Title : On mondays we drink blood
Rating : Nc-17
Pairing : Malec
Summary: The Trueblood family are bloodwitches willing to offer anything for the feast of Restoration. Even their own life. Every decade a tribute and sacrifice is offered in exchange for the blessing of a prince of hell. This year Jace has stepped forward to be the willing tribute. Except things don't go as planned when the Prince of Hell picks Alec instead. [Witchcraft AU]
Notes: I'll update these fics as the inspiration comes, I just wanted to have an ongoing series so I could write some kinky ass stuff without needing a whole slowburn about it this series will have both Malec, Jalec and Malace chapters. But not all of them, Alec has an unrequited love feelings for Jace. Don't like ? Don't read.
—-
Lords of the Dark, by thy grace, our kings
Please let us gather once more under thy dark wings
Grant us the presence of thy sons, thy daughters, thy spawn
A feast of feasts, every year on every year ever since our contract was drawn
Hear our prayers, hear our call
Grant us a blessing for us all
We invoke thee, Lords of the Dark
That upon this earth you will walk, talk and leave your mark
We invoke thee,
To bless us for our gifts that set us free
To live with us for seven nights and seven days
To show thee we are worthy of thy ways
To grant us the presence of thy grace.
Hear our prayers, hear our call
Grant us a blessing for us all
—
Alec opens his eyes, his body is still heavy, still asleep, he can't move. Dead eyes are looking back at him. A girl, to her chest a gaping hole has torn her flesh. Her blueish lips are sown shut, she doesn't move. The crusts around the wires are old and full of dust. Her eyes recede into her skull. She doesn't make a sound, she doesn't move. She is younger than him, her skin is smooth, bloodless. She stirs, extends a hand to him. Her nails are dark and long, and filthy. Once her hand reaches his face she falls apart like water, without a sound, without anymore movement.
His vision blurs, he lies on his back.
Blood
The scent of blood creeps into his nose, it is just as invigorating as it is making him dizzy. He sits up, the morning sun has just risen in the east. He locks his eyes with Duat, his familiar at the foot of his bed.
The smell of blood is stronger, heavier, muskier. He throws his covers away. He gets up and breaks the protective circle of salt around his bed with a swipe of his bare foot. There is a faint noise of kitchen utensils being used downstairs. The smell of blood becomes more intense as he makes his way into the corridor, he is immediately drawn to it. It's quiet, no one else is awake yet. It doesn't take him long to get to the second room on the right. He knocks on the door, knowing he won't be getting any response. His hands itch to just turn the knob but he still waits a symbolic 2 seconds before entering the room.
The floorboards creaks, he approaches. Duat is following behind him and waits at the door. The bed is still covered and not slept in. There is cut moonflower and wolfsbane on the desk surrounded by open books with occult symbols. Not far from there Jace lies draped over the black altar, his naked body as white as a sheet, dead, stained by the flow of blood. Alec doesn't hesitate to walk past the white weasel that's rolling itself in the sea of red around it, not paying the intruder any mind.
The blood is still lukewarm.
He goes to his knees, his trousers soak in the liquid. He let his hands go under Jace's shoulders, to drag him into his lap. Most bloodsplatters are already crusts. His lips are blue. His eyes closed. Alec scoops up the blood from the floor and traces runes on the body. He tries to keep his mind focused.
He traces the lines on the open wounds and over the scars. Jace's body feels terribly cold compared to heat of his blood.
"From Red to black,
I order you to come back
That what is white becomes crimson once more
What you have shed will only leave you sore.
From Red to black,
I order you to come back
The end of your prayer is now
The end of your life is something I disallow."
He only has to repeat the verses twice.
Jace mouth falls open.
One by one black spiders with their smooth unnatural legs make their way out. One by one, until they become a flow, one becomes two, two becomes a dozen. They crawl away, over him and under him. Over Alec, in his hair, over his hands. They leave a trail behind as they scurry, their legs moving unnaturally, to the open window.
Jace opens his eyes, his mismatched eyes have no pupil. Alec holds on to him. The moment his face starts to look more alive is the moment where he turns over and purges another batch of spiders. They fall into the blood upside down and then perish.
Alec looks away. Especially when his brother falls back into his arms.
"To whom have you been praying this time ?" he says, his hands go to Jace's hair unconsciously trying to soothe away the pain of being brought back.
