A/n: Words between [...] stand for telepathic speech.
Dean's feet scrape along the floor and hit uneven stones from time to time. He is pulled upward, aware of the reason behind it. Something he refuses to comply with. As such, he continues to drag his feet on the floor refusing to make it any easier for his captors. The hands on his arms tighten and pull him up more. He grinds his teeth at the pull. It feels as if his arms are being pulled out of its socket. Nevertheless, he refuses to give in.
"Walk, idiot! You won't feel any pain if you were to just walk. Why are you being so difficult?"
His lips thin at these words but still he refuses to answer. No one will get anything out of him. No one. No compliance. No honest answers to their questions. If they don't get it then they're just stupid.
Looking up for a moment, he frowns. If he didn't know better he would say he's not being taken back to his prison. This hallway looks incredibly similar to the one he used to escape from. Still, the light and a few decorations are different. So if it's true he's not being taken back to his prison then where's he being taken to?
He turns his head looking at his captors. A young blond woman dressed in similar clothing as he currently wears holds his right arm tightly. Her skin's covered in multiple tattoos. He's never seen any like these before. Well, never? He's seen something identical during one of his hallucinations. Weren't they hallucinations? They must have been even if he can now see the tattoos more clearly. They're almost like runes. What fucking monster is keeping him captured and hallucinating. He balls his fists, his nails digging painfully into his skin.
"Agrr."
"What?"
He doesn't respond and studies the floor as he moves along it. At the same time, he breaks his head over the implications of his latest experiences. What have they been missing if he's the only one to see what else is around? He narrows his eyes. He'll have to test it in some way. It's the only way to determine what's the truth. Something he can only do after he's managed to escape. And escape he will.
The footsteps slow down as two large wooden doors come into his view. The door's decorated like many things here. Only this time, the decorations are not only angels. The strange symbols on the door look eerily similar to the tattoos he saw on these people. He turns his head to the left. A bulky man with short blonde hair holds his arm there. On his body, strange symbols are drawn.
Turning his attention back to the door, his eyes widen. One of the symbols on the door looks exactly like one of the man's tattoos. It is then he notices a man and woman dressed in a grey cloak are standing sentry next to the door. On their approach, they open the door. Blinding light comes from the room on the other side of the door. He pulls back as much as he can while dragging his feet. He doesn't want to enter this room at all. Those holding him however do not stop. No, they only pull him forward harder.
Within moments, they enter the room. He clenches his eyes shut as the light intensifies. However, shortly afterward, he opens them again and looks up. Stained glass on the ceiling of the room greets him. It follows the half oval shape of the room. The size of it is however smaller than the room.
Looking into the room, rows behind rows of people sitting and watching him reach his eyes. All their eyes burn into him leaving him feeling terribly exposed. Whispering breaks out within seconds. Heat flashes across his face before he tins his lips and looks away. He's not here to be gawked at like an exotic animal.
His eyes land on a woman who sits on a raised platform. In front of the platform stands a chair directly opposite where the woman sits. Who's this? Their leader? He narrows his eyes at her. She certainly looks intimidating enough. Just as he thinks this, he's pulled forward towards the chair while still refusing to cooperate.
Before he's aware of it, he's pushed into the chair. The people holding him release him and step back. He stands up and is pushed back into the chair before his ass can even leave the chair. Turning his head, he glares at the first person he sees. A blank expression is given to him in return. A scraping throat pulls at his awareness and he follows the sound. His eyes once more end up resting on the woman in the chair.
The woman has a fair skin color. Her dull pale hair is tied behind her head. He can't see how it is tight or in what form but is certain it's not in a ponytail. He tilts his head studying the woman. Her hair is indeed dull and pale but he thinks he can see hints of blonde in it. She wears a suit beneath a really old-looking grey coat. It looks as if it belongs in the past century and certainly not in this time. Who the fuck's he dealing with?
His eyes turn to the woman's face. She's staring at him relentlessly. It's the only thing he can focus on. Shivers run over his back and he fumbles with his hands for a moment. Leaning forward, he stares right back at the woman despite wanting to do nothing but avert his eyes. He just refuses to show any weakness in front of these strangers. A door screeches open in the background while footsteps come closer. He turns his head to the side and his mouth falls open. He pushes himself back into the chair trying to get as far away as possible from whatever monster just entered.
