Hey everybody and thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing so far. I love a good review. This chapter is more of a long flashback, though it is still way shorter than the other chapters. Hope you enjoy, and, as always, would love to hear from you.
Apocalypse Nowish
Chapter 7- The Spaken Word
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"I believe it was my father who taught me how to hate."
"It's not how we do the things we do that matters, it's what we do, what we achieve."
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1792, Luxembourg.
A well dressed, silent, figure walked in small, condense circles, pacing impatiently. She waited in the empty centre of a city, beside a dry fountain. Beneath her delicate, pristine kept shoes, was a town square of well-laid cobblestones. As she waited unquietly screams of death and smoke of fire rose into the vast, empty night sky. She looked around at the abandoned houses and buildings and sniffed the potent aroma of death and destruction. Further down the main city street that ran through the town square she could see flames burning mightily. Cannons were erupting and guns were firing. She had unintentionally stumbled upon one of her favourite places to play, war. People in this part of the town had long since scampered into the hills, well, as far as they could get before being cruelly trapped behind steep cliffs, and impenetrable walls of stone. This whole city was a giant trap for mortals, she and Angelus would have wicked pleasure in draining it.
Darla walked onto the middle of the silent main street and watched down the straight road. She smiled at the havoc being caused and the vigorously burning flames reflected well on her harsh eyes. Suddenly, as she was peering into the distant flames, she spotted a dark, advancing figure emerge on to the main street. She saw his long mangled hair and his strong, confident stride. She saw Angelus. He was silhouetted against the fires at the bottom of the street and was quickly approaching her. She smiled and walked towards him slowly, her hard shoes barely echoing against stone beneath through the thick sound of war in the air.
They went to each other and Darla looked up, passionately into is burning, lustful eyes, embraced in a loose hold. Angelus leaned down and kissed her passionately. Her smooth, refined skin against his rough, weatherd skin felt insanely beautiful to them both.
"You took your time." She said, bathing in the sweet orange glow of the fire that engulfed the city.
"Those Prussian's." Replied Angelus, smiling cunningly, "plus I got a little side tracked."
"Really?" She asked, softly, with a mischievous smile.
"Mm. Nothing like a slaughter to tempt me off my path."
"Then what luck that we chanced upon meeting here in this time of war."
"Indeed. A city rife with blood, lost innocence, destruction."
"Such a fitting place for our reunion. Come Angelus, let us bleed the soldiers, and harry the city. It is ours for the taking." Angelus was staring at the dancing flames reflected on the damp cobblestones. Darla looked doubtful when she realised he looked disappointed.
"Angelus?" He suddenly lifted his cruel gaze from the ground to Darla, a ruthless smile present on his face.
"Before we let ourselves upon the city I have business to see to."
"Business?" Darla asked with a confused look.
"Don't worry Darla, I'm sure it will live true to your expectations." She smiled again, relieved that Angelus was not intending to pass up a war for their playground.
"Who are we going to kill then?" Darla linked her arm through Angelus' and they walked down the street towards the dying city. Both feeling the glory of their existence, the power of their unity. Angelus and Darla.
"Is this the place then?" Darla looked up at Angelus beside her.
"This is it." Before them stood an ordinary English home, with a locked wooden door and boarded windows. They were after a priestess, or at least they thought they were. Angelus hadn't bothered to take notes. He had overheard of this priestess and where she lived and decided that, upon hearing her infamous strength, he would like to rip her throat open. His taste for blood had somewhat grown since the early days; he strived for something potent with power. He wanted blood that was worth a million dollars.
"Who gets to do the honours?" Asked Darla, hopefully.
"Me." He replied with a grin. Angelus stepped up the three steps before the door and stood in front of it or a while before swinging his leg back and knocking it to the floor. Darla stood at the bottom of the steps peering into the hallway as much as she could whilst ignoring the screaming people running down the road.
Angelus smiled as he looked into the empty, tight hallway. There was a door branching t the left and a steep flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. Darla opted to wait outside and feast off some passing people. Angelus practically ignored her as he stepped over the felled door and into the hall. He heard frightened footsteps from above and smiled wickedly, placing his first step on the stairs. He paused to listen for footsteps. None came so he conquered the stairs slowly and stealthily, listening for any sign of his prey's location. He reached the top of the stairs and twisted into the small hall beside them. There were two doors to his right and one directly behind him. He stood his ground and felt for a presence in the air. At first nothing, then, a strong, warm heartbeat, a thick, warm breath, the poetic throbbing of the ambrosial blood as it pulsated through the body. It all came to him, he smelt it, sensed it in the air. Still smelling he stepped forward twice, then turned slowly and tauntingly toward the first door to his right. He put his head to it and smelt the fear. Slowly, he cupped his hand over the cold doorknob, turning it slowly and hauntingly.
