Author's Note: Hello, hello, hello! I am so sorry for the delay. I had to purchase a new computer, the holidays came around, there were personal and family issues... Life just got in the way. But I'm here now.
21 pages, 7 thousand words, and not one, but two new characters! Lucy Liu is the face and voice of the first, and Javier Bardem will be the voice of Phinehas. And, I've chosen Luke Evans as our visual for Ilmarinen. Also, I've updated my Pinterest for visuals, so check it out.
Thanks again for reading my story, be sure to leave a review!
Whispers from Hell
Through the wind and the sky, Valon's spirit flew, far away until night gave way to darkness and he began to fall, once more, into the pit that was his dwelling place.
A loud crack rang out as Valon's soul collided with his wounded body.
It had been too soon, much too soon to journey toward Rosaline. Granted his body had healed from the majority of his wounds, there was still a few that left him weak. Lip curling into disgust, he pounded his fist against the wall. A ghost had bested him. Not an angel or demon, not even a shaman, but... a ghost.
Just thinking about what James had done was enough for him to began gnashing his teeth.
"Sire?"
Narrowed eyes looked upon Yosef, Valon's personal human slave who he had acquired during the rule of Pharaoh Nitocris of the 6th Dynasty.
Eyeing the top of Yosef's wooly head, Valon dared him to speak further, promising to rip out if his tongue again if did.
Bowing deeply, Yosef folded his gangly limbs, saying, "F-forgive me for interrupting you, S-sire, but there is a visitor."
Yosef's knees knocked together under the weight of Valon's stare. Sweat quickly dotted his brow as the heat, if possible, increased in the large chamber.
"A visitor?" Valon choked out, wanting with all his might to smite Yosef from the earth, yet dared not as his energy was scarce.
"Do you take me for a fool, Yosef? Who would visit hell with cheerful tidings?"
Yosef's bow deepened, head touching the ground in respect as he whispered, "Her."
Only one person could strike fear into Valon: her. "Where is—"
"I'm right here."
Valon's eyes soared toward her.
She was handsome in every sense of the word. Fair skinned with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, bow lips, arched brows, and dark eyes. Her raven hair shined blue-black in the candle light, flowing gently down her back in loose waves. As she studied him, she tapped her lace Louis Vuitton heel, her fitted black cargo pants and shirt giving her an edge that contradicted her angelic face.
"Salutations Valon, it's been ages since I've last laid eyes upon you."
Nearly 700 years to be exact and during the Black Plague. More than the simple conviction of lust, Valon had instilled into the hearts of dying the desire to survive. And for those who were healthy, a great zest, lust, for life. Corruption of their souls had been swift. Relishing in his bounty, he so happened to glance up, look across the square and found her, dancing across the bodies and funeral pyres. Their eyes met and Valon fell to his knees, intense dread taking over his body, all due to a seemingly innocent glance. Only within the glance Valon saw more than he dared to admit, to even speak of: a light brighter than he had ever seen in heaven, the light reserved for the Light Bearer before she had—
"Your thoughts are carrying you away, Valon."
Snapping to attention, he flew from his spot on the chaise lounge and took a knee on the floor. Bowing his head, he said, "Forgive me, my Lord." His hands pressed against his eyes. "I shall gift you my eyes as a sign of atonement."
The walls pulsated with her pleasure. Yet, she did not accept the gift. "That will not be necessary."
He knew better than to reply. Lowering his hands from his face, he fixed his eyes on the ground, arms extended so that his palms pressed into the stone floor above his head, the perfect form of subjugation.
Silence filled the space around them. And then she moved. Her heels clicked with every step.
With his face pressed to the floor, Yosef had no idea he was in her way. He found out soon enough when she kicked him, sending him flying through the stone wall. Valon could only curse Yosef's mistake silently.
Chuckling, she stopped when she was only a breath away from Valon. Reaching out she ran her fingers through his hair with mind-numbing slowness, nails tracing circles along on his scalp. "I detest this form. Show yourself."
He caught himself just as his jaw was about to flex in agitation and did her bidding.
"That's better," she purred when he changed.
Because of his battle with Ilmarinen and James, he now bore deep gashes along his chest and arms. His hair was the only jewel, golden blonde and luxurious, a startling contrast against his charred skin and leather wings, the tips of which were fire.
"There have been whispers," she began tentatively, still tracing circles atop his head. "Whispers in purgatory, hell… Whispers just before the gates of heaven. Do you know what they say?"
Wise, he gave no answer.
"They say, 'that there was a battle on earth for a human soul.'" The pressure on his scalp increased. "That during the carnage, the demon was wounded." His skin began to peel back. "Worse still, they say that this demon was bested by a Paladin and was sighted by humans."
Jamming her fingers through his skin and into his skull she hoisted him up until they were face to face. "Are you blind to your solecism?!" She bellowed, extinguishing every candle with her fury.