Some human-like being wearing a parchment-colored, hooded cloak with intricate decorations on it enters the room. Beneath the hood, he can see the features of a human only disturbed. The mouth's stitched shut and black holes are in the places where the eyes should be. In the monster's hands is a sword. It approaches the woman who notices it and nods.
"Brother Zachariah, it's good you arrived at last."
[Yes, Inquisitor. Shall we begin?]
So this woman's an inquisitor. What was the name of the inquisitor again? Someone mentioned it while he was hiding during his escape attempt. What was it again? Hero, hera, heron, or something. He's not sure. Well, at least he'll know whom he's facing. The same person who had summoned aide not long ago.
Then his mind moves to the words of the monster. Begin with what? He looks around. The people all look at him. No one shows any sign of confusion. Do they know why they're here? He suspects as much. Turning back, his eyes widen when he realizes something. How could this monster speak without a voice? And how can anyone speak inside another's mind? It makes no sense.
"If you could wait for a moment."
[As you wish, inquisitor.]
Looking up, he wonders what's going on. What's got she planned for him? Before he can even consider it, the inquisitor stands up and moves down from the platform. He follows her movements, noticing how she slowly makes her way to him. Her face is set in a full-on bitch face glaring daggers into him. Had her eyes been able to spew fire then he would've been burned long ago.
"Dean Winchester, do you know why you've been summoned here."
"I don't know a thing, you bitch. And for your information, I wasn't summoned here but kidnapped. I'm in no mood to play along with whatever sinister plan you have. I'm leaving."
He moves to stand up only to have hands push on his shoulders. He's forced to sit down again. Glaring at the man, he clenches his fist and raises his arm. He strikes out but his hand is caught. Another hand touches his wrist in a crushing grip and pushes his arm back onto the chair.
"No one here's got any sinister plans, mister Winchester. We're only here to solve the mystery you are."
"What do you mean I'm a mystery?"
"You're a mystery because you're able to see the shadow world and use our weapons while we've got no record of you. That mystery."
"What shadow world? Are you fucking crazy?"
"I'm not crazy as you say. I'm just able to see more than mundanes can. And you just proved to be able to see the shadow world when you tried to strike one of my men who is wearing glamour. If you really couldn't see the shadow world you wouldn't have been able to see him. Nor strike at him."
"Now you're just making something up. Everyone can see him. That's no proof of anything. And what do you mean with records of me?"
"Oh, but I'm not making anything up. Do you remember the discussion you had with a couple in a supermarket? Like just yet, you saw through glamour at that time. Something everyone here can do. It's more than enough proof to me. As for your question, we keep careful records of every Nephilim in existence."
He flushes and looks away. It makes no sense to him but a few things become clear to him. The flickering he saw previously was seeing through glamour for a moment. And he's not dealing with humans. But whatever they are, they think he's just like them. He's sorry he'll disappoint them. It makes him determined to escape before they'll do him something when they learn about it. But enough thinking, he'd better respond. The frown on the inquisitor's face has deepened the longer he's stayed silent.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your reaction proves you do."
"And what if? What's got my existence to do with you? Just leave me the fuck alone. I won't betray anyone."
"Betray who? The Circle?"
"What? What circle? Is that an organization? If so, I've never heard about them?"
"You have not? We'll see about that. Brother Zachariah?"
The monster nods and walks to him while the inquisitor takes a step back. Once the monster stands before him, it hands the sword it's been holding to the inquisitor. She looks at it for a moment before she lifts her head with a smile on her face. Then she looks down at him. He looks the inquisitor in her eyes with a raised eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the monster stepping back. He follows it with his eyes. It moves to the corner of the room where it just stands.
A resounding echo forces him to look back at the inquisitor. The sword is now resting on the ground. The inquisitor glares at him. Two hands are placed on his shoulders pressing onto it. He lifts his head glaring at the inquisitor. She tilts her head. No emotion crosses her face. She steps forward placing the sword in front of him.
"Place your hands on the hilt."
"No! I won't play along with whatever stupid game you're playing."
