by Plum Pascal
I think again to the angel’s eyes. To the answers I know lie beneath their surface. I take one last look at the door, but turn away again. I can’t leave the angel. Not yet. I’m not certain why, but something within me insists she can give me the answers I so desperately seek.
###
Dragan
It’s a mistake to come here. The moment we enter the city, I feel fear for the first time since the Great War—not for myself, but for Eilish. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so long away from the presence of women, but despite angels being among the most powerful creatures in existence, she emits a fragility I feel personally responsible to safeguard.
Why? Because if Eilish’s wings really are intact, she is the answer to overcoming Variant. And it’s for that reason that I must ensure her continued safety and survival. Eilish is the second chance I never thought I’d get. And it’s a chance I’ll do everything in my power to protect.
Baron’s murder and Variant’s subsequent rise to power is a personal failure I’ll never be able to accept or escape. We four were charged with one task: maintaining balance and protecting the realms. We failed. And because of that failure, one of us is dead, Cambion and I are prisoners, and the fourth is a tyrant. This town, in all of its immorality and constant state of destruction, is a direct representation of that failure and I feel it all the way down to my toes.
Now, here I am, marching through the embodiment of my shamed demise with my last hope for redemption. And I’m worried that something is going to happen and I won’t be able to defend her. I have half a mind to take her in my arms and run far away from this place. But where would we go? I could hide her in shadow, bring her to the Gorge and tuck her away forever. But that would be a prison all its own, and imprisonment is no life for an angel. She was never meant to be a kept pet. Besides, she’d never survive in the shadow realm, anyway.
As soon as her strength returns, Eilish will be the only living creature powerful enough to take on the false king. And as she walks beside me, I feel the weight of a century pressing down on my shoulders.
I don’t intend to fail twice.
“Keep your eyes on the ground,” I whisper to her. The last thing I need is for her to make eye contact with the wrong creature and end up possessed by a ghost or something worse. She nods and does as I instruct.
We wind our way through alleys, side-stepping merchants and beggars along our way. Grimreap is home to a plethora of unscrupulous creatures, all of them fallen on hard times. The sounds of the city hint at the chaos within it: howls of caged animals, transitioning werewolves chained to crumbling walls, screams of people being beaten by thugs, violent explosions, and lepers begging on every corner while rats freely run rampant. I feel Eilish shift closer to me as if she’s afraid. As well she should be; there’s no place scarier than Grimreap.
The line of her lithe body presses up against my arm and my cock instantly responds. I have to dampen the desire down, force away the images of her naked and spread out beneath me. This constant desire for her is getting exhausting. Any accidental touch now seems to set me off and it’s all I can do to turn my mind to other things. I fight hard, knowing I’ll need all of my mental and bodily faculties intact in order to face the horror that is Grimreap.
We keep our heads bowed as we hurry along the narrow corridors of crumbling buildings, our bodies pressed against the ruined stone.
When we come across a tavern, I point Thoradin in its direction and he nods. First bit of business is attending to our growling stomachs. We haven’t eaten in far too long.
I crouch to enter the low doorway and then we’re faced with stairs that lead down, into the belly of the beast. Inside, it’s even darker than the gloom of the city. Eilish grabs my forearm as she stumbles down the stone steps and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright as I pull her into me. She looks up and our eyes meet. She appears surprised. I merely nod at her and she seems to understand that she can trust me. I will protect her.
A few burning torches decorate the stone walls. Their light casts dim circles against the low ceiling but does little to illuminate the creatures within its bowels. In the cramped space, the stench of unwashed bodies festers alongside the moldy dampness.
The tavern is at capacity with monsters, all bold and rowdy. Tables are scattered around the room and all are full, but half the chairs are tipped over or broken. The crowd is raucous, the cacophony of conversation and belligerent yells echoes across the sticky surfaces. We form a line, with me leading the way, and weave a path to a table in the far corner of the room, currently occupied by three hooded figures. I can’t see their faces but I’m fairly sure they’re wraiths. Even though wraiths are spirits, many don cloaks to appear as though they’re living, then they drain the life-force of those around them. And what better place than a tavern to feed on the energy of the unsuspecting?
Along our way to the table, we barely miss two drunken brawls. Eilish’s eyes widen as she notices an oily demon openly fucking one of the tavern women, a well-used harpy, against the wall. The harpy shrieks in either delight or anger as she shreds the demon’s back with her claws, and he continues to thrust into her.
Stench and disease linger in the air and I doubt my decision to bring Eilish to this place for the nth time since coming here. Thoradin wordlessly breaks the line to find the barkeep and we approach the table. The wraiths don’t acknowledge us.