"No. I admit my—" his words were cut short when her grip on his skull tightened threatening to shatter it.
"All that humanity knows of us is what I have allowed them to hear. I have twisted the words of the one before me, of man, and have instilled doubt throughout the world for eons, and engaged by the sin which you govern, you threatened to undo all that I have done!" She pierced him with her gaze, pupils lengthening. "It is an unspoken rule Valon, etched in steel that rests in hell fire, we do not show ourselves to the masses, not as we truly are."
Valon smashed into the wall, pulverizing the stone when she tossed him aside with a flick of her wrist.
"Enlighten me, tell me what you thought would happen when man laid eyes upon you. Did you even think of the consequences?"
Valon picked himself up from the floor. His shoulder was dislocated, wing bent awkwardly. There were so many answers to her question: yes, he knew the risk, but thought he could glamor them all; no, he did not think of an alternative if his glamor failed, all he wanted was her.
"I thought myself capable," he answered when he had resumed kneeling.
Her derision flowed from her like a might wave that hit him at full force. "And look at where your inadequacy has landed you."
From his position on the floor, he saw her shadow, saw the dragon tail emerge.
"If this was the Dark Ages I could see past this transgression." They both knew that was a lie, she had not a forgiving bone in her body. "There are eyes everywhere now. Even if I felt inclined to issue you favor and twist their tales, your wrongdoing was still committed." Bones popped, clothing shredding like tissue paper. "A grave, cardinal sin, Valon." She sniffed at the air. "Incense has been lit, hands that have been idle for thirty years have found prayer once more. All. Because. Of you."
Scorching heat filled the room.
She held out her palm. Valon crawled into it. "Consider my eyes."
Valon did as she commanded, one pupil the size of his entire body. "Who do you think this prodigal son calls out for?"
A true test of power was in place: Valon, though strong, could not speak his creator's name; doing so filled him with a mix akin to sorrow and bitterness. Repeating the name, His name, would remind Valon of his mistake, of all that he had lost.
Her palm twitched, nearly jostling him as she threatened to crush him. "Answer me."
Smoke and ash burst from his mouth. "A-ggh—g-ggg-g…"
"God."
Startled by her words, he peered into that lone eye completely and utterly speechless. How could she speak the name without so much as a care, as though it did not pain her as it did the others?
"Listen to me now, heed my warning: one soul is as good as another," she spoke. "Let your treacherous thoughts cloud your judgment, or act impulsively, simplemindedly again in your pursuit of Rosaline Helena Cortez, and I will kill the bitch myself!" Her canines lengthened as her dragon smirked. "Worse for you, like the creator you can not mention, or the savior you fear, I'll crucify you and force you to watch as I take her life. Whether she ascends or descends, trust that she will be kept far from your grasp." Her smirk vanished. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"That's not good enough"
Placing his good hand over the gaping hole where his heart used to reside, he stared into the eye. "Yes, Lucifer, my Lord and Morning Star, Bringer of the First Light, I understand your decree and do not object."
Silence hung so thickly between them that he feared she would mark him, rip off one wing, or both, scar his face and body with wounds that would never heal.
She surprised him by shrinking. Soon he slipped from her hand and to the floor, watching as the fire of his wings cast her shadow on the wall, seeing her form grow smaller and smaller until she was as she first presented herself.
Anger just barely at bay, she stared down her nose at him. It was her who cast the first light into the void, her who had stood guard, long before man was even thought of! She was the first, the greatest, the most loved—she turned her head sharply, disrupting her thoughts.
Gazing through the gaping hole in the wall, she took in the black sky.
Time had a way of repeating. If Valon gave his word now, he would break it in a century, maybe a millennium. Peering at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw the proud point of his chin, his silken hair, saw the vacancy below his ribcage and knew the Demon of Lust would never let go of his old charge.
Turning on her heel, she sauntered toward the opening. "Time is a treasured enemy, Valon," she called over her shoulder. "I shall look to it to see if you keep my decree, and you shall wait for it to enact my promise."
In another domain, a softly spoken inquiry echoed through the stillness, "How are you feeling, James?"
"Don't worry," Stuart, the coroner, said leaning over James whose back was laying on a surgical table, "the poison only accounts for paralysis, so you'll feel everything."
Unable to move or speak, James could only stare. Stuarts once gray irises were now black as pitch. "You have no idea how much I will enjoy this," Stuart continued with a vehement nod. "As a Nuance Demon, my… acts…are numbered."
"You don't know what that is, do you?" he asked seeing the confusion in James' eyes.
He came in closer, dark eyes roaming over James' face. "All these years you've been dead, locked away in your ivory tower that you call a hotel, and you don't have the faintest idea what lies outside its walls."
