Chapter Six: Incineration
Black were the bowels of the night, like the putrid raven's wing; silky and smooth, but a most foul, and dark night. Ortega waited in silence, as the cloudy prodigy of a thunderstorm loomed nearby. The whispering vapors, that jelled around the trees, gave them imaginary sunken eyes that leered and rolled in their wooden heads. Their roots reaching deep into the earth and snaring what evils they could in their tendrils of maws. The Man-Wolf thought. What about those powers that Dracula was thinking of giving him. It would be the only thing to stop Cornell, to kill him.
"Dracula" Ortega whispered, then realized what he had done. He did not mean it. Ortega held his breath. He did not wish to go back to that foul place, that arcane and foul place. Silence, nothing but sheer silence. Ortega let out the breath that he was holding and sighed.
Ortega shuddered. Such a night as this would bring loathsome things to life. Obviously, that was what the witch intended. There was a sudden hiss of silk and there she stood, with a darkly cowled servant of hers. It bore a lantern on a pole, lighting the seemingly beauteous face of Actrice; one beautiful and deadly. She carried a book with her that glinted, silver edged, in the foul, smelling light. She smiled, her lips curving into a one- sided smile.
"Well then...here are my powers, Man-Wolf. They shall accompany you to the very end..." Actrice was about to open the book of hers when suddenly a strong breeze passed through. The glaring embers of the lantern were burned to a indigo blue, the flame flickering to a minuscule spark. It started up again after Ortega heard the voice, the one of the Dark Lord
Ortega stood his ground firmly. A sharp, wracking pain sliced through his body. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. It felt like he had swallowed a flaming, acidic lump of coal that burned and smarted his innards. It sent pins and needles to his head that pricked and chafed his nerves. The Man-Wolf sank to his knees, not able to bear the pain of the mind abomination, ranting of a pain filled demise. Another wave built on it and cut his lungs in twain, making his breath come in short, curt gasps. It forced him to curl over in a crumpled heap, holding his head and grinding his teeth together as the pain increased to a full crescendo. The pain became a numbing, unnerving anguish, that tore his nerves asunder as he screamed, having his heart race to a full momentum, accelerating to a heightening apocalypse, his blood rushing in monumental torrents. It suddenly felt like something was growing and writhing in his head, taking root, becoming a part of him as it slipped into his the vital organ of his brain. Ortega felt like his head would surely rupture into bloody pieces, but it soon subsided, like it had suddenly begun.
Ortega was then bathed in a vibrant violet light, one that cloyed to his form. Ortega grinned sullenly but viciously. He now had more power than Cornell could ever attain. Cornell was weak. He would never be able to conquer his pity and love for the human race, or for any living thing for that matter. Revenge would soon be his. It was within his grasp. That damned bitch that Cornell adored would soon have her blood splayed on the ground. Ortega felt a sickening hope satiate him once again. This was the time he would be victorious.
The wind dropped, which was left with an eerie silence . Ortega looked to the cloud afflicted sky then turned to see tens upon thousands of undead warriors. Their skeletal like bodies, grime and earth congested, were plastered together in a morbid massive tableau. The torches that they held lit up their sunken features amassing in different shapes and shades. Each one more morbid than the next, their mindless, violent orgies pierced with an utmost loyalty to their commander. Their thin and white bodies were sharp and grim with each passing wake of the flames that constantly flickered. Ortega grinned maliciously. Now it was time to regain his glory.
* * * * * * * * Ortega opened his eyes after remembering his feelings. He looked straight ahead through the silhouettes that the trees made from the demurring moonlight. He could faintly make out the orange red glow of the lights ahead; their warm light only further disgusting his appreciation for all human kind. He made a sour face. How else were the Man-Wolves supposed to get along with them? After sticking their necks out for the weaklings many times, what else were they good for? Humans were weak, their intelligence only being taken up by the ultimate yearning for pleasures. Their weaknesses and their petty denials would lead them into an abomination, if it hadn't been for them, the Man-Wolves. Ortega looked back up at the moon's watery gaze. Its thin rays glazed over by the oncoming clouds began to darken the shadows of the seemingly dark forest that was outside Limelin. Ortega grinned venomously, it was soon to be time. He soon began to feel light headed, for no apparent reason, one that he couldn't discern. Even though it troubled him, something felt right about the light headedness, that it was time to begin. He turned once more as the moon was cast over by an endless sea of nightmares.