"Satan." Jace is smiling, not bothered by his nudity, comfortable with the events that have become a habit.
"You shouldn't have done this," the blood underneath the both of them is running cold. "Not during the day of Restoration. You'll need your strength when the moment comes." There is a scolding tone resonating through his voice that he can't keep in.
There is a chuckle on Jace's end. He is dipping his fingers in his own blood that wasn't already soaking into the wooden floor. He lets his fingers trace Alec's face, smearing him with it. Alec grunts and looks away again. Jace continues drawing runes on Alec, just like his brother had done to him.
"I heard that the last prince ate the last tribute he got offered." Alec looks at Jace's familiar, Solas, whose fur is absolutely disgusting with blood lapping at what's left on the floor.
"You're angry at me."
Alec doesn't turn his head toward Jace. He doesn't want to reply. He has a lot of feelings, and yes anger is one of them. But it isn't as if Jace actually cares. He helps Jace to sit up. He can't help but glance at Jace's muscled forearms riddled with scars of either runes or bloodletting. The ones of two weeks ago haven't even healed yet.
But then again, Jace prides himself on the amount he sheds for his Gods.
His thirst for revenge is something well known throughout the coven.
"Go and shower."
He stands up, leaving his brother alone to clean up. Right before he exits the room his eyes fall on the blue translucent bottle on the nightstand next to the pile of rat skulls. Jace catches the potion as Alec tosses it to him.
"Thank you, see you downstairs."
Alec has already left by the time Jace finishes his sentence. His footfalls echo through the corridor again. Back in his room he keeps his anger to himself and tries to not kick anything out of frustration. The feast of Restoration was a yearly happening. Nothing new. But past the ten year marker, ever since the accords were made, a prince of Hell would come up from Hell to reap a sacrifice in exchange for another 10 years of infernal blessings. Every year it happened it was mostly the Truebloods who stepped forward to be the tribute.
Last time Alec hadn't done his dark baptism yet, when Gideon Trueblood, a distant uncle coming to visit, had stepped forward. They had all heard the screams from past the summoning room all the way to the acolyte study room.
He breathes in, death is path like any other. Death is a choice and not the end. Death is silent and a welcoming sight. Death is the only path to enlightenment. He breathes out.
He peels off his trousers. It takes time to scrub off the blood from his feet. His washcloth and trousers are left dirty in the washing basin before he burns it. He doesn't wear special clothing, never does. Even if his mother would insist later that he'd wear a jacket.
Duat comes and presses his snout under Alec's hand. The gesture is soundless, Alec exhales, he scratches the maned wolf's ear before reopening the door. Trueblood manor is already more awake by the minute. There is conversation happening downstairs as he is making his way down. His mother is walking from side to side, rearranging flowers as his father reads a human newspaper.
"Have you healed Jace ?" He refuses to wince at the snapping tone. His mother looks stressed, as she did every day of Restoration celebration. She is probably hoping the prince of hell would bless their home. They often do.
Because they always sacrifice someone of their own.
"Of course he has, mother." Izzy is sitting at the large dining table, she is picking at her food. She smiles up at him. He sees right through it. She is both excited and fearful. They both understand that what's about to happen today will be changing everything around them.
…If Jace were to die today, or in the upcoming week…
Alec isn't ready, isn't ready to lose his brother. But he understands that their lives demand it. Their gifts demand it. The entire coven needs it. And Jace is ready, Jace bleeds, lives and fights for his family. It's an honor as much as it is a blessing and a curse. Jace's sacrifice would bring them ten years of great power and possibilities. His mother is aiming for the position of bishop after all.
Jace's sacrifice is what they all need to survive.
His mother leaves everything hanging as Jace appears in the doorway. He chose a shirt and dress pants, but he is still bear footed. "I am not pleased with the fact that you decided to pray this morning. You need all your strength today, for Lucifer's sake."
She forces him to sit down at the table. He has a scolding expression his face as he buttons his shirt.
"I'm sorry, mom, but I'll honor our dark lords even if this means this could be my last day on earth."
She yanks at his hair as she passes a brush between his blond locks.
"I know," she whispers, "But I don't want anything to happen that would make this year's prince turn away from you."
She puts the brush down and makes Jace look up at her. Alec feels his heart twinge. His mother only praises Jace that way. There is a look from Izzy and a pointed silence from their father.