Cocking his head to the side at a full 90-degree angle, Stuart assessed James further. "They must have been keeping you under lock and key," he declared absentmindedly. Snapping his head back in the upright position, he shrugged his shoulders. "No matter."
Turning around, he darted across the room, collecting the tools that had fallen in his and James' scuffle.
"There's so much more than ghosts," Stuart jabbered, becoming more lively with every word. "Most people just think there's only angels, ghosts, and demons—worse and that every demon is a fallen angel." He snickered at the thought. "Not true. At least not for men like me—like us."
That alone made James' frantic mind come to a screeching halt. Not all demons were fallen angels? As though reading his mind Stuart, stated, "Sometimes, when a man is absolutely despicable, she lets us play a bit longer."
Suddenly it made sense why James could control the Addiction Demon; it wasn't a demon at all, just a fallen man, another tortured soul who would bend to a force greater than itself.
The high tray beside the autopsy table rattled as Stuart set down his supplies. Humming, he made quick work of organizing everything that he needed. "Uh-oh, missing one."
Reaching for the bone saw Stuart added it to the growing pile.
"Would you like to know where I draw my strength, how I harvest my energy?" Stuart asked as he began to pull on his gloves.
"By means of torture," he answered for James. "I like—love, to inflict pain on others. That's why I became a coroner in my earthly life, to perfect my talents." He reached for the other glove. "I don't like to brag, but I killed a lot of people in the 70's, mostly hitch-hiking hippies who got their ends clipped on passing cars out on the road!" He said with a laugh.
"Would have been a notorious serial killer like yourself had I not been as careful as I was." He paused in his actions, looking at James with something akin to pride and disappointment. "You do know that's where you went wrong, right? You were careless, killing people left and right, letting them disappear in your own hotel. How long did you think that would last?"
Shaking his head, he resumed putting on his glove. "Though I do have to hand it to ya, James, you have a flair for bloodshed that a lot of people lack nowadays. No one will say it, but I think that's why you were able to go on, she saw greatness in you." He paused, specks of gray in his eyes threatening to extinguish the black. "Almost a shame to end it now, you could have been one of the great ones, like Servantus or Valon…" His face twisted in bitterness. "Instead you goaded death and take a soul for yourself, going so far to…guard it."
Had James been standing he would have fallen to the floor in shock. His mind was spinning with the newfound information: men turning into demons, the list of his tirades being shared about in hell, the mention of Servantus—Valon! James' lungs constricted with his need to shout. That was the being in the dream, Valon, the one who was coming after him.
"This death, this new death, will seal the deal for you," Stuart explained with a grin. "No telling what you'll see, though, everyone's hell is different, yet the same."
Stuart's eyes blinked sideways as he remembered hell. "There will be fire," he murmured, "only it's blue… the hottest part of the flame. You'll have to fight for everything, only your limbs won't move the way you want them to."
James studied Stuart from his peripheral, doubting that he knew he was shaking as he told his tale.
Nails dug into Stuart's flesh."…gnashing of teeth, burnt flesh was torn from—" He stopped himself just short of tearing apart his cheek. Dazed he looked around the room. "I seem to have—hahah! Well," he joked over his blunder, "that's what hell does to you!"
Laughing it off manically, he smoothed back his hair, and told James, "You'll see it. All of what I said and more. And if the ones you killed were evil too, you'll see them as well."
James couldn't move a finger or single hair on his body yet he felt his heart tighten at Stuart's words. Oddly enough those words, that last bit of truth, haunted him more than everything else. "if their bad, you'll see them too." Could the one face he hoped to avoid be there waiting for him on the other side?
Seeing the distress in James' eyes, Stuart fed off it, his dark essence licking at the mental wounds. Soon, very soon he could feast on the silent cries of his torture.
Snatching up the scalpel, he rushed around the table and took hold of James' forearm. Demon or not, wicked or not, he looked upon the mark in awe. After all, he had only heard the whispers of such a mark; it occurred once every six to eight hundred years, and again that was just a tale… forbidden whispers of the afterlife. Never did he think he would see it for himself. But he was fortunate. Licking his lips, he studied the mark. She had blessed—granted him a favor. He was certain of it.
"Thank you, my Lord and Morning Star."
Pulled from his own tortured thoughts, James was forced back in the present.
No. No! James spat in his mind. He had spent his childhood helpless until rage itself had freed him. Not even death could hold him back, and he would be damned if poison gave him the slip. Fight, he pushed at his mind. Fight.
A tingle raced through James' palm.
The scalpel was twirled back and forth between Stuart's thumb and index finger. He had yet to take his eyes off the mark. "It's so…pretty," he confessed leaning closer, completely mesmerized. "Maybe if I… Just one little touch before we begin…"
The tingle on James' palm spread across his hand like wildfire.