"Is it time, Man-Wolf?" Came a wispy voice, tinged with a chilling exuberance. Ortega turned to see the familiar white plumed hat atop the trancelucent mass of white hair. Actrice had the look of a mischievous cat plastered across her face. Ortega regarded her as some sort of apperation; a ghostly figure that could only be seen at night, perhaps a wandering banshee. Ortega nodded solemnly "Yes, It is time. Cloak us in your foulest darkness, Witch,"
Actrice smiled. This was going to be one of the best games that she had taken part of yet. She bowed her head with closed eyes and muttered a slew of words unknown to those unknowledgeable of the darkest forms of magiks. She then seemed to take both of her hands and enclose them around an invisible globe; one hand on the top, one on the bottom. A faint hissing sound, one only discernable by a Man-Wolf, seemed to smother the already shaded forest. A silvered grey fog whispered its ways through like a woven fabricated plague. It congested and choked the trees; a slithering, intangible mass snaking closer to Limelin.
Actrice let out a cackle that sounded very much not like her own self. High pitched and throaty it was, sounding like it came from a being much older than she. Ortega stood, feeling the coldness of the fog wrap round him, finally seeing each of the disgustingly comfortable lights in the city go out. Ortega then saw the bony figures, engulfed in their loathsome torchlight, grinning coldly, now able to murderously kill in turn, anyone who did, or did not oppose them. No mercy would be shown, that much was obvious, even if they did have that much intelligence to kill off those who were not opposing them at all, let alone taking notice. Ortega grinned. Much death would come tonight. Much human blood would be spilled.
Ortega turned back at the immeasurable mass of the almost black sea of fog. Ortega gave out a howl, one almost like when he would go off with Cornell to hunt, and vanished into the thick ground clouds of fog. The mass of bone and flame was soon to follow, their joints and limbs cracking every which way like gunshots; tossing and swinging their lamplight onto everything possible. Actrice grinned widely, like that of an old crone and culled two mounds of earth from the ground. She then took her long staff, oddly shaped, and pressed it deeply and almost violently into each. They then arose; two fire daemons, gargantuan in stature and burning with the same desire to kill. Their horns made of the sharpest onyx, hot volcanic ash on their tongues, and their eyes; two coals from Beelzebub's fires would frighten any civilian to their death. Actrice smiled and watched them rage on through as she disappeared into the deepest folds of the fogs ungainly cloak. She had done her part as far as she was concerned. * * * * * * * *
Bright bursts of flame erupted on the thatch roof out of the morbidness of the fog. Screams came from the dying village, being plundered asunder. Ortega reveled in the smell of fresh blood as the village was alight. He gave out a small laugh as he used his now heightened senses to find this girl; the one which he wished to kill. It led him through many dirtied and citizen cloyed streets, dismembered limbs strewn everywhere, fleeting images of them branding in his sharp mind, ready to kill, ready to rip her heart right out of her burning and incinerating throat.
Before he was ever aware of it, he stood, where his senses had warned him the most. She was here. He looked up to see his surroundings. Pale, but robust flames encircled the charred cadaver of a household. Ortega closed his eyes and soon felt the thing in his mind shift slightly. He could smell her, feel her. Ortega was so very close. He felt an insinuating rage fill his lungs, fill his mind, fill his heart. The ache of perturbation racked his seemingly self as he lunged forward and, searing and burning his flesh, tore the door off its already weakened hinges.
The hellish infernal furnace of this house did not affect Ortega, as he saw a girl, crouched on the floor, soon looking at him, hearing the door being lacerated from the house. Those...eyes. Ortega felt his own widen, meeting those unnatural, light green orbs. Memories began to hit him like the crashing and tumultuous waves of the sea. He gasped, and soon was brought back to the tendrils of reality, for he breathed hot ash and smoke into his mouth. He coughed and quickly made a grab for her, but she managed to lunge away, still seeking a way out.
"You'll never get out of here, bitch." Ortega managed to lift a burning timber out of his way and to the side of the house, igniting further more flames. The youth coughed. Ortega was so close that he could see the ash formed on her cracked and dry lips. She had changed, she had become somewhat beautiful, somewhat developed, as he looked her over. Her yellow dress was soiled from the smoke and flame. Tears burned their way down her face and cleared two pale paths on her face, dousing the ash from her cheeks. He felt something in him slightly move as he saw her, again another memory slicing through him, memory of when Cornell was brought apart from him by this atrocity and scrap of a girl. He growled, which soon turned into a roar or malice and anger, as she whimpered and cried out in fear. He grabbed her violently, feeling the house would give way soon, as she kicked, screamed, bit; to do anything to get out of his grasp.