"It wasn't a request."
Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He refuses to play along. He's been here longer than he intended and doesn't plan on making it easier for anyone here. The inquisitor reaches out and grips his wrist in a bruising grip. She pulls his arm forward. The pull stretches his muscles causing them to sting. He hisses and clenches his hand in a tight fist.
Once his fist is close to the hilt another hand grips his first and pries it open despite his efforts to keep it closed. His hand is pressed to the hilt almost instantly. Before he is even aware of it, his other hand is pressed to the hilt. A tingling sensation goes through his arms. He shivers. Needle pricks tightly into his hands. It is as if hooks are being embedded into his hands. Looking down at his hands, he sees nothing of blood dripping from his hands. He frowns wondering at these sensations.
"Now let us begin. What is your name?"
"I won't tell …"
He bites his lips to keep from screaming. The hooks dig deeper into his skin the longer he keeps his mouth shut. At the same time, the hooks pull at him. The pull is not physical but in his mind forcing him to tell the truth against his will. Sweat starts to drip from his brow while it becomes agonizing to hold the sword. The inquisitor meanwhile stares at him with a deep frown while tapping her foot. His mouth opens eventually despite his efforts to keep it shut.
"Dean Michael Winchester."
"Are you a shadowhunter?"
"No."
"Have you seen the shadow world?"
"No."
"Have you ever seen this?"
A picture is held in front of his eyes of a scorpion-like beast with a thick, flat snout containing serrated teeth. Its barbed tail is held high over the body while two of its legs are raised. His eyes widen recognizing the beast as the same kind he saw in the alley in July. Again his mouth speaks without his desire.
"Yes."
"When and where did you see it?"
"In July in Phelan, California."
"Mhh, did you ever see flickering of lights?"
"Yes, a few times."
"What do you think those were?"
"Hallucinations."
"Really? Why?"
"Because no one ever saw it."
"Then you did see the shadow world at times but never thought it to be real. Just like most sighted mundanes. Have you seen this for as long as you can remember?"
"No."
"Since when did you see it?"
"Since May."
"Did you ascend?"
"No."
"Do you even know what I meant with ascension?"
"I don't know. Is it like going to heaven? I've never done that nor does it exist."
Snickering sounds behind him. He's just glad he's able to give this inquisitor a piece of his mind. But it starts him wondering what she could have been meaning. He's unable to do so for long because the inquisitor's quick to respond.
"Mhh, so it's possible for you to have ascended without being aware of it."
The inquisitor takes a step back walking back up the platform. She rummages through some papers. Dean uses this opportunity to try and get his hands off the hilt without any success. His hands feel as if they're glued to it. He looks down at his hands and tries to see what's going on with his hands. Footsteps approaching has him looking up. The inquisitor's walking down the platform with a paper in her hand.
Once the inquisitor reaches him, she holds a picture in front of his eyes. The picture is of a translucent cup with a gold standard. From what he saw just yet it looks similar to a cup he saw before. He squints his eyes wondering what's with this picture.
"Have you ever seen this?"
"Yes."
"Did you drink from it?"
"Yes, I did."
"Tell me everything you remember of the day you drank from the cup."
Dean thinks back to the day. The memories of the day have been pushed back to the far reaches of his mind. Nevertheless, he's able to find it quickly.
"Well, I was hunting with my dad when we went to interrogate a witness. For a chance - the reasons I don't know - we're hunting in a city instead of a town."
May 1995
New York City, New York, Dean POV
"Sir, why are we here?"
"I've got intel that the woman who lives here might know more about the monster we're hunting."
"Oh, that's good. We'll finally know what we're after this time. But why are we hunting in a city now? We're always in small towns. What changed?"
"It doesn't matter, Dean. People are dying and we've got to stop it. No matter where they are, we've got a duty to save people."
"Yes, sir."
He bites his lips not liking the answer. It makes no sense for them to hunt in such a large city. It's too dangerous for people to recognize them. And now dad's refusing to tell him why they're hunting here. But no matter, as dad said they've got a duty to do. That's what he'll be focusing on. He'll see if he can figure out the reason at a later time.