Stuart screamed at the top of his lungs. "Aaaahhhh!"
Due to his injury, death revealed itself, his skin turning to its natural greenish gray, just like the Addiction Demon.
Smoke wafted up from his hand, the smell of burnt rubber and flesh filling his nostrils. He snapped his hand back with a snarl. He was so furious he was foaming at the mouth. "You," he barked, eyes narrowing into slits, "Did. This. To me!"
James' body still felt like lead, heavy and utterly useless. However, heat coursed through his palm, igniting a trail that traveled up his arm, through his shoulder, up to his neck and… The corner of his mouth twitched cockily.
Enraged by the amused glint in James' eye, Stuart lashed out, cutting James' face and missing his eye by half an inch. Blood, hot and thick, trickled down his cheek.
"That was a grave mistake."
The velvety voice seemed to come at them from all sides. Before either man could fully process the sound, to question it, the voice came again, saying, "Are you so imprudent as to believe you can succeed where others, all of whom more powerful than you, have failed?"
Shadows were blot out of existence as the overhead lamps began to glow brighter.
"W-what are you—there's no one alive here!" Stuart cried out, backing away. "No one g-g-good."
Footsteps shook the room, rattling the medical supplies in their trays.
"P-please, I'm so-sorry. I d-didn't know. I thought… It's just s-s-superstition, ghouls tales."
Tears pooled in James' eyes as the light radiating from the lamps began to burn them.
"Not only have you forgotten your place, but you dare to fool me with your lies?"
Stuart fell to his knees, hands clasped before him. "I…" The need to lie was choking him. Awkwardly he swallowed back the series of lies, and dug deep, pulling up not the truth, but the greatest lie of all. "Please, your…grace. I promise that I will change."
The thundering footsteps ceased. A single blink and the light in the room returned to normal. Still trembling, Stuart snuck a glance at the being. He blanched. Knowing the battle was lost, he gave a bitter laugh. "Can't blame me for tryin'!"
"The fallen will always try to rise," the voice returned simply.
Golden sparks ignited across the room.
"I stand to judge the soul of…"
Stuart flew to his feet. "W-what, you can't do that! I was already judged!"
"…with the power of He who creates all, ends all, I hereby condemn you to an eternity in Hell."
"I've been there," Stuart retorted. "I'll just get out again."
Something passed between the two that James could not see, but he felt the weight of the silence, knew that whoever it was had proved Stuart wrong. As though to confirm, the being said, "You were granted freedom to escape the line, Stuart, not Hell itself." The floor burst open, a large onyx boulder rising up to touch the ceiling. "Your shackle, demon."
Stuart slammed against the stone, body twisting and breaking every time he tried to pull himself away.
"Wait! No," he screamed when the boulder began to sink back into the floor. "No! Don't let me—" The earth and the sterile floor sealed over him, blocking out his cries.
Such a haunting sight and James couldn't see any of it. Not that it was out of his range, but due to the fact that he had gone blind. Pure white light obstructed his vision. Obscure silver figures came into view, close yet far away. A gentle breeze came next, bringing with it the sound of ever-flowing streams. There was life behind that light, a whole world. If only he could see it.
"Regain your focus, James."
At the swift command, blood red seeped in from the corners of the pure image in his mind.
"Come back." More blood, this time in violent arcs that promised to wipe out the white entirely. Let me stay. Just let me stay. Let me—"AWAKEN!"
James' back arched off the metal operating table.
Pain wracked his spine, forcing him to cry out in agony. Slamming back down he gulped in air, regretting it as the precious oxygen collided with the bile rushing up his throat. Heaving, he barely managed to roll to his side before spewing a nasty, bitter green bile.
"Make sure it all comes out. Hold nothing back."
As if he would dare! His stomach clenched violently, muscles aching as bile spewed forth, throat straining from the force. When his stomach was emptied, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Blood from the cut on his cheek trickled down to his lips and into his mouth threatening to start the process all over again.
Quickly he clamped his hand over his mouth.
Dizzy, he felt himself teetering on the edge of the table. Just when he thought he would keel over, a heavy hand rested on the side of his head. The agonizing pain disappeared, replaced by fatigue, the cut on his cheek healing in record time.
"It's been a very long time since you've last felt this."
Felt what, pain? As though reading his mind the voice spoke again. "Sickness."
Spent, James flopped back down on the table too exhausted to even wipe his mouth. It took considerable effort not to wretch as the scent of his own vomit greeted him. Breathing through his mouth, his eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything, to focus his attention on.
"Look at me, James." His eyes found the being at once.
The stranger reminded him of an Italian Renaissance painting, he was that handsome possessing olive skin and raven hair that fell just above his shoulders in loose waves, along with a sharp jawline and straight nose. He was dressed casually albeit sharply in a black sweater, jeans, and trenchcoat that did nothing to mask his powerful form. Looking him over, James tried to recall the name that belonged to that face, sensing that they had met before. But he would have known if he had, his eyes were unique: a rich butterscotch that held no trace of brown or green, just pure gold.
