Author Note: The warnings from the first chapter apply to this chapter more than any other. Severe gore and horror themes, I'm really sorry. My advice is not to read on a full stomach. If you want a standard Firmament story conclusion, finish at the second HR; else…. Let me know what you think. This is the end.
Remember, you asked for this.
The Aftermath
The Blood Angel
The path of the Blood Angel is one which only they themselves can control. It is they who ultimately decide their own fate.
A steady rapping on her face and body abruptly woke Max to a hazy world. She was on the top of Logan's building, lying flat on her back and looking up at the rain that continued to assault her. Something slightly warm but quite squishy she clutched tightly to her chest. A thick warm liquid was in her mouth, which tasted oddly familiar, like that of copper and brass.
Oh God.
She sat bolt upright and glanced around quickly. The gravel of the roof surrounding her was stained darker than that a few feet away. It was tainted heavily with blood. She began the panic; her breathing was close to hyperventilation and as she opened her lips to suck in more air, she felt the smooth fluid from her mouth trickle out and down her chin.
She stood up and headed down stairs. It was easy to tell how she had come to be on the roof by the trail of red, and the bloodied handprints that were strewn on various walls and doors, leading all the way back to Logan's apartment.
His door hung open and an eerie silence split violently through the air. Max saw now more clearly the heavily dripped trail of shimmering ruby beads of liquid, winking at her from the highly polished wooden floorboards. She anxiously followed them through Logan's place.
A single beacon of light permeated the heavy cloak of dark in the penthouse, it's source being the study. Max moved toward it, and felt the bile in her sickeningly full stomach turn as she saw a blood splatter glowing through the thin glass partition. She didn't want to go in there, but knew it had to be done.
She moved closer, her marrow freezing as she saw the smeared pool of blood surrounding an all too inanimate pair of naked feet. Coming completely around the door, Max stopped in horror. Her stomach knotted painfully, and a burning rush of acid forced itself up her throat, until it was finally released as she turned her head. She began to weep as her red vomit splattered the shiny, pristine floor outside Logan's study. Her gut twisted more when she noticed the small chunks it contained, which she knew for a fact were not raw bits of chicken skin.
Her body continued to heave, even though its contents had been expelled long ago, and her eyes continued to weep as deep sobs racked her frame. She slumped against the wall, and slid miserably to the floor, her hands still clutching the warm spongy object to her chest.
In the room lay the body of Logan. No, the mutilated carcase of a once great man; his viscera spilling out onto the floor, and his ribcage bare and splintered from the terrible force that had cracked it open. All over his body, hunks of flesh had been replaced by the teeth and fingernail marks that lacerated so sadistically his once smooth, beautiful skin.
Max stood, and looked in at Logan's body again, the fits of disgust having left her only to be replaced by an incredible hollowness. She began to cry afresh when she saw the arm she had broken as he tried to defend himself, and the look of sheer terror that wrought his face and eyes. It was then she noticed the gaping hole in his chest, which was merely broken ribs and harshly masticated flesh.
'No, no, no,' she began in a disbelieving chant. She then looked down to the object that was clutched so tightly to her chest, and there in her bloodied fingers lay the heart of the man she loved.
'No! Logan!'
'No! Logan! No, no, no!'
'Max, wake up,' said a familiar voice tenderly, as strong, gentle hands shook her shoulders. Her eyes remained clamped shut, brain struggling to comprehend the visions they had just seen.
Suddenly pleasant sensations overran her body, as the feeling of crisp, clean sheets scratched soothingly against her naked flesh. Something warm, soft and slightly damp pressed itself against her forehead, but it was sweet. Someone was kissing her, and it felt very relaxing and reassuring.
'Are you alright, Max?' The affection from his hands and voice seeped through her skin and warmed her soul. There was only one person it could possibly be.
'L-Logan?' she asked tentatively, her eyes still not opening. The body that had been leaning over her shifted a bit, and she felt the rays of strong sunlight begin to heat her legs and stomach through the thin bed linen.