He keeps his eyes focused in front of him. Dad knocks on the door and he straightens his back. Footsteps sound on the other side of the door. A mumbling sounds on the other side of the door. One high voice - as if from a child - and one female voice. He's got to fight to keep a smile off his face even if he's unable to hear what's being said but it sounds like a mother is arguing with their child. He glances at his dad who remains impassively while waiting. A nearly hidden tapping of his feet can be seen. If he didn't know dad that well he wouldn't have seen it.
Moments later, footsteps sound on the other side of the door and become steadily softer. Moments later, the door's finally opened, if only slightly. A red-haired woman stands on the other side of the door watching them through the opened crack. She narrows her eyes at them.
"What do you want?"
"Jocelyn Fray? I'm agent O'Connor. I've got some questions for you regarding the deaths in Bryant Park here nearby.
"Oh, alright. Who's the boy with you?"
"He's my son. He begged me to allow him to accompany me which my supervisor reluctantly approved of so long as he won't impede the investigation. May we come in?"
"I guess. If you don't mind the house being a bit of a mess with my daughter playing around."
"Not at all."
The door closes. A ringing of a chain being unlocked sounds from the other side of the door before it's opened wide enough for them to enter the apartment. He follows his dad and Miss Fray as they walk through a hallway. The walls of the hallways show the brick they are made of. Paintings hand on the wall. Soon they walk past the kitchen and he turns his head to look into it. Dirty dishes rest on the kitchen top. A kettle rests on the stove. Taking a deep breath, he smells a strong sweet scent coming from the kitchen. It's almost like the smell of freshly cooked cherries.
Walking further into the house, they enter the living room. In front of him, bright light enters the living room through the large segmented windows. A lamp stands in a corner next to two chairs. A couch stands with its back facing one of the windows. A table filled with books, pencils, and papers stands in front of the couch. Behind the table - in front of the couch - a young red-haired girl sits drawing on a paper with her full focus. She doesn't appear to have noticed their arrival.
"Clary? Would you go to your room for a moment? We've got some things to discuss."
Clary looks up to her mother and tilts her head before her eyes fall on them. A frown appears on her face. He smiles calmly at her which only increases the frown. She doesn't speak up nor does she make any move to leave. All she does is put her pencil down. She stares at them for a long moment. Only Miss Fray scraping her throat has her finally speaking up.
"But mommy, do I have to? I'll be quiet, I promise."
"I know you'll be quiet but I need you to leave. This no conversation meant for your ears"
Clary pouts and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Dean smiles at the sight. She obviously wants to know what's going on. It's such an endearing sight to see. Especially as this stubbornness reminds him of Sammy. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches dad glaring at him. Hunching his shoulders slightly, he looks at the ground. What happens next, he doesn't know but eventually, dad speaks up.
"Miss Fray, my son, Dean, could keep her entertained for a while in another room if you approve of it."
"Mhh, I'm not sure. Doesn't Dean want to observe you during your work?"
"He won't mind, will you boy?"
"No sir, I don't mind keeping Clary company."
Looking up, he catches Miss Fray looking at them with her head tilted and a frown covering her face. Her reluctance is more than obvious on her face. Dad turns to him and glares; the message is clear as day. He's got to take the girl to another room and see what she knows. And he'd better convince Miss Fray to allow him to entertain Clary. Taking a deep breath, he speaks up.
"Don't worry, miss. I've looked after my little brother before. It won't be too different from those times. She'll be perfectly safe with me."
"Alright, but take her to her room. We'll be close by in case any of you need something."
"Yes, miss Fray."
"Clary, go play with this nice young man in your room."
"Agrr!"
Clary stands up and stomps her feet. Her hands are once more crossed in front of her chest. Dean smiles. His earlier observation proves to be right once more. But knowing his dad, he steps forward and holds out a hand to Clary who glares at him. Her glare is harsh enough it could kill him. Shivers run over his back. Something about her intimidates him. Nevertheless, she eventually takes his hand after Miss Fray scrapes her throat. Slightly pulling her with him, he smiles at her while trying to put her at ease.
"Come on Clary, we'll be having fun together. Do you have any games you like to play?"
"Yes, I do. You're really want to play those games? No one your age ever seems interested in it."
