone than you, Marty. It is rather sad watching you."

"What kind of place is this...?" Reaver gave no response, instead he simply continued walking along the some-what beaten path, keeping an eye out for other attackers.

The damn place had grown since his last visit, something that disturbed him slightly. It normally took a span of at least fifty or so years for the marsh to expand in any noticeable manner, yet it was clear to him that the place was eating up land like a starving dog. The fog, normally unbearable on a good day, was now almost unpassable; he could frowned as his clothes stuck to his skin from the dampness. His cloak did little to keep out the damp, and the chill in the air went down to his bones. No, something was definitely different about the marsh, however he had no plans of prolonging his stay to find out. Oh how he missed his dear little Barry; the lad would be more than happy to deliver his "packages" to his dreadful, depressing destination. A rock slipped under his foot, nearly tripping him down a hill now covered in moss and ivy, and then the memories began.

He was eight again, teetering on the edge of the cliff on a dare. Lyanna stood behind him, yelling at her brother for coaxing the younger of the three to do such a dangerous act. Reaver watched as the girl shouted, "Adrian! Get away from there!"

The boy turned, that familiar grin plastered on his face, "Don't worry Anna, I won't-!"

The little body began to fall ever backwards, little arms flailing about madly as fear gripped his throat. He watched as the tiny body tilted towards death, until the hand of an angel grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him to salvation. The little brown haired girl pulled him into her arms, crying, "I told you you'd get hurt!" Young Adrian was shaking, his arms limp by his body. For a moment the children stayed in that embrace, until the girl pushed him on the ground, stomped her foot, and shrieked, "You idiot! You could've killed yourself! And you!" She reared on her older brother, greenish blue eyes alight with rage, "If you think you're getting away with this, you've got another thing coming!" She turned back to the smaller boy with black hair and grabbed his arm once more, pulling him along with her, "Come on, Adrian; let's get you home!"

Reaver shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of an annoying fly that came to close to his nose. Oh how he hated this marsh.

It wasn't long before they reached the covered bridge, however it was nearly rotten away in the middle, and by his eye it would be useless. Stopping at its entrance, Reaver sighed, "Well, I suppose we'll have to jump down."

Marty came up behind him, eyes on the edge of madness, "H-how will we get back up?"

Reaver laughed, "Oh, that's none of your concern, believe me." He put one foot over the lip of the hill's edge, judging the height of it. A faded memory of a little boy breaking his leg from a fall here came to mind, but he dismissed it, jumping down and landing gracefully on both feet. With a satisfied smile he waved for the other man to join him, who promptly did so, yet landed much the opposite of Reaver; the poor dear had to clean mud from his behind before he would trail after him once again. Yet as he reached the opening to the Shadow Court the creature shrank visibly, his rather unsightly body shaking.

A fearful finger lifted from Marty's side, and he asked, "W-where are we?"

What was that lie he so often told mercenaries, bandits, pirates, and all others of that ilk? He smiled as it tickled his memory, "A relic of the past, my good man! Inside, or so I'm told, are riches beyond your wildest dreams. However, there is one thing I need you to do."

Beady eyes slowly fell upon him, "Y-yes?"

Reaver's hand wrapped around the saw-like outline of the cold metal with which he both loved and loathed, and as he pulled it out he could see the darkness shimmering around it, "I need you to hang on to this for me."

Gloved hands wrapped around it, and if Reaver thought the man was pale before he had been wrong. Sweating uncontrollably, Marty asked, "W-what is this?"

"The key. Now be a dear and use it."

"Uh...r-right. Use it." He watched as the tiny man walked up the old stone path, a strange thrill going through him as he heard the doors unlock. Reaver soon joined him, surprised at the small bloom of fear that still haunted him as he entered into the entrance hall.

The torches were always lit, though they did nothing to rid the cold stone of the dark. Smiling, Reaver carried on ahead of his follower, "Do hurry; riches won't spend themselves."

Nothing lived in these halls, save for a few spiders, and he could only guess at their living status by the cobwebs that decorated corners and doorways. He no longer remembered if the walls truly were black, or if the ever present darkness covered some other color long lost to time. He was surprised to find himself smiling fondly as he past the remains of one of those charming gargoyles that had undoubtedly met his end at the hand of his long passed Sparrow. He stopped then, remembering the time they had both entered these halls, not under their own will.

It was the same inky darkness he had seen in Aurora.

A chill he had not felt in years crept up his spine, and for a moment he thought he would be unable to move. Someone walk talking to him, and it took him another minute to realize it was his little lamb. Reaver laughed, though it came out as more of a cough, "I do apologize, Marty dear, I was lost in thought."

"You looked frightened-!" The man's head cracked on the stone wall, the Dragonstomper pressing against his forehead.

There was a wild look in Reaver's eyes, yet his smile remained, "Correct me, but did you say I looked frightened?"

"N-n-n-n-no s-s-s-s-s-sir!"

Reaver released him, watching as he tumbled down the stairs. For a moment he feared his temper had cost him his offering; how dreadful that would be to come all that way only to have to turn back. However the bumbling fool tottered to his feet, and Reaver laughed, "Quite a durable fellow, aren't you?"