He managed to get out as the house gave a moan of pain, soon collapsing. Ortega let her go, and she stumbled, still shocked looking around a bit. Ortega, when she was facing him, gave her a blow across the face. She cried out and fell to the ground, still sobbing. The Man-wolf pulled her up with her hair as she let out a yelp of pain, tears still streaming down her pale face. "Will you just-" Ortega stopped and looked in shock at her throat. Around it hung a pendant, a silver crescent of a moon which curled around a deep, indigo jewel. Ortega had given that to Cornell, when they were in their youth, a mark of their friendship. Ortega felt a sharp burn of fury mangle its way through his chest as he let out an aggravated cry of desparation through his raw throat. How could Cornell do something of that nature to him? This pendant was only meant for him! The man-wolf's saffron eyes seered their way into the pathetic slip of a girl as he lifted her up savagely and at that very moment, he wanted to rip her very throat open, oh so very badly. Then something snapped in him.
No. he couldn't do it now, he...he couldn't risk going against the word of lord Dracula. He threw her back to the ground, tears were burning their way out of his eyes, but he quickly dismissed them and looked down onto the silver haired youth. It nearly looked green in the moon light. She was very pretty...No! He must move on with his current tasks! He looked at one of the earth daemons that Actrice had culled up from the earth. He wasn't too sure if it would understand what he was going to say "Take her back to the Villa, make sure that she is brought to Sir. De Rais...intact, understood?"
"Whatever our master desirers..." And they went for her. Ortega snapped the pendant from her neck and bludgeoned it into the ground as he gave her a steely gaze of pure black hatred. They carried her off, screaming into the thickest fog that he had remembered. He considered his job done as he walked out of the burning village. He would just let the undead warriors keep on reeking havoc on the village. Feeling a sadness strike him, the pain of Cornell's betraying had gone too far with him. He couldn't believe such things were capable of happening from him. The sadness turned into a morose briefly, before being slighted by an anger, so violent, he realized that his fists were bleeding after clenching them so hard. Soon he quickly reminded himself of his powers, and how he could easily defeat Cornell, although, he wasn't going to underestimate Cornell. He was a very able warrior, and a staunch one too. Ortega grinned to himself, soon being brought back by the smell of smoke, rather than his bleeding claw-marked hands. He would face him, but torment him with the abduction of his ward. Once more he grinned and vanished into the fog as well.
Black were the bowels of the night, like the putrid raven's wing; silky and smooth, but a most foul, and dark night. Ortega waited in silence, as the cloudy prodigy of a thunderstorm loomed nearby. The whispering vapors, that jelled around the trees, gave them imaginary sunken eyes that leered and rolled in their wooden heads. Their roots reaching deep into the earth and snaring what evils they could in their tendrils of maws. The Man-Wolf thought. What about those powers that Dracula was thinking of giving him. It would be the only thing to stop Cornell, to kill him.
"Dracula" Ortega whispered, then realized what he had done. He did not mean it. Ortega held his breath. He did not wish to go back to that foul place, that arcane and foul place. Silence, nothing but sheer silence. Ortega let out the breath that he was holding and sighed.
Ortega shuddered. Such a night as this would bring loathsome things to life. Obviously, that was what the witch intended. There was a sudden hiss of silk and there she stood, with a darkly cowled servant of hers. It bore a lantern on a pole, lighting the seemingly beauteous face of Actrice; one beautiful and deadly. She carried a book with her that glinted, silver edged, in the foul, smelling light. She smiled, her lips curving into a one- sided smile.
"Well then...here are my powers, Man-Wolf. They shall accompany you to the very end..." Actrice was about to open the book of hers when suddenly a strong breeze passed through. The glaring embers of the lantern were burned to a indigo blue, the flame flickering to a minuscule spark. It started up again after Ortega heard the voice, the one of the Dark Lord
Ortega stood his ground firmly. A sharp, wracking pain sliced through his body. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. It felt like he had swallowed a flaming, acidic lump of coal that burned and smarted his innards. It sent pins and needles to his head that pricked and chafed his nerves. The Man-Wolf sank to his knees, not able to bear the pain of the mind abomination, ranting of a pain filled demise. Another wave built on it and cut his lungs in twain, making his breath come in short, curt gasps. It forced him to curl over in a crumpled heap, holding his head and grinding his teeth together as the pain increased to a full crescendo. The pain became a numbing, unnerving anguish, that tore his nerves asunder as he screamed, having his heart race to a full momentum, accelerating to a heightening apocalypse, his blood rushing in monumental torrents. It suddenly felt like something was growing and writhing in his head, taking root, becoming a part of him as it slipped into his the vital organ of his brain. Ortega felt like his head would surely rupture into bloody pieces, but it soon subsided, like it had suddenly begun.