"Oh, I'm really interested. I'll do whatever you want."
The pull from Clary's arm decreases. Clary tilts her head and frowns. She looks around the room with a highly contemplative look on her face. A look which doesn't fit on the face of such a young girl. Moments later, she smiles and pulls him into a room.
"Wait here."
Clary looks at him with pleading eyes. Smiling, he nods. Clary smiles brightly at him before running out of the room. He shakes his head. What's gotten on her mind? Might be a game she wants to play and for which she is collecting things. He'll wait for a moment. If she doesn't come back soon, he'll start looking for her. How good can she hide here? Well, he doesn't think she can hide very well here.
Looking around the room, he sees a small bed against the wall on his left. A window on the bed's right side. A small table with some chairs stands on the other side. Against the wall opposite the window stands a small wardrobe. Littered across the floor are multiple drawings. Crouching down, he picks one up.
"Dean?"
Turning around, he sees Clary has returned. In her hand, she holds a cup. It looks like an ordinary wine glass if it wasn't for the translucent look of the cup. What it's made of, he doesn't know. He's never seen anything like it. Especially with the glittering standard which looks almost golden. He smiles dismissing the last. A golden cup is way too expensive for such a family. It's most likely some prop or something. Nothing of real interest. Seeing Clary beginning to frown, he decides to fake interest in the cup.
"What've you got there?"
"A cup from my mom. I'm not supposed to play with it but you're with me now so it won't matter. We can hold a tea party."
"Really? That's a great idea. I wouldn't have been able to come up with such a great idea. You've got everything here?"
Clary giggles initially until he asks his question. A frown appears on her face and she looks around the room before shaking her head. Without saying anything to him, she runs out of the room once more. He hears rumbling in another room for a moment. If he's right the sound doesn't come from the kitchen. What room it is, he can't tell. Nevertheless, it does not take long for Clary to return with plastic cups and some plastic plates. She puts it all on her bed before jumping on it herself. Smiling, he follows her lead.
"Well Princess, what do you have to offer me?"
Clary giggles with a hand before her mouth. He keeps his face emotionless, unwilling to ruin their fun. Her giggling stops and she stares at him with a faraway look in her eyes. It's as if she is looking deep inside him. It lasts but a second - he nearly misses it - before she puts the golden cup in front of him. He smiles and picks up the cup all the while wondering what Clary is for a creature. That she's not human is clear as day but he can't figure out what she is. As he picks it up, he feels the cup's heavier than it should be. He frowns shortly before he's able to smash his confusion. Just as he's about to pretend to drink from it, Clary speaks up.
"No, wait. I've not put any water in it yet."
"Oh, how thoughtless of me. My deepest apologies."
He puts the cup down and waits for her to pour water in it. He follows Clary with his eyes. She picks the plastic kettle she brought with her earlier. Pouring some water into his cup, she pours some water into her own cup before putting the kettle down. Picking up the cup once more, he's finally able to take a sip from it. The water tastes cool and refreshing. Something he didn't expect considering the cup or the plastic kettle it came from.
"Is it tasty? Do you want some cake?"
"Oh, that would be great. Thank you. And the water was really tasty. I've never had anything like it. Can you share with me the secret where you found it?"
"Why? It's just water I got from the tap."
"Really? I wouldn't have thought so. May I ask you something?"
"Of course. You're funny. What do you want to know?"
"It might sound strange but have you ever seen anything strange in the park nearby?"
Clary reaches over and hands him an empty plate. He smiles, eagerly accepting the 'cake' she gives him. Clary smiles at him before tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. Playing along, he pretends to eat the 'cake' while waiting for an answer.
"What do you mean with strange?"
"Things or people which do not belong. Something like that. It really can be anything which you haven't seen before."
"Oh, there was a man in a black suit. I don't know why he wore that. It was so hot I and mommy had to wear a dress. And we still were really hot. Oh, and there was also a man with a leach but no dog. Do you know why someone has a leash when they don't have a dog?"
"Maybe because he let the dog run free? Or it got away from him."
"No, it can't be. There wasn't a dog in the park. I'm sure."
"Mhh, that's strange. But the man in the suit, he could have come from work, couldn't he."