James' words were hoarse. "Who are you?"
The man's eyes shined like the sun, and a thousand voices spoke all at once to James, calling the man: savior, Principality, the wind, guardian, angel—angel!
"Yes," the being spoke having read James' mind. "I am an angel, more specifically, I am Ilmarinen, Angelic Host and a member of the Nine Choirs, Guardian of Rosaline Cortez."
"James," Ilmarinen echoed when James gave no response. "James?"
James stared at him without expression. Like so many others before him, he was lost in his thoughts, his own selfish, notorious escapades. So vividly did the murders come flashing across his eyes: beheadings, stabbings, how he had bludgeoned… His eyes fell. Righteousness radiated from Ilmarinen making James feel small, lower than he had ever been before.
"You will meet my eyes."
Large brown eyes met gold. "While your crimes are abhorrent, I am not here to judge the condition of your soul."
"There is much that needs to be said, however, time is no longer our friend but our enemy." A harsh look fell over his handsome face. "With every passing second, you grow to live while she fades away in death." At the look of confusion in James' eyes, he lifted his hand. "See what I speak of."
Despite the scuffle between James and Stuart, the cadaver had somehow remained untouched. Eyes rooted to the body on the surgical table James watched as a rainbow prism appeared, glittering in the light. Before he could inquire about the man's importance, the image shifted. His lips parted in shock, one breath escaping and carrying a name, "Rosaline."
Even with death staking its claim, she was riveting. Her silken hair had been brushed and hung about her in luxurious waves, serenity her last expression as she laid garbed in a white dress. The Darcey rose came to mind as he gazed upon her; it too aged gracefully in death.
A newfound warmth trickled down James' cheek.
Oblivious to the tears he shed, James gaze darted over her body, tiny pinpricks jabbing him at his center, right over his… This can't be right. I saved her—held her in my arms. She was… I saved her.
Majestic colors danced about the room as the prism closed, restoring the false image of the old man.
Rage. Cold, hard rage flooded James. This is why he never believed: god, angels, they were all useless for they could save no one.
James turned his head sharply toward Ilmarinen. "How did this happen?!" He barked, barely able to conceal the fire in his eyes.
Chest heaving, James stared the angel directly in the eye. "Where were you when she needed you?" He queried. "Off singing the good lord's praises, perchance? Taking a stroll on golden streets, dipping in and out of the many rooms?!"
Ilmarinen stared at James in surprise. Just moments ago the ghost had been afraid of him, believing himself seconds away from being judged. Now, he was so angry he was shaking, eyes holding a contempt that could unnerve the strongest Seraphim.
The air grew thick with tension.
"Be careful," Ilmarinen cautioned, "you are forgetting yourself."
Black and violet sparks went off around James' form, his palm growing hot once more. "How could you let this happen?" He snapped.
He was a heartbeat away from standing toe-to-toe with an angel and didn't have the faintest idea why. Why did it matter that Rosaline was dead, he didn't think much of her. Even as the thought came to his mind, he knew it was a lie. Raking back the hair from his face, he saw in his mind the crimson blossoms that had stained her white shirt, felt her life-force weaken. I saved her, he fumed in his mind. I saved her and he—"You let her die."
A blinding light flashed throughout the room.
Glass rained down on them as the lamps shattered. He wanted to suffocate Ilmarinen, drain the angel of its very essence, yet his hand was poised just an inch away from his throat, blocked by some invisible wall. Jaw clenched, James glared at his hand, at the purple-black tint that surrounded his hand.
"What have you done to me?" He bellowed when he couldn't move his hand forward or back.
Ilmarinen's answer was surprisingly civil. "Far too much credit is bestowed upon me for your newfound circumstance. I have done only my duty. It is you who answered the call and rose to act as Paladin."
"I made no such choice."
"You did the moment you pressed your hands to her wound, solidifying it when you destroyed Valon's whip."
Stubbornly James' opened his mouth to object, but Ilmarinen silenced him by grabbing his wrist and turning it so that the mark was shown. Try as he might James could not take his eyes off the intricate marking, his eyes wondering over the four knotted corners and the square that lay within a circle.
"This is the mark of the Paladin," Ilmarinen explained. "The corners represent the four realms: earth, Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, which is why they are knotted as they are all on the same plain, thinly veiled from humanity. If the need should arise, you will be able to cross into each realm, but only can you enter Heaven if Rosaline is there."
"And…and the square?" James heard himself asking.
"That is your sanctum, where Rosaline's spirit resides." The corners of his mouth hitched in a smile. "It is also where you hide who you truly are."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Ilmarinen gave no answer.