Ortega was then bathed in a vibrant violet light, one that cloyed to his form. Ortega grinned sullenly but viciously. He now had more power than Cornell could ever attain. Cornell was weak. He would never be able to conquer his pity and love for the human race, or for any living thing for that matter. Revenge would soon be his. It was within his grasp. That damned bitch that Cornell adored would soon have her blood splayed on the ground. Ortega felt a sickening hope satiate him once again. This was the time he would be victorious.
The wind dropped, which was left with an eerie silence . Ortega looked to the cloud afflicted sky then turned to see tens upon thousands of undead warriors. Their skeletal like bodies, grime and earth congested, were plastered together in a morbid massive tableau. The torches that they held lit up their sunken features amassing in different shapes and shades. Each one more morbid than the next, their mindless, violent orgies pierced with an utmost loyalty to their commander. Their thin and white bodies were sharp and grim with each passing wake of the flames that constantly flickered. Ortega grinned maliciously. Now it was time to regain his glory.
* * * * * * * * Ortega opened his eyes after remembering his feelings. He looked straight ahead through the silhouettes that the trees made from the demurring moonlight. He could faintly make out the orange red glow of the lights ahead; their warm light only further disgusting his appreciation for all human kind. He made a sour face. How else were the Man-Wolves supposed to get along with them? After sticking their necks out for the weaklings many times, what else were they good for? Humans were weak, their intelligence only being taken up by the ultimate yearning for pleasures. Their weaknesses and their petty denials would lead them into an abomination, if it hadn't been for them, the Man-Wolves. Ortega looked back up at the moon's watery gaze. Its thin rays glazed over by the oncoming clouds began to darken the shadows of the seemingly dark forest that was outside Limelin. Ortega grinned venomously, it was soon to be time. He soon began to feel light headed, for no apparent reason, one that he couldn't discern. Even though it troubled him, something felt right about the light headedness, that it was time to begin. He turned once more as the moon was cast over by an endless sea of nightmares.
"Is it time, Man-Wolf?" Came a wispy voice, tinged with a chilling exuberance. Ortega turned to see the familiar white plumed hat atop the trancelucent mass of white hair. Actrice had the look of a mischievous cat plastered across her face. Ortega regarded her as some sort of apperation; a ghostly figure that could only be seen at night, perhaps a wandering banshee. Ortega nodded solemnly "Yes, It is time. Cloak us in your foulest darkness, Witch,"
Actrice smiled. This was going to be one of the best games that she had taken part of yet. She bowed her head with closed eyes and muttered a slew of words unknown to those unknowledgeable of the darkest forms of magiks. She then seemed to take both of her hands and enclose them around an invisible globe; one hand on the top, one on the bottom. A faint hissing sound, one only discernable by a Man-Wolf, seemed to smother the already shaded forest. A silvered grey fog whispered its ways through like a woven fabricated plague. It congested and choked the trees; a slithering, intangible mass snaking closer to Limelin.
Actrice let out a cackle that sounded very much not like her own self. High pitched and throaty it was, sounding like it came from a being much older than she. Ortega stood, feeling the coldness of the fog wrap round him, finally seeing each of the disgustingly comfortable lights in the city go out. Ortega then saw the bony figures, engulfed in their loathsome torchlight, grinning coldly, now able to murderously kill in turn, anyone who did, or did not oppose them. No mercy would be shown, that much was obvious, even if they did have that much intelligence to kill off those who were not opposing them at all, let alone taking notice. Ortega grinned. Much death would come tonight. Much human blood would be spilled.
Ortega turned back at the immeasurable mass of the almost black sea of fog. Ortega gave out a howl, one almost like when he would go off with Cornell to hunt, and vanished into the thick ground clouds of fog. The mass of bone and flame was soon to follow, their joints and limbs cracking every which way like gunshots; tossing and swinging their lamplight onto everything possible. Actrice grinned widely, like that of an old crone and culled two mounds of earth from the ground. She then took her long staff, oddly shaped, and pressed it deeply and almost violently into each. They then arose; two fire daemons, gargantuan in stature and burning with the same desire to kill. Their horns made of the sharpest onyx, hot volcanic ash on their tongues, and their eyes; two coals from Beelzebub's fires would frighten any civilian to their death. Actrice smiled and watched them rage on through as she disappeared into the deepest folds of the fogs ungainly cloak. She had done her part as far as she was concerned. * * * * * * * *
Bright bursts of flame erupted on the thatch roof out of the morbidness of the fog. Screams came from the dying village, being plundered asunder. Ortega reveled in the smell of fresh blood as the village was alight. He gave out a small laugh as he used his now heightened senses to find this girl; the one which he wished to kill. It led him through many dirtied and citizen cloyed streets, dismembered limbs strewn everywhere, fleeting images of them branding in his sharp mind, ready to kill, ready to rip her heart right out of her burning and incinerating throat.