"No, he wasn't. We were there Sunday. Who works in a suit on Sunday?"
"I don't know but you know people can be strange right?"
"Oh, I know that."
"Good, do you remember what those men looked like?"
"Didn't I tell you that?"
"Well, you told me a bit but I wonder if you can describe them in more detail."
Clary shakes her head immediately with sad eyes. He takes another sip from the cup, certain he's not getting anything more from her about those men. But as he watches her, he notices how she tilts her head once she's stopped shaking her head. He tilts his own while looking at her sidewise. It takes a while before Clary speaks up once more.
"Not really. All I can really remember is that they were pale and sweating."
"Oh, and it wasn't a hot day, right?"
"Yes, I told you that. But well, … Well, uhm. It was a bit cold when I saw them and got hot again when they left. It's so strange. I told mommy who told me not to worry."
He takes another sip allowing himself time to consider his next words. It was really useful information he got from her just yet. Just the sort of thing he was looking for. But it might be better to steer their conversation away from it. Just to ensure he's not raising any suspicions now or later.
"Mhh. Have you done anything fun recently? Like for example in the park."
"Oh yes, I played with some kids from the neighborhood in the park. But it wasn't the most fun I've had."
"Oh, and what was that?"
"Well, mommy finally allowed me to paint with her supplies. It was so much fun and better than what I normally have. Mommy said I'm a born artist when I showed her my painting. Do you want to see?"
"I would love to."
Clary smiles and runs out of the room. He shakes his head. She's clearly proud of her work. But how great can it be? She's but a kid and thus anything but boring pieces of art. Not that art's ever exciting. In the distance, he can hear dad and miss Fray talking but unable to make out their words. Nevertheless, he's getting the impression dad's finishing up with his interrogation.
"Dean? Dean!"
He turns his head and sees Clary standing in front of him waving a hand in front of his eyes. She is jumping slightly on her toes. He smiles ruefully.
"Are you alright, Dean?"
"Yes, I was just lost in my thoughts. You've got your painting there?"
"Yes, look!"
Clary puts the picture in front of him. She nearly pushes it right into his face. Smiling amused, he shoves his chair a bit back. Only then he's able to see the picture. Crudely drawn people with wings and swords - most likely angels of some sort - fly over a forest. In the forest crudely drawn black creatures are visible. Their shapes go from dogs to apes and men. He tilts his head and frowns. What's he seeing here? The imagination of a kid? It must be.
Looking at Clary, he's about to speak up when he hears his dad's voice.
"Dean, you're ready here? I finished my conversation with Miss Fray."
"Oh yes we're finished, right?"
Clary nods enthusiastically for a moment but frowns at the same time. He doesn't pay it any attention deeming it unimportant. When he stands up, Clary's frown deepens. He smiles at her and walks out of her room with Clary following him on his heels. Moments later, Clary asks him a question.
"Did you like my picture?"
"I did. You're an artist just like your mommy told you."
Clary smiles brightly and chatters to him about some of her artistic projects until they reach the front door. There they meet Miss Fray and his dad who are talking to each other. On their approach, Miss Fray smiles while his dad's lips thin slightly. He smiles apologetically while Clary runs to her mom and starts to talk eagerly about their time together. Miss Fray lets her for a moment before silencing her with a finger to her lips. This is the moment dad chooses to speak up again.
"Thank you for your time."
"It was no problem, agent O'Connor."
Miss Fray opens the door then and they leave. No words are exchanged as they leave the building. Shivers run over his body for no apparent reason. Some anxious energy comes from his dad as if he's nervous about something. He shakes his head at the foolish thought. Dad being nervous about something is just ridiculous. He's got no idea where he got the idea from. Once they sit in the car, dad glares at him.
"Well, what did you learn from the little girl?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. She only said something about a man in a suit and another with a dog leash. Both seemed to be pale and sweating to her. Also, she said it was a hot day but in their presence it got cold. That's all she can remember. Besides that, she also showed me a picture she drew. It had angels fighting black creatures in all shapes. I don't know if it's her fantasy or a way to make sense of what she saw."
"Mhh. Those men she saw in the park right?"
"Yes."
"Then that's what we'll focus on. Miss Fray said something similar. Maybe the picture will be of some importance later so don't you dare forget it."