'Yeah, what is it, Max?' Logan replied cautiously, clearly worried about her. She breathed a large sigh of relief.
'Nothing, just a really bad dream.' Her eyes finally fluttered open sleepily, her world fuzzy from the torments of her nightmare and the sun coming through the window.
'What the hell was I doing to you?' Logan asked lightly, trying to slacken the mood a little. Max looked at him and blinked back some tears; he was alive.
'Nothing, I-I did something… I really don't want to think about it.'
'If you say so. I've got the perfect thing to take your mind off it,' Logan replied with a smile, more than willing to let it go for Max's sake.
'Breakfast?' Max asked eagerly.
'You've got it. Although, you did ruin my surprise,' Logan responded, quickly planting a kiss on Max's nose. He sat up in bed; the sheet falling away from his bare chest, making Max pretty certain that like her, the rest of him was bare also. She sat up too, intent on getting out to the kitchen and the food. As the sheet slipped from her shoulders and the sun shone on her gloriously coloured skin, Logan lent over and placed a hand on her chest, just below her neck and just above her breast.
'No, you stay here. That's the new surprise. Breakfast in bed,' he chortled, and with a quick peck on the lips pushed her back down before jumping out and leaving the room.
Mmm. I could definitely get use to this, Max thought, as she stretched luxuriously, arching her back and cracking some fingers in the process. The warmth of the sun washed over her, caressing her body with the lazy heat and glow. She rolled on her side so the sun could tickle her back while she smoothed her hand over the warm patch of sheet that Logan had been occupying minutes earlier.
Logan returned shortly, bringing a full tray of goodies with him. He walked around to the side Max was on and placed it on the bedside table.
'Sit up, please,' he asked kindly, whilst ordering some of the items on the tray. Max sat up and the sheet fell away, pooling around her waist. Logan looked at her and smiled warmly.
'God, you're stunning.'
'Not so bad yourself,' Max replied, running a few fingers along his nearest forearm.
'Lean forward a sec. I don't want you scolding anything,' Logan requested cheekily, before tying a large white napkin around Max's neck. He then picked up the tray and placed it over her lap, sitting it on small legs.
'There you go, breakfast in bed.'
'Aren't you having anything,' Max asked, half a piece of toast already in her mouth.
'I feast on all I need with my eyes,' Logan replied with a sparkle in his voice, before grabbing a piece of toast and munching on it. He lounged across Max's legs, staring at her intently across the small tabletop the whole while. She smiled with the exchanged looks and the feel of him stroking her leg automatically from where his hand had landed on her thigh.
'This is so good, Logan.'
'It's only toast, you haven't even had the panca-'
'No, this,' Max interrupted, gesturing with her half eaten slice between the two of them, 'you and me. Us.'
'Yeah, I still can't believe you were stupid enough to go for me. But hey, I take what I can get.'
'Shut up,' Max admonished, feigning annoyance as she threw her toast at him.
The meal was spent in companionable silence as the two ate, sharing loving glances the whole while. Eventually the food was finished and Logan put the tray back on the bedside table. Max tugged at the cloth until it came loose, and then threw it on top of the tray before lying back down.
'I don't ever want to get out of this bed,' she said dreamily, closing her eyes and letting the warm sun wash over her exposed flesh. She smiled as she felt Logan's hand slide smoothly onto her stomach, where it made small circular patterns. Her eyes snapped open when something warm and wet hit her tummy, only to find Logan wielding the syrup bottle and a mighty grin.
'Don't, you'll make me all sticky.'
'Oh shucks, I guess that means we'll have to have a shower afterwards. Which is always hell,' Logan replied facetiously, his smile getting bigger. He ran a smooth line of the golden liquid from just above her bellybutton, up her stomach, through the valley of her breasts and stopped at her throat. Max tilted her head back so the syrup would stay were it was supposed to, and not become squashed between her chin and neck.
'Now what,' she asked good-humouredly.
'What, you mean you don't know?' Logan replied incredulously.