"You are the most perfect gift any family could only wish they had."
Jace's smile is blinding and Alec looks away once more. He can't disagree. But he can't agree out loud either.
Breakfast happens in a tranquil state. Jace talks about new rituals he tried this past week, omitting how badly it turned twice in a row, omitting where the fresh components for the chaos potions had come from. But also how much Alec has saved his arse from getting eaten by a hedge witch while doing so.
A usual morning for an unusual day. Jace is picked up a few hours later and leaves together with their mother to the desecrated church. A few moments later there is a downpour of people showing at their doorsteps : relatives, smaller covens, and strangers. It has always been said that most princes wouldn't even show up if the congregation isn't big enough. More than one coven got destroyed or disbanded because of this.
Things become a bit of a blur; and soon there are more people at the manor, because his mother insisted they'd all meet up here before going to the church. He hates the noise, the people.
He manages to slip away from everything the first chance he gets and goes downstairs. The quietness of the crypt always has something calming. Nobody trespasses this sanctuary, his sanctuary. He continues walking to the embalming room, back to work, back to his usual routine.
And in the end
There is something infinitely soothing to be found in the act of sawing off hands.
—
The cathedral, their church, has been build next to the Chantry. From outside humans would see broken down rubble overtaken by nature and trees. But once you step through the glamour spell, you can see it's splendor. It isn't as great as the Grand Unholy Basilica in Idris, their hallowed land, where no more vegetation grows and no living creature could birth.
The huge marbled sulfur cross looks down on them, judges them, empowers them. He never suppresses a smile when he sees it. Its power and sigils would drive anyone to madness and insanity. But anyone who would look upon a witch's real face would loose their mind regardless. Their extended lifespan corrupts their very mortal essence, their very heart. But being without a soul rots the flesh; which why the Truebloods decide to keep theirs.
It makes them more vulnerable, maybe even more prone to sickness and curses, but it also guarantees a better understanding of life and blood. Which is the Trueblood's main source of power: their blood, and the blood of others.
The summoning room is stripped bare, the acolytes who haven't done their dark baptism are left in other rooms under the supervision of some older peers. They are to wait and keep themselves busy with prayers as the others summon the prince.
The incense burns, the people get ready.
The gong resonates.
Alec stands together with Izzy, Aline is holding his other hand. They are quiet. Jace locks eyes with him. His red robe isn't long enough to hide his bare feet. He looks proud and ready to get started.
They wait a few more minutes in silence until his mother's voice rises. Right when the second gong resonates, marking the witching hour upon them, she starts chanting. She sings. She pleads. She draws the pentagram with goat blood. The smell is loaded, mixed with herbs, mostly devil's tongue. Alec's nostrils flares, simultaneously drawn toward and disgusted by its scent.
The first full verse is sung until they all follow the incantation.
Jace's voice is strong, practiced, overwhelming, he sings delayed to follow up on the prayer.
Their mother trained him well.
Alec forces himself to close his eyes. He exhales when he can. Maybe this way his heart would stop aching.
Like a well rounded and oiled machine, the influx of energy passes through every single one of them.
It's a thick smoke, it's cold, it's warm. It is everything in between and he floats amidst nothing. He doesn't know when exactly he loses control and just exist as being used as a catalyst. It hurts, it gives bliss, it tingles all over his skin from head to toe. He doesn't feel anything, not a sliver of emotion. It reaches is climax when the sigil of a Prince of hell starts to burn hot underneath the tiled floor .
From beneath the blood he rises
From beneath the blood he appears
The chant comes to a halt. It stops. A man stands inside the circle. Tendrils of darkness envelop him, clothe him. Alec can't fight it, no one can, as everyone sinks to their knees, they bow. Low. Their foreheads almost touch the ground.
And the floor reeks of burned blood.
"Mephistopholes, son of Ashmodai, prince of revenge, prince of lies, arch duke of the legions of hell, president of the unholy court and disperser of the True Light. We welcome thee."
Everyone echoes the welcoming. It takes another silence before the Prince talks :
"Rise."
Alec feels like he chokes, like he cannot breathe, the very simple word reverberates through his head, full of promises, full of lies, full of lust, betrayal and sex. He stands - no, straggles back up.
"Who steps forward as your tribute, dear Chantry of the Midnight Veil ?"