"Where is this sanctum of mine?" James asked instead.
"Only you know the answer to that."
Batting James' hand out the way, Ilmarinen headed toward Rosaline.
"The soul and body are two separate entities. You know as well as I that life can be found in either form." Pausing he stared at the body seeing only Rosaline's face. "It is her body, the shell of her that rests here. Her spirit is drifting; if it continues she will lose herself and perish."
James looked at his hand. "Did you not just say she was in my sanctum? Can you not locate and…" He trailed off when Ilmarinen shook his head.
"It is not in my power to do so."
"Not in your power?" James repeated as though he misheard. "You recite a pretty title, boast of your rank only to admit that you have no power to do the one thing humanity expects of you!"
"Don't you dare!" Ilmarinen thundered, cutting James with his gaze in such a way that he reeled back. "There are laws that govern me, you, all of existence. Had it not been for you and your ill-intentions toward my charge, she would still be safe and in my care." The building shook. "It is you who opened the door to, inviting misfortune, not I!"
An angel could not lie. Every word was like a slap in the face, the bitterest of poisons that James was forced to swallow. It was his fault: he sought her out, pursued, trapped, and—no! It couldn't be. He couldn't be the cause of it all.
Muscle ticking in his jaw, James looked at the body then back to the angel. "So she's to die? Just like that?" He cringed at the concern in his voice.
"Not if you find her in time."
"Why is her survival placed solely in my hands?"
"Because it is in your hands that she resides."
So quickly James pushed aside his concern and wished that he had never ventured out of his hotel, that he had just stayed indoors, or chosen another victim at the—"You say that, but you mean none of it."
James eyed the angel wearily. "Can you…?" He pointed to his head.
Ilmarinen gave a curt nod. "It's the power of the mark. The binding allows me to sense my charge while catching snippets of your thoughts."
Nodding his head, James swung his bare legs off the table so that they dangled freely. He took in the large scar on his chest, and his pink skin, noting that it was tanning like he were—"Is this mark making me human again?"
"As Paladin, your are sword and shield, what powers you wield you shall learn for yourself, but you will serve her better in human form than as a ghost."
James snickered. "So I'm to take a hit, any and every blow just to keep her safe from harm?" Ilmarinen gave him a curt nod.
Suddenly James' felt every bit of his 120 years. Rubbing at his closed eyes, he sighed deeply. He wasn't fighting, why wasn't he challenging the angel's words and saying to hell with it all? If he didn't know any better he would have sworn his mind had been altered, he was calm, much too calm.
"My presence is soothing to the soul."
Well, that explains everything, he though dryly, throwing his hands up into the air. Almost everything.
Head in his hands James asked one question to himself repeatedly: why me? He couldn't understand it. Why him? Why now after all these—navy hospital scrubs slapped the side of his head."Have you lost your damn mind?!"
"We've wasted too much time, change quickly."
It was in James to argue, but his options were limited: either wear the scrubs or walk around buck-naked.
"Shoes?" He asked once he was dressed.
"I don't have any."
"You mean I'm to go around barefoot?!" He asked incredulously. "Look," he began showcasing his famed highborn affinity, "just because you're a…choir host…"
"…Angelic Host…"
"Right. Well, can't you just snap your fingers and have them appear, preferably a pair of oxfords with red soles."
Ilmarinen was insulted. "I'm an Angel, not a magician."
James arched a brow as though to say, 'what's the difference?'
Swallowing back his words, Ilmarinen returned his focus to Rosaline's body. A kaleidoscope of colors appeared as the prism shown; it rippled, the image shifting and becoming smaller, forming the sleeping figure of a little girl. "I will have to take her to a more secure location, I shall attract less attention with her in this form."
"Is this what she looked like when she was young?" Why in the hell did he ask that?
Ignoring his blunder, Ilmarinen placed his hand on James' chest.
Flinching James made to pull back and found his feet rooted in place. "What—what are you doing? Is this about the shoes?"
"Remember what I said about time, it is our enemy." Light surrounded Ilmarinen's palm, morphing into a small crystal sphere. "You will journey now to Death's stronghold: purgatory; it is not a place of purification," he explained, "but man's last chance at redemption."
Strong winds caused the building to shake, forcing James' back into the wall with bone crushing force.
"Both good and evil dwell there. Do not succumb to the visions of your past, or aid anyone you see; it is a trick of the mind for you, and their test. Leave them to their path, search only for Rosaline!" Ilmarinen shouted above James' cries, the power in him rising, growing stronger.
Laughter pierced James' ears, sweet and feminine. Perfume wafted toward him. Was this was one of the visions? A cry for help rang out. Prayers of thanks came next, and blasphemous curses to god and everything sacred.
"Wait, stop. I've changed my mind!"