Early August 1995
Alicante, Idris, Dean POV
"So you're aware humans aren't the only beings on Earth. What do you know about those other beings?"
"They're all monsters who hurt and kill people with no exception. I've seen it and killed them once we found them."
The Inquisitor's eyebrows narrow. The hooks have lessened some with his last answer. But that's not what he's focussing on but his confusion about the inquisitor's reaction. She isn't bothered by his view of the monster, isn't she? He's not sure what's wrong with it as he's sure it's the right view to have. Before he can think of anything else, she asks another question.
"What beings did you face often and how did you kill them?"
"Vampires who we killed by cutting their head off, werewolves who were killed by a silver bullet, and some ghosts whose bones were burned after salting them."
He shrugs wondering what's so important about it. Everyone does it the same way. Besides, they won't be hunting monsters as they're not humans themselves. Since when do monsters hunt other monsters? And if they did then for what purpose? It makes no sense to him.
The inquisitor's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He now knows better than to tell anything but the truth. It'll save him from the sword's hooks digging deeper into his skin. He bites the inside of his cheek, aware he's got to answer whatever question she's got now. Even if he'd prefer to downplay everything.
"What weapons did you use at those times?"
"Just guns and machetes. Or knives if they were closer at hand."
"Have you ever used a seraph blade?"
"What's a seraph blade?"
The inquisitor glares at him. He smiles amused. She clearly didn't expect him to throw the ball back. She pulls out a tube with a piece of paper tied to it by a rope from inside her coat. He keeps from responding even if hooks once more are driving deep into his skin. She moves the tube in front of his eyes.
"Nuriel!"
A glowing blade springs from the tube she just held in her hand. He clenches his eyes shut as the light blinds him. It's like he's looking directly into a bright lamp or the sun. Opening his eyes after a moment, he narrows them as the brightness still blinds him. Nevertheless, he's finally able to see that the sword is more like a dagger. Why didn't he notice this before? It looks like the blade which burned his hands.
"This's a seraph blade. Have you ever used one?"
"Yes, once when some sort of strange scorpion-like beasts were attacking some people."
"And what did you do then?"
"I hid and watched as those people fought those beasts. They were skilled at it. I've never seen anything like it before. Unfortunately, a few snuck up on me and I tried to get away when my hand landed on such a tube. With it, I killed those beasts but I burned my hands as a result."
"Mhh, do you know why the blade burned you like that?"
"No."
"Let's move to another subject. What's your education been like till now?"
"Why do you … Ahh."
He bites his lips to keep his scream down. Hooks dig deep into his skin. He clenches his eyes closed at the pain. He does not understand why his education would be something of interest to them. The hooks dig deeper the longer he waits. It's a struggle to keep his mouth closed the longer he waits but eventually, he can't refrain from speaking anymore.
"Like everyone's has been. I've done what needs to be done. Not that school is of much importance. Hunting's more important than school. Or anything else."
"So you've been flunking your classes?"
"Yes, if you'd call it that. I've gone to the classes but never put any effort in."
"How many schools have you attended?"
"I don't know. I don't keep count of something so unimportant."
"Why did you change your school so often?"
"Because I've got to follow dad and he's hallways hunting. It's not as if we can stay in one place for too long or else the monsters will create more problems elsewhere."
"What do you want to do in the future?"
"To get back home, look after my brother and continue with our duty."
"You don't want to learn how to use your powers?"
"No, not if it means I'll be away from my family."
"Alright, let go of the Mortal Sword."
The hooks which had already retracted, retract now fully from his hands. He can finally let loose of the handle which he does almost immediately. Turning over his hands, he looks at the palms and sees no trace of the hooks. He frowns and clenches them, feeling no pain as he does so. Not even any muscle pain. His frown deepens confusion as to what these hooks really were. Looking up, he removes his frown replacing it with a glare which he aims at the inquisitor. The inquisitor looks at him without giving away any emotion while she speaks up.
"Take him back to his room and get back here quickly. The Clave's got much to discuss. And due to his earlier escape, ensure some of those who have nearly reached their maturity stand guard outside his room. I don't want any other escape attempt from him."