Jace takes a first step forward without hesitation. The prince tilts his head. Alec can't see his face because the prince is facing his back toward him.
"I do, my name is Jace Trueblood. I step forward as the tribute of this coven."
Jace's voice doesn't waver, he is focused. Alec feels his heart rate spike up, scared, torn. He feels his hands get moist from the tension. He has trouble keeping down the raging storm inside of him. The Prince inhales and speaks again :
"May the next of his kin take a step forward."
When Alec enters the circle together with Izzy a snap of fingers raises blue flames all around them. The rest outside the summoning circle is obscured.
Were they all set up to be slaughtered ?
The prince takes a step forward toward Jace. The way his head moves makes Alec think the prince is searching for something. His long and jeweled fingers are moving around.
"You are a Trueblood only by name," he says. His tone is matter-of-fact. It stings. Jace's face falters. He shifts from foot to foot. Alec wants to intervene but knows better and keeps his mouth shut.
Jumping to Jace's defense would be an insult his brother wouldn't be able to bear. Their mother balls her fists. Her emotions bleed through. The tension in Izzy's shoulders is high strung and nervous. They all are.
They are probably all stinking of fear.
"We raised him as if he was our own, your Unholiness." Their father does not intervene more.
The coward.
"Yes, yes you have," says the prince. His fingers are rubbing against each other and Alec is hypnotized.
"You have given your blood to not only your coven, Jonathan Christopher Wayland-Morgenstern-Trueblood," Jace flinches at his full name. But his eyes burn of a fire settled deep within him. "I have heard your prayers, I've tasted the blood you have shed for us. You will be rewarded for your loyalty, dear Jonathan Christopher."
There are a lot of emotions on Jace's face. He looks lost, angry, sad.
Alec stops himself from wanting to rush over.
The prince seems to wave with his hand and he tilts his hand again. There is a long inhalation as if he is taking in the scent of something.
"You, come closer." The order comes out a bit more authoritatively than the previous things he said.
"I wasn't talking to you, I'm talking to," he says a bit irritated as Jace took another step forward. He extends an arm to point his finger… toward Alec.
"Him."
Fear coils in his gut. Goosebumps are all over his body as he feels his heart hammer to halt. The prince spins upon his axis to face him. A set of golden eyes lock gaze with him. Their slitted pupils are focused and narrow. Alec swallows, hard. Mephistopholes is the most beautiful thing Alec has ever laid his eyes on.
"You smell fresh, unclaimed." there is a second eyelid covering the eyes as they blink. Alec doesn't dare to move. He doesn't know where he finds the courage to not flinch. He takes one step forward.
The prince is upon him in mere seconds. His blue robes and many necklaces catch too much of Alec's attention to not immediately react when the greater demon's fingers seem to caress something in the air between them. He closes his eyes and sniffs deeply, as if what he is smelling is something out of this world and beyond Alec's comprehension. There is the mixed smell of burned wood and musk hanging between them. Alec feels his voice get stuck in his throat.
"What have you given to your silent goddess for her to claim you worthy of her attention ?" Mephistopholes continues. The unsettling golden eyes lay upon Alec's face and Alec feels his cheeks grow hot. The gaze almost makes him turn away.
He doesn't reply.
The prince's face lights up suddenly in understanding. As if Alec had given something more precious than blood. "Tears, how much have you cried before she would grant you her gifts ?"
He doesn't reply.
Too transfixed, too embarrassed to utter a word, to have everything exposed like this, even in front of his family members.
Only Jace knew of this.
It makes him angry.
He doesn't reply.
"You see the dead, the ones who are victim of revenge. Tell me… how hard is it to bear ?" Alec's eyes are on the lips; he doesn't want to but he is attracted to them. There is a whole atmosphere around the greater demon. He leans into it, pushes against the feeling of it. The prince hums approvingly when he does.
"They haunt me," he says, deciding to break his silence. He doesn't understand how dry his throat feels, but he understands how entranced he is becoming. He wants to feel… to touch...
To kiss
And it is terrifying.
"Do you liberate them, Trueblood child ? Do you liberate them from their torment ?" The prince is shorter than him. It wouldn't take much to just lean in.
"No." His voice is hoarse. Broken. He stares into the eyes in front of him. Unable to look away.
"I choose him."
He is vaguely aware of the smoke and his mother's objection.