"The paths there are many, you will cross multiple to reach her. As you search for her, think of your sanctum. When you find Rosaline, latch onto her and envision your sanctuary, it will protect you from evil."
Steadily James began to levitate, body rising along the wall, his hands floating heavenward. light as air, his body, mind, spirit… "This isn't my damned fight!"
Ilmarinen's voice was far away when he answered, "Call my name once you've found her, I will locate her spirit and journey toward you at once, but only when you are in your sanctum. I can not journey to purgatory, it is not my domain."
"Whose domain is it?" James demanded, needing to know who or what he would going against.
There was no answer.
Suddenly James felt formless like he was ascending some astral plane. Blue skies were now above him, the uneven soil at his back. More laughter drifted toward him, more… Shouts. Screams. There was a blinding light on his right, and hellfire on his left, but a single blink distorted the image, a lush jungle appearing with thousands of pathways.
Watching the gateway open, Ilmarinen spoke his next words in an ancient tongue. "May your Divine Hand hold both shield and sword and fortify the altar of the heart. Let the Paladin fear no man or beast, fall for no trick or pump." His piercing gold eyes latched onto James' blank ones. "…If need be, may you give your life without regret for the one whom you were chosen. And, may the Lord take a liking to you, but not too soon!"
With a mighty roar, the ball of light slammed into James' chest, sending him spiraling through the gateway.
A great bolt of lightning shot out across the night sky.
Rosaline snapped her head heavenward, eyes trailing along the silver arc. She stood in the middle of a stone courtyard, surrounded by ancient ruins. Jungle vines wrapped around the old stone, tall trees and their limbs stretching out and swaying in the breeze, dancing to the rhythm of the night.
The moon hung low, close enough to touch yet unable to fully dispel the darkness that surrounded her, shadowing everything in soft gray light.
Turning her head to the side, she stared through a broken archway, squinting her eyes to gaze upon the river which ran swift and strong downstream, blotting out everything in its path like black ink. It was much too large to cross.
Sighing she took her eyes off the water and sat down. She brought her knees up to her chest, resting her back against a tall onyx pillar with indigo vines. Gnawing on her lower lip, she toyed with the hem of her white shirt; it was still stained with her blood.
Having awakened in that exact spot at dawn, she found herself so riddled with fear that couldn't bring herself to leave. It wasn't the location per se, but the sounds. Even when the sun had been above her, there had been howling, incessant howling mingled with ear screeching cries that struck fear into her heart. Over and over she told herself that it was a dream, that everything she heard…and smelled was a dream. Reality quickly set in when she had fallen asleep and awoken to find herself still there.
Wrapping her arms around her legs, she grit her teeth at the cold. Her blood stained shirt and black slacks offered no heat. She knew she would need to find food and shelter, more so that she would need to look for help. If only she could bring herself to leave…
Sniffling, she blinked her eyes repeatedly, refusing to give into her tears.
Praying had been a constant and for the first time in her life, she felt as though her words had fallen on deaf ears. Never had she been so terrified or alone—a twig snapped.
Gasping, she bolted to her feet, eyes scanning the jungle. Pressing her thumb into her crucifix ring, she uttered shakily, "W-who's there?"
Only the wind blew in response.
Swallowing thickly, she scanned the grounds again. Eyes were on her person, she was certain of it. She took a step forward. "Show yourself."
A jaguar's roar rang out and she jumped a foot in the air. "Ay dios mio!"
A velvet chuckled pierced through the darkness.
"Who's there?!" She demanded, going on red alert. Quickly she looked down, searching for a weapon. Finding none she silently cursed herself for not having done so earlier when there was more light.
"What are you looking for?"
Rosaline swayed on her feet. The man's voice was…heavenly; smooth, sweet, with just a hint of bitterness like dark chocolate, deep and carrying a strong Spanish accent.
The sound came from her left, looking in that direction she could only see tree branches, vine, and shadows.
Drawing closer to the stone she found her strength. "Come out of the shadows."
Leaves rustled. "Do you know who it is that you command?"
"N-no." The words left her mouth before she could stop it and she cringed.
"I thought as much."
"Where am I?" She asked, desperately needing to know that much.
"Between the 13th moon and 7th sun, just before the edge where darkness meets the light."
His answer threw her for a loop. "What?" She blurted out. "How is…?" She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I've lost my mind," she cried. "I have to, I—I must be in a coma, it's the only reason why the dream is this long—"
"This is no dream."
The stranger's words were like a bullet to the brain.
Even as her hands fell from her face, she knew, felt, his words to be true. "How long…?"
"Yes?" The man insisted when she fell silent.
Her eyes flew to the right now. He was circling her in the shadows like a predator. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Since the moment you arrived."
Fear trickled up her spine. "Was it—are you the one who b-brought me here?"
"No. I did not."
Relief flooded her.