Before he was ever aware of it, he stood, where his senses had warned him the most. She was here. He looked up to see his surroundings. Pale, but robust flames encircled the charred cadaver of a household. Ortega closed his eyes and soon felt the thing in his mind shift slightly. He could smell her, feel her. Ortega was so very close. He felt an insinuating rage fill his lungs, fill his mind, fill his heart. The ache of perturbation racked his seemingly self as he lunged forward and, searing and burning his flesh, tore the door off its already weakened hinges.
The hellish infernal furnace of this house did not affect Ortega, as he saw a girl, crouched on the floor, soon looking at him, hearing the door being lacerated from the house. Those...eyes. Ortega felt his own widen, meeting those unnatural, light green orbs. Memories began to hit him like the crashing and tumultuous waves of the sea. He gasped, and soon was brought back to the tendrils of reality, for he breathed hot ash and smoke into his mouth. He coughed and quickly made a grab for her, but she managed to lunge away, still seeking a way out.
"You'll never get out of here, bitch." Ortega managed to lift a burning timber out of his way and to the side of the house, igniting further more flames. The youth coughed. Ortega was so close that he could see the ash formed on her cracked and dry lips. She had changed, she had become somewhat beautiful, somewhat developed, as he looked her over. Her yellow dress was soiled from the smoke and flame. Tears burned their way down her face and cleared two pale paths on her face, dousing the ash from her cheeks. He felt something in him slightly move as he saw her, again another memory slicing through him, memory of when Cornell was brought apart from him by this atrocity and scrap of a girl. He growled, which soon turned into a roar or malice and anger, as she whimpered and cried out in fear. He grabbed her violently, feeling the house would give way soon, as she kicked, screamed, bit; to do anything to get out of his grasp.
He managed to get out as the house gave a moan of pain, soon collapsing. Ortega let her go, and she stumbled, still shocked looking around a bit. Ortega, when she was facing him, gave her a blow across the face. She cried out and fell to the ground, still sobbing. The Man-wolf pulled her up with her hair as she let out a yelp of pain, tears still streaming down her pale face. "Will you just-" Ortega stopped and looked in shock at her throat. Around it hung a pendant, a silver crescent of a moon which curled around a deep, indigo jewel. Ortega had given that to Cornell, when they were in their youth, a mark of their friendship. Ortega felt a sharp burn of fury mangle its way through his chest as he let out an aggravated cry of desparation through his raw throat. How could Cornell do something of that nature to him? This pendant was only meant for him! The man-wolf's saffron eyes seered their way into the pathetic slip of a girl as he lifted her up savagely and at that very moment, he wanted to rip her very throat open, oh so very badly. Then something snapped in him.
No. he couldn't do it now, he...he couldn't risk going against the word of lord Dracula. He threw her back to the ground, tears were burning their way out of his eyes, but he quickly dismissed them and looked down onto the silver haired youth. It nearly looked green in the moon light. She was very pretty...No! He must move on with his current tasks! He looked at one of the earth daemons that Actrice had culled up from the earth. He wasn't too sure if it would understand what he was going to say "Take her back to the Villa, make sure that she is brought to Sir. De Rais...intact, understood?"
"Whatever our master desirers..." And they went for her. Ortega snapped the pendant from her neck and bludgeoned it into the ground as he gave her a steely gaze of pure black hatred. They carried her off, screaming into the thickest fog that he had remembered. He considered his job done as he walked out of the burning village. He would just let the undead warriors keep on reeking havoc on the village. Feeling a sadness strike him, the pain of Cornell's betraying had gone too far with him. He couldn't believe such things were capable of happening from him. The sadness turned into a morose briefly, before being slighted by an anger, so violent, he realized that his fists were bleeding after clenching them so hard. Soon he quickly reminded himself of his powers, and how he could easily defeat Cornell, although, he wasn't going to underestimate Cornell. He was a very able warrior, and a staunch one too. Ortega grinned to himself, soon being brought back by the smell of smoke, rather than his bleeding claw-marked hands. He would face him, but torment him with the abduction of his ward. Once more he grinned and vanished into the fog as well.