He falls hands first on the floor but two arms are around his shoulders in an instant, then his back is against the wall. The air leaves his lungs. They are in the altar room. Doors close and the sound of every lock turning echoes through the room.
"You smell so corrupt and yet so innocent, Alexander."
There is magic coursing through his body. It goes deep into his muscles. Alec feels himself go limp. He doesn't know if it's because of the deep and drawling voice in an accent he never heard before or because of the sheer force exercised on him. The hard body against him locks him in place. A pair of golden eyes are so close. He can smell the scent of danger roll off the prince's shoulders.
"Let me claim your blood," The prince lays his mouth against Alec's neck and the promise of sex, lies and betrayal makes Alec buck his hips uncontrollably. Mephistopholes whispers against his skin as his lays his mouth in Alec's neck to trace the veins in his there.
"Let me claim your blood and I'll give you everything you want..." Alec closes his eyes, finding himself hard against the demon's hip, looking for more friction. "Even your brother, Jace, the one you so much desire."
Alec feels himself run cold, it takes everything he has to get his mind clear. He pushes the greater demon away. The prince doesn't expect the rejection so he lets Alec loose from his grasp.
"Don't-" Alec tries, he panics, he breathes, he tries again. "Don't talk about him. Don't mention his name. Don't say anything about him."
The way Mephistopheles' eyes glow makes Alec feel so desired, he almost falls to his knees. But he doesn't want to. These are his terms, his pact to make, his blood, his body to give. Blood which he hasn't given to anyone, to neither god nor demon. Because nobody has ever been worth it.
"Don't tempt me with promises you cannot keep, Prince of lies." It is hard, it is defiance. Alec feels bold but also terrified. How long would it take until his insolence is punished ?
There is a chuckle, it's deep, it's strong. It makes Alec shiver allover. "There aren't many men who refused me like this Alexander, not many people who even dare to talk to me like that. But if this is what it takes for me to lay claim on your blood tonight." The prince bows, even inclines his head to look away from Alec. As if Alec were more than a mere witch, a servant of the dark lords. "Your wish will be granted."
Alec shifts from one foot to another, he exhales, trying to keep his cool as he looks at Mephistopholes' clear sign of submission. "Will you kill me after this ?"
Another chuckle and Alec feels himself drawn to those lips as the demon locks their gazes again. "That will depend on how good you taste, Alexander."
Alec knows what it means. But also what it implies.
His cock gives a twitch.
He walks over to the demon and grabs him by the lapels of his robes.
He crashes their lips together and it doesn't take much before Alec is pressed against the wall again. The mouth against his is hungry and hot and arousing. Fuck, he feels himself move his hips. There is so much strength underneath the demon's hands. The tongue that assaults his mouth makes him moan and the hint of teeth makes him whimper. He grinds his trapped erection even more against the demon's hip. Mephistopheles' lifts him from the ground. Alec encloses his legs around the waist, but he is about to lose his footing. There is something in the air, between them, around them.
He is ready to choke and die for it.
"Call me Magnus, Alexander." He feels airy dreamy. He doesn't get what the prince is saying until it echoes in his head as a command.
"Okay, Magnus." He breathes before chasing those lips again. Magnus growls against his mouth, satisfied.
My name coming from your lips is absolutely exquisite.
Hands tear at his clothes as Magnus' robe dissolves into ash. Alec digs his nails into the meat of the shoulders that are keeping him upright, feeling their strength, anticipating their movements. He scratches as he moans. His blood is running south so fast he almost feels dizzy because of it.
His clothes are mere tattered fabric by the time Magnus stops them from kissing. Magnus' hand is on the nape of his neck and Alec moans as Magnus nips at his throat. His hand grabs at a peck as a certain bite makes him whimper in pain. His nails want to get through the skin. He becomes bold, pushes against Magnus to liberate himself. But Magnus is having none of it. The more he fights against the grasp, the more Magnus encloses him. And the satisfied grunts coming from the demon indicate how much he enjoys Alec trying to put up a pretended fight.
Fuck
He bites his lip, he feels a lot of things and Magnus' hard body is making his eyes flutter. The tongue maps out his throat and collarbone. Magnus' hands keep his wrists very well in place. He… might just come untouched. He rubs his erection against the tight stomach. Magnus is so warm. So hot… so desirable.
