Chapter 12: Captured
Allech looked around himself as Sebastian led the way down the hall. There were at least two guards stationed near every door. Why did there have to be so many guards? It annoyed Allech and Sebastian. Both hated being watched . . . but not for the same reasons.
Allech looked to the walls. There were several paintings of various angels and demons he recognized, but most of the demons were in the middle of one raging battlefield or another, with Sebastian as the main focus. How bitterly annoying.
"You know, you don't seem to be too fond of this place." Sebastian spoke up.
"I'm a noble." Allech stated, "I'm not used to the royal lifestyle."
"Pity . . ." Sebastian rounded a corner to another hallway and stopped, "I know you from somewhere, Sir Allech, I swear it."
"I think we've already been through this, you're Highness, we've never met face to face."
A hum rumbled deep in Sebastian's throat as he continued walking down the hallway.
"Let me think . . . wavy hair."
"Uh-huh . . ."
"Feathered wings . . ."
"Uh-huh . . ."
"You smell of ash and soot . . ."
"Uh-huh . . ."
The replies from Allech were becoming slower and slower and held a suspicious tone to it.
"And . . ." Sebastian stated, "Your voice . . . that voice . . . that's—"
Suddenly, something struck Sebastian across the back of his head. The expecting demon crumpled to the floor, his vision blurred and his head spinning, and very slowly darkness crept in on his vision as he fell into unconsciousness; a flashback of "the good old days" plaguing his mind . . .
The man sat alone. Not typical of most angels. His bright blue eyes stared into space while a warm breeze made his ebony locks of hair sway to and fro.
Ash watched him in bitter silence. He had never seen an angel act this way before. Did something happen? Was he sick? It had to be something tragic if this man wouldn't acknowledge him, even as he sat himself at the fellow angel's side.
"Feeling down today, Michael?" Ash asked.
"I suppose you could say that."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"I can help you, you know."
"No. It's personal, let's leave it at that."
Nothing was ever personal with most angels. They talked their problems out with each other. But Michael was the type to bottle it all inside. It infected parts of his mind. It haunted his conscience. It made his quiet and mute. It made him . . .
. . . Unclean.
Ash could only nod. He would have normally pressed for answers, but Michael was a peculiar angel. His eyes were blue, not lavender like you'd see on most angels. His hair was an incredibly dark shade of black, instead of white, gold, or brown. He was always alone, yet rumor had it he used to be the most social out of all the angles. He wasn't afraid to raise his voice or put his foot down or be defiant, and that made him scary to be around.
He was different. Weird.
Ash later came to regret never acknowledging this weird behavior. Not three days had passed after that that he found himself lying on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood; several dozen other angels laid near and around him in much the same, pitiable state.
He lifted his head, despite the pain that bled from a gash in his throat, and looked up to the one figure in the area that remained standing.
Michael.
The angel's hands were coated in blood. The deep, maroon liquid was splattered across his face and clothes and there was evil in his eyes.
"Michael . . ." Ash pleaded, ". . . please, find th-the will to st-stop! Can't you see . . . what y-you're doing?"
From what he could make out through his hazy vision, Ash could see Michael was taking everything around him in.
"I can't stop it." Michael's voice had no emotion to it. It didn't even sound like he was the one talking, "This feeling is too strong . . . it's overpowering."
"Fight it, Michael. You have to fight it!"
"This land here . . . it's good for nothing."
"Don't . . . don't say that, Michael!"
The other angel shook his head and drew his sword. All angels carried a sword with them to destroy demons with, should they ever be attacked. He quickly turned the sword so its blade was facing his self; the tip of it hovering just over his chest.
"M-Michael, don't!" Ash tried to shout, "If you do . . . you'll fall!"
"And that's what I deserve!" Michael hissed, "Look around at your brothers and sisters. I did this . . . I'm not worthy of God's love!"
And with that, Michael plunged his blade through his chest until it exited through his back.
Ash couldn't help but wail at the sight, and around him many angels who had been looking on did the same.
"No! Michael!"
"Our poor, sweet Michael!"
"Poor Michael has fallen!"
Poor Michael has fallen . . . and he's landed in the depths of Hell.
That was where the flashback ended as Sebastian's eyes fluttered open. His head hurt, the memories that had just surfaced made him tremble, his hands were bound to the railing of a bed . . .
. . . Wait . . . bound to the railing of a bed?
Indeed, both his hands and feet were bound in leather binds; a particular type of leather fabric from Hell that didn't wear out or could be broken by the mere strength of a demon. Sebastian tried to struggle his way out of it, even though he knew it was futile. He was also gagged; his mouth sealed shut so no one could hear him if he called for help.
"You have some pretty awful nightmares when you sleep don't you?"
The voice that greeted him was none other than that of Allech . . . although Sebastian had known all along that wasn't his true name. His hair and wings had been blackened by soot and a particular charm had been placed on his eyes so they would appear to be more of a red in color, even though the lavender color of his eyes couldn't be completely blocked out. Sebastian had known it was him from the moment he opened he opened his mouth to speak, and no demon could mimic that voice.
Ash Landers.
The angel had been in the mansion this entire time.
A sharp pain suddenly shot through Sebastian's abdomen, causing him to moan and writhe in the binds; doing all he could to cope with the pain.
"Oh yes." Ash remarked, "It would seem my little attack on you caused your labor to start a few days early."
Sebastian shot him a glare as the pain stopped . . . for the moment.
"Oh, don't worry." Ash continued, "It's gotten to the point where you child can survive outside the womb and can't be killed . . . That is, if I don't snap its fragile little neck the moment it's born."
Sebastian growled and struggled against his binds, clearly trying to free himself so he could tear the angel limb from limb.
"And don't worry about anyone finding us anytime soon. Right now everyone thinks you're sound asleep in bed and that I've retired to my own room. Nobody suspects a thing."
Sebastian growled and continued to struggle. He wasn't about the let Ash win, no matter what.
"And if I really wanted to . . ." Ash added, "I could just focus in on the fetus and snap its neck and kill it while it's still inside of you. But that wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as looking the bastard in the eyes as I do it myself. And I really want to see the look on your face as you watch as I take your precious child away right in front of you. Just so you can listen as the bones in the baby's neck break in my grasp and watch the life flow out of it."
'And you call yourself an angel.' Sebastian thought.
"And besides . . . That was the point of this anyways. Angela and I agreed that the worst pain you would ever be able to feel would be childbirth and that would be your punishment for trying to kill us . . . for a second time. It pains me to say that Angela grew too attached to you and that . . . that . . . that thing you're carrying and lost sight of that point. Don't worry, when this is over we'll all be gone and out of your hair."
The clock in the room chimed.
8:30.
"Oh, I'd better get to my room. Otherwise the servants might get suspicious. Besides, your labor only just started, right? It'll be hours before you're ready to deliver."
And with that—with his hair and wings still black and his eyes still that burgundy color—Ash left the room, leaving Sebastian alone and in the grip of another contraction.
to be continued . . .
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