"You are expressive," he observed. "It has been so long since I've seen someone show an emotion other than fear and grief, agony and wrath."
Frightening as his words were, he sounded sincere, almost as though he were a man on a desolate land who had finally come across another person, shocked, amazed… curious.
"How long have you been here? How long have I been here?"
There was a brief pause, the leaves rustling once more as he thought about her question. "Five days, you've slept for four of them. I myself have been here since the beginning," he answered. "The other's were cast below, I fell here."
"The others?" She asked, scanning the jungle for others signs of life.
"Yes, the others."
"So," she began, trying to wrap her mind around all he had told her, "people left you here, alone?" She moved to peer around the pillar, still trailing the sound of his voice.
"Your misunderstanding is of great proportion."
"Then explain yourself," she challenged, standing in the center of the square now.
The wind died down.
A long tendril of Rosaline's hair brushed against her cheek as a hush fell over the jungle. Nervously she turned in a circle, eyes scanning for his person. Had she angered him? He had chided her before, asking if she knew who it was she commanded, was he of great importance here in this… Dear God, where the hell was she?
Opening her mouth to call out to him, she froze when a light shone from behind.
Rosaline looked over her shoulder to find a mint green ribbon of light making its way toward her from the top of a tree. Is that why she hadn't seen him, because he was a hundred or so feet in the air, or because he wasn't… human?
"Do you fear me?"
Unable to form words, she watched as the ribbon of light took another shape, morphing into an anaconda with emerald and sage scales, and gold bands, it's green eyes so fair they bordered in-between jade and pearl.
"I asked you a question," he reminded her, "do you fear me?"
Rosaline moved backward until she collided with the pillar. Her hands clutched at the indigo vines giving her courage. "Yes," she confessed. "I fear you."
Emotion flickered in the serpent's eyes, too quickly for her to decipher what it was. "Most would deny their fear, yet not you," he marveled, stretching his length across the air to reach a low hanging tree branch. He wrapped himself around it.
The first thought that came to mind was to be weary, not fearful. Granted nothing she saw or heard made a lick of sense, she knew to trust in the serpent's words, even as it went against her good sense. More than that, she felt no evil in the serpent. He was as curious about her as she was about it. Or was it a trick, the effects of his hypnotizing eyes and silken voice?
"W-who are you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
The serpent stretched its long limb toward her, stopping just a foot away so that they were face to face. Again she felt no fear.
"Phinehas."
Rosaline felt herself smile, "like the bible?"
He inched closer. "Exactly like the bible."
Phinehas' eyes were enchanting. Silently they wore down her resolve. Stepping away from the pillar, closing the distance between them. "And what are you exactly, Phinehas?"
Fast as lightning, it wound itself around her body making her cry out in alarm.
How could she have been so foolish, so trusting?! Determined to free herself, she kicked her legs, trying to wiggle from its grasp. Phinehas merely tightened his hold, squeezing the fight from her body.
"Be still," the serpent advised. "You are no longer protected."
Protected?
"Let. Me. Go—aaahhh!" Rosaline was pulled high into the sky.
She made to curse him, to resumed her fight, however, she lost the will when she heard a lone howl. From her stiff position, she managed to glance down. Her eyes widened, a scream lodging in her throat. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"
"A Hellhound."
The beast was at least twice her size, all muscle, with black fur and blood red eyes. Eyes that were focused solely on her.
"Pull me up," she screamed to Phinehas. "Pull me up, pull me up!"
Rosaline soon found herself perched on the highest, strongest branch. Phinehas had loosened his hold, yet she clung to him anyway, refusing to let go. "What does it want?" She asked not taking her eyes off the beast.
As though answering her question, the beast ran and charged at the tree. It struck the trunk so hard, Rosaline lost her hold and nearly plunged to her death.
Phinehas wound his body tighter around her, anchoring her to him. "I would surmise that the hound wants you."
Bark sailed throughout the air as the hound sunk it's claws into it, desperate to reach her. "W-why?" She asked taking her eyes off the beast long enough to look to Phinehas. "Why does it want me?"
Rosaline's violet eyes stood out against the dark.
A strange elation laced through Phinehas. How long had it been since one of her kind had entered his domain? A millennium, two millennia? When he saw that violet arc sail through the sky he thought it was a trick of the light, that his mind had run away with him. Nevertheless, he stalked that light and stumbled upon her. For five days he watched over her, killing every hellion, hound, and evil thing that tried to take her, if for no other reason than the simple fact that he needed her, more specifically her power. She was the only thing standing between him and the twilight obscurity he had been promised to.
"P-phinehas, tell me why?" She pleaded, gripping his scales tightly.
Staring into her violet orbs for a second more, he pressed his large face against the side of her hair, tightening his hold so that she gasped. "That," he hissed beside her ear, "remains to be seen."
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