"By Satan…" He suddenly isn't feeling the wall anymore. The impact of his back against hard marble is so painful his scream isn't one of pleasure; it hurts and it takes a lot to sit back up from the sprawled state he is in. There could have been something incredibly pleasing about seeing a greater prince of hell with -a demonic- raging erection walking in your direction.
But the way Magnus is stalking toward him, like a predator, his magic sparking at the tip of his fingers, his expression furious ? Alec needs to bite back a moan. There are shadows sprouting from the ground. They whip around like tendrils.
"Call his name again and I'll rip you to shreds." The shadows settle around his wrists, biceps, thighs, right before they materialize into existence. They are heavy and suddenly their weight forces Alec to lie down as they reinforce their grasp.
"Is that understood ?" he is about to say yes when a tentacle sneaks into his mouth, muffling his reply. The cat eyes glower at him, still expecting a response. He nods, or tries to. Because the first sign of his nod has the tentacle open his mouth even more and massage his tongue. It tastes of flesh with a sour aftertaste. And the feel ? The feel of it is something he never expected to like the way he does.
He-
"Good boy."
He feels his eyes roll back as the tentacles push him down. There is so much saliva building up he is drooling already. His cock is leaking. It's hard against his belly and he can't even move to get friction, any friction. Magnus puts his knees on the altar and straddles him. He feels burning hot and feverish. The smirk plastered on his face makes Alec think there is a game they both are playing of which he doesn't know the rules.
He whines as that tentacle, that hard muscle, removes itself from his mouth. He is not ashamed to chase its touch, nor its taste. His minds wanders to more, to wanting more, to even beg for more.
Another chuckle erupts from the man on top of him. There is a weight to him that takes Alec's breath away. When Magnus moves his hips lazily for friction, Alec wants to sit back up to take a better look. To watch. There are ridges and knobs and the way Magnus moves and still denies.
He wants Magnus to take him, take him apart, to unravel him, to show him what it is to be claimed.
He doesn't bite back his second moan when Magnus thrusts up to him.
"Soon." Alec's eyes stare openly at Magnus' mouth as his lateral incisors elongate. There is a mix of fear, arousal, all of his instincts tell Alec he needs to flee. But the tentacles prevent him to move. He feels trapped. There is something terrifying and incredibly dangerous about him. And Alec breathes in Magnus' presence as if enthralled.
He bares his throat.
Magnus leans in toward him. Alec feels his body tremble, shiver. especially when Magnus' voice is deeper than anything before. There is a distortion to his voice and Alec moans.
"Beg."
Alec freezes as he feels Magnus press his erection to his. It's so warm and so much not enough.
"Beg for it."
"Please," it erupts from his mouth before he can even control it. Magnus' hand plays with his hair. It makes Alec close his eyes. "Please take my blood, it's yours," he whispers. The fingers tighten in his hair. He winces and leans into it.
"What's that ?" It is not a tease.
"Take my blood, please." Alec feels his body trying to thrust up to meet Magnus' body as he begs again. "Please…"
Alec would remember the hum for his entire mortal life.
It hurts, it hurts unbelievably before everything grows numb. Before everything fades from agony to exaltation. His whole body relaxes. He doesn't even realise when he starts crying. From the first drawing of blood to the second. He pants, he whimpers. Words of begging and please as he can't form any. He faintly hears the movement of the tentacles around his body and Magnus' growl.
His eyes dart from left to right, unfocused. He feels his whole body sing and cry. An addictive feeling of ascension settles into his mind. There is a third drawing of blood. He is almost sure he jerks in pain. Yet there is so much he feels but doesn't, so much he sees but doesn't see to actually know, so much he wants but to which everything has already been fulfilled. He can't move, he can't be, he can't see. He doesn't want it to stop. He doesn't want it to end. He doesn't want to live. He is trapped between places.
He doesn't know when exactly Magnus comes -the warmth of it tainting both their stomachs-. Or if he even does. His mind echoes back and forth. Not registering, not feeling. Only relief of pain and the liberation of mortal existence. He feels his energy drain away, his reality fading. The dark spots appear in front of his eyes. He tries to gasp for the air that doesn't come. He tries to moan for something he has stopped to feel. And he falls, falls from the graces of the false God as a leaf from a withered tree.
He wonders if there was even something else worth in this world but the taste of death.
The last thing he notices before everything fades to black is how much the angel statue above them seems to weep…
and how much its tears bearing the red colour of corrupted blood.