All of a sudden and with less than no warning Angelus was blown off his feet, through the wooden railing behind him, and into the wall above the stairs. A gust of force, an invisible punch, had blown the door back into his face and sent him flying backwards with great power. Angelus smashed into the wall, sending grains and chunks of plaster into the air and leaving a great dent into the wall. He fell down onto the stairs and tumbled to the bottom. His entire body was in pain, as though being pulled in all directions at the one time and as he stood again, limply, a small gush of blood spurted out of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. The blast had hit him in the chest, so hard, that it must have shaken his organs drastically. He spat blood onto the stairs in front of him and walked shakily back up them. As he reached a certain height he peered into the door he had, just seconds ago, been about to open. A tall, slender women stood strongly in the open doorway. She looked beautiful with long, blonde, hair and elegant white robes that lay at her ankles. She had a pretty face, luscious lips, and a beautiful shape, clean, soft skin. Her eyes were items of assets of love, at least, at first glance. In the seconds Angelus got to stand he gazed deep into her soul through her eyes. What he saw was not love, nor passion, nor elegance. She seemed to have no human emotions at all, just an overwhelming purpose, aspiration that she lived for.
Angelus felt the wave of force hit him again in the chest as she outstretched her arm and muttered a string of Latin words. He smashed and dented the wall once again but got his balance before tumbling down the stairs. This time he ignored the blood that ran from his mouth and jumped into action. After all, this is what he wanted, a fight. He picked up a large, broken fragment of the wooden railing he had previously smashed through and ran up the stairs sideways, holding the piece above his head at the ready. As soon as the priestess came into view he threw the wooden stake straight at her, with all his strength. The piece of wood cut through the air like a bullet and before the priestess even had time to see it it pierced her elbow, about 10-cm of it sticking out her back. Blood sprayed out from behind her as she was knocked back by its force and driven onto the bed behind her. She tripped over the end of the bed and collapsed on it. Her eyes and mouth were unmoving as she stared at the ceiling, in the corner of her vision Angelus jumped, hands outstretched, through the gap in the railing. She was stunned by the sudden pain and couldn't even bring herself to breathe as Angel us rolled onto his feet and strode menacingly towards her lying body.
Suddenly the low humming noise she had felt in her mind cut off and the pain came rushing to her, with it, her senses. She shrieked and screamed with the pain, she felt the tears run down her cheeks and looked up at Angelus, that ugly smile spread across his face. Cringing, holding back the screams of pain and terror she grabbed the end of the wooden stake that was rammed through her shoulder. She felt a small glint of hope, and stopped her crying, pulling out the long piece of wood from her body. She felt every movement it made inside her as she ripped it out forcefully. She looked at it, horrified by the bloody mess it was stained with. Throwing it to the side she at up on the bed, ignoring her dizziness as the blood soaked her white robes and warmed her bare skin. She stood up in front of Angelus and watched in disgust as he looked straight into her eyes, licking his lips with the smell of blood.
She struggled to stand up let alone speak as her blood ran freely from her shoulder. Her vision was blurry but she had a mission, despite any pain, any loss, she would strive for it, and right now that meant staying alive.
"Angel." She said, knowing she would strike a nerve.
Angelus frowned." Name's Angelus."
"Not for ever."
"Look don't get all prophetic with me alright, I don't want to know with my future. I want to taste your blood." Her cold, hard expression did not change as he replied. He smiled and paced, casually around her. "I take it you're Asheara."
"You don't need to ask what you already know."
"Oh but it makes it all the more fun."
"Why do you want to kill me?"
"Why not whether huh? That's uncommon. Why do you want to live? Why do I want to kill? It is our desire, it's what we crave that drives us to do the things we do."
"I'll tell you now, because you need to know, if you kill me now, you'll have the blood of the world on your hands." He kept a strong glare as she said it; her voice was sincere and knowing. Angelus looked at her strangely, running over what she had just said. After a while he came to an answer.
"Now somehow, I don't think that matters to me." He said, walking closer, wanting to finish her off before she could talk further.
"But you will. You'll care a lot, and not just for your own life." At the mention of his own life Angelus halted in his swift stride towards her.
"Your saying that if I kill you I'll die?" Said Angelus, a suspicious glint in his eye.
"Of course, you along with everyone else. You enjoy killing people. Do you enjoying dying?"
"I'm already dead."
"Liam is dead. Angelus, you are alive and I'm sure you don't want to die."
"I don't think I like the fact that you seem to know everything about me."
"Of course I do, it's my job."
"What?" She didn't reply and they stared at each other harshly for about a minute. Angelus' thoughts were all jumbled and irregular; he hated that he was actually considering leaving this weak prey before him to live. He was supposed to be a ruthless killer, he had no mercy. Perhaps this was not a matter of mercy; it was a matter of fear. He could neither believe that he was in fear of a crippled woman's words. He couldn't think properly as he looked into Asheara eyes.
He grinded his teeth in anger and turned to leave.
"I'll be keeping tabs on you." He said as he walked out the door and down the stairs. Leaving the house, leaving his target for the first time in his life. He didn't know it was possible for him to do that, and if she was lying, well, he's already thought up a couple of thing to do about that. Back on the street he looked up at the house. People were running scared behind him but he ignored them, and Darla's attempts to call him over. He looked up at one of the boarded windows, deep in thought. He wiped the blood from his chin.
"We will meet again."
Back in the silent room Asheara, in her stained robes, fell to her knees in pain. Sobbing as she fell back on to her bloodied bed. She heard a thought, through the air, something unusual that wasn't supposed to be there.
"No, we won't."