'Well, you are one for doing things diffe-eren-ent-ly,' Max managed to stutter out while his tongue began to lap the pancake sweetener off her flat, yet convulsing stomach.
'That tickles.'
'Want me to stop?' Logan asked, raising his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed and there was a huge, pleased smile on her face.
'Want me to kick your ass?'
Soon enough, Logan had Max once more wriggling with delight, as his tongue made it's way further up her body. Moving closer to the end of his yellow dripped road Max began to stifle giggles. Finally, when they were no longer stifled but small outbursts, Logan stopped.
'What's so funny?'
'Nothing. It's just your hair and poorly shaven face lend themselves to tickling the more sensitive areas,' Max replied, laughing at Logan's reaction.
'Oh, really?' he responded, with a sudden mischievousness about him as an eyebrow rose suggestively. Max didn't have time to react before he returned to the honey trail, purposefully rubbing his scruff over her susceptible skin.
'No, Logan!' Max squealed with hysterics, as he tormented her so delectably. She grabbed the back of his head, her fingers lacing through his hair.
'Logan, stop it!' she screamed, and as she mussed his hair a little more she noticed a strange stickiness about it. As if it were wet with a thick liquid. Max began to panic.
'Logan. Logan!'
'Logan!' she rasped loudly, her world safe and dark behind closed eyes. Slowly and cautiously she opened them, everything instantly sharp and clear. This was no longer her deluded state of imposed reality, but merely what was and what will be.
The surrounding suddenly flooded into her mind. She was in Logan's office, the shadows creeping into the room were held at bay by the single light that illuminated the area. The rain continued to pound insistently on the windows and world outside. Her clothes were still sopping wet, and yet there was a different texture to the water that soaked them now.
It was only when Max realised that her fingers were still experiencing the sensations of a sticky fibrous feel did her heart stop mid-beat. Tentatively she moved her gaze down to view what was clutched so familiarly to her chest.
The weight she held carried the distinctive colouring of Logan's spikes. Some of the panic she had felt began to fade; it must have been a nightmare. That was until she tried to run her fingers a little further through the hair, and they stuck solid.
It took a deal of effort to yank her hands free, and when she did, it was not pleasant. Her fingers were covered in caked blood, with pieces of hair glued to them in small chunks. She tried to slide Logan's head off her but instead of sliding it rolled.
A sicken vice gripped ice-like to her stomach, twisting and contorting in every way possible. She tried to shimmy back on the hard surface she was lying on, but her hands slipped mercilessly on the slick floor. Glancing at her palms and fingers, she saw them covered in a sickening crimson liquid.
No, no, no. This can't be. It just can't.
Slowly standing, she reeled with the smell that hung in the air. A smell so similar to that of a slaughterhouse filled her nostrils as she shifted her gaze to the space of floor she had just vacated. The rush of acid and bile that forced its way painfully up her throat and out her mouth seemed familiar but so much more graphic and violent than previously. Deep, dark red pieces of flesh littered her rejected stomach contents that were now mixing with the spilt blood that seemed to cover the entire floor.
There was no longer a body of Logan, merely pieces that had been torn from sockets and scattered throughout the room. She backed away in horror, only to stumble on an arm that was missing several of its fingers. Her body began to shake and rock in shock, as she slowly descended once more to the floor. When she arrived, sitting on peculiarly bent legs, she noticed the weight that had been on her chest to start with. Logan's head lay detached on the ground, a small segment of the brainstem and spinal cord hanging from the bottom.
There was no scream to echo from the walls, or tears for falling, she merely sat there soaking up the filth she had created for herself. Her body no longer ached, her eyes no longer itched, and her tongue felt like velvet in her mouth. Her body was charged like she had never felt it before, full and completely satisfied.
Slowly, smoothly, and powerfully she rose to her feet and walked out the door, from his apartment and down the street. Back to Manticore, where they would put her in a cage like an animal and run tests on her for the rest of her life. Back to where they would give her what she deserved. What was the point in freedom now?