"Y-yes sir! Li-like a rock, sir!"

He passed the shaking man, reaching the place even he feared to tread, "Yes, well, even rocks crumble." Placing both hands on the steel doors, Reaver pushed them open, the cold air blasting back his hood and ruffling damp hair. The alter before him was empty, though he could feel the eyes of his savors, his tormenters, watching him. He grabbed the arm of an utterly terrified Marty and shoved him inside, and then the voices began.

"He has returned to the shadows..."

"Yes, yes, may we please skip this little monologue? I have grown rather tired of it over the years." Reaver stood in the doorway, watching Marty nearly loose his mind as the Shadow Court materialized at their thrones.

All three voices shrieked, "You're insolence will not go unpunished!"

"I'm sure, now if you would be so kind, I've brought you a little gift." He aimed his pistol at the crazed man, saying, "If you so happen to try to run, or let go of that delightful little artifact, I assure you that you will die. Now be a dear and be still."

There was a loud hissing noise, and Reaver watched as the Court lifted their arms, a black miasma flowing from their hands. A shriek tore from Marty's lips as the cloud engulfed him, the strength draining from the notes as the curse did its horrid work. Reaver watched as the man grew smaller, his back hunched as if from years of work, and soon he could no longer hear his scream, just a heavy wheezing. The cloud disappeared, slithering back to its owners like a serpent, revealing a wrinkled and weak creature that used to be Marty. The old man that stood hunched before him looked at his eyes, then to his hands, then back to Reaver, tears in his eyes. A strange feeling built in his throat; Reaver frowned as he pulled the trigger, putting the man out of his misery. The shot hit between the eyes; he died instantly, falling into the abyss below.

"Well, this has been fun, but I believe my business is done here," Reaver walked from the doorway to the Dark Artifact, yet when he tried to lift it the piece seemed welded to the ground. Something cold shot through his arm, then his neck, and he looked up to the dark masters before him.

He imagined their faceless visages grinning with malice, all three voices hissing, "You will learn respect..."

Reaver's eyes widened as he watched a dark tendril snake up from before the Dark Judges, then like a bullet it pierced his chest, knocking him to the wall. He cried out, the last of his air escaping him before his body erupted in indescribable pain. Reaver hit the ground with a loud thwack, and for what seemed an eternity he just lay there, trying hopelessly to catch his breath. Then whatever had pierced his chest started to claw its way up his neck, and Reaver grasped at nothing as dark veins crawled up his throat and on his face, and Reaver screamed, the darkness consuming him until there was nothing else...

He was at Bowerstone Castle. Why, he knew not, yet there he stood on the terrace in a silver moonlight. Something was wrong; he knew this was a dream, but it was not his dream. Reaver turned, only to find that as he did so the same scene played before him, and he began to twirl in circles until he finally gave up. Frowning, he began to walk further into the garden, wondering why instead of hearing the crunch of pebble beneath his boots he heard the splashing of water, as if he were stepping into a puddle. The world seemed to grow ever grayer as he continued forward, until he was before the grave of Sparrow and the king. Then he heard it; a sobbing from behind the stone. As he walked around the tomb he thought he knew what he would find, but instead of a young Lilith it was as he knew her now, her head buried in her arms as she sat with only her knees to hold her head up.

Reaver smiled, "What are you doing here, little Princess?"

"Why weren't you there...?"

He began to lean down, "I'm sorry, I do not know what-!"

Her head lifted, yet instead of tears staining her beautiful face it was blood, "You were always there! Why didn't you help me?"

Her body was ripped from him, a dark claw digging into her now bare stomach. He ran after her, hand outstretched, fear and panic threatening to take hold of him. The dark voices sounded all around him, mocking, "We hold all you treasure..."

"No...!" The world was growing red, the heat of flames licking at his face.

"We demand the blood of the Archons..."

"Lilith!" Something grabbed his foot, and he kicked it away. He was so close; he could almost reach her.

Then the dark fingers that tore into her stomach ripped out of her, and her naked body landed limply in his arms. He fell to the ground, clutching her close, watching in horror as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. He tried to hold his hand over her wound, but the blood would not stop; how could one person bleed so much? He heard a horrible laughing, followed by the voices once more, "We demand the birth of the Dark Guardian..." The redness of her blood soon pooled together, twirling upward into a scarlet robe. Reaver screamed as burning yellow eyes glared at him through a white and red mask, the beast's hand reaching towards Lilith...

"No!" Reaver shot forward, his eyes still encased in darkness. Then he heard the soft whisper of candles coming to life, and as his heart calmed so did his mind. Reaver stood from the ground, dusting off the dirt he had undoubtedly been rolling in. His eyes went to the alter as he ran a hand through his hair, finding it empty. Warily, he walked back to where the Dark Object lay, and snatched it up quickly, shoving the cold metal back into his back, and walking quickly from the room, cursing the place with every word he had learned in his many long years of life.

Hey...heeeeeeey~

Tell me who you guys are on deviantart, lol, I then we can have epic parties XD