I hold Eilish at arm’s length behind me. I would shield her from view with my wings, but I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I’m a gargoyle. Even with the charm that’s currently protecting our true identities, I must be careful.
“It’s time for you to leave,” I say with tight lips as I face the three occupying the table. They look up at me and, just as I thought, there’s nothing but blackness beneath their hoods.
They make no move to disappear and just continue floating above the chairs, as if trying to give the impression they’re sitting.
“I don’t enjoy repeating myself,” I warn them, my tone harsh.
“For fuck’s sake,” Cambion interrupts and pushes past me. He eyes the wraiths narrowly then holds his hands together until a tiny ball of light forms within them. “Unless you want to be blasted back into the darkness you came from, get the fuck out of here.”
The ball of light does the trick as the wraiths immediately disappear, leaving only their black robes. Cambion extinguishes the ball of light between his hands and throws the robes onto the floor before he takes a seat.
“That was risky,” I point out.
“No one noticed and it worked,” he responds.
I can’t argue with him, so I stand to the side and motion to Eilish to take her seat. “You sit on the inside, next to the wall,” I tell her. She simply nods and sits. I follow suit beside her, being extra vigilant when it comes to taking in my surroundings. When the barkeep and Thoradin return, we’re presented with four full bowls of “stew” and tankards of foul-smelling liquor. The bowls contain a gray, brackish liquid with chunks of questionable, possibly rancid meat.
I doubt any of us even taste the meal as we go about shoveling it into our mouths. Even Eilish has forgone her spoon and is taking long, deep gulps from her bowl. Once the fatal edge of her hunger is satisfied, she lowers the bowl and wipes her face with the back of her hand. She places the remainder of her stew on her lap and I see Flumph’s small head extend from his hiding place beneath her cloak so he can slurp the contents unseen.
When our meals are finished, we lean over the table so we can hear one another over the dissonance of the other customers.
“Fine place,” says Cambion. “You always frequent the nicest establishments.”
“For Grimreap, it’s bordering on pleasant,” I reply honestly. There’s far worse than this tavern within the city’s limits.
Cambion appears annoyed, but just as he leans in to speak, a man bumps into the corner of our table.
He’s big. Not so big as Thoradin and
me, but still big enough to pose a risk. And I’m sorely attempting to avoid risks at all costs.
The man appears human but, of course, he isn’t—humans have been extinct for longer than I can remember. The fire red of his hair and his point-tipped ears signify he’s an elf. A blood elf. His blazing irises lock with mine and I realize trouble has finally found us.
“You all look a little too pretty to be from around here,” he says, his voice thin but threatening. A second man appears behind him, his face pockmarked and scarred. The side of his body is ravaged with burns, deforming his neck and arms in a look so grotesque, he could be one of the walking dead.
“We’re not looking for trouble,” I mutter in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the discordant noise surrounding us.
“Then, it appears you’ve come to the wrong place.” The blood elf laughs, a sinister and smug smile lingering even after his chortle has evaporated from the damp air. “This city got a mind all its own. Dangerous place for strangers. Bein’ a charitable man, I thought I’d introduce myself. Maybe inform you ‘bout the way things work here.”
“We can figure out the way things work for ourselves,” replies Cambion, coldly. With his red hair, he looks like he could be kin to the man before us, but even disguised, Cambion’s lightness outshines any transfigurations and enchantments he can cast on himself.
A few tables nearby have sensed the tension and the patrons sit poised, eager for violence, hungrier for it than they are for the women on their laps or the tankards balanced precariously against the sides of their tables.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the blood elf continues “You’ve already made mistakes.”
“Such as?” Cambion demands before I can stop him. The last thing we want is to play into this asshole’s game. I would have paid him off and sent him on his way, but Cambion always makes things more difficult.
“For starters,” the bastard continues. “You came here, somewhere’s you clearly don’t belong. Second, you failed to pay me the courtesy you should have.” Then, he turns to look at Eilish and his smile returns. “And you brought a sweet, little nymph wiffout offerin’ me first dibs.”
“The woman isn’t for you,” I tell him, turning my chair and body until I’m blocking his view of her. My voice is deadly. Fire is already brewing in my gut at the thought of this fiend laying just one finger on Eilish. If he touches her, I’ll kill him.
“All women are for my enjoyment.” He turns to his comrade, “Hendor, when do I not get what I want?”
“Never,” confirms the man, a dumb grin spreading across his marred face.
I’ve had enough. I stand up, towering over the stranger by at least a head. But he doesn’t back down. He’s large in his own right and he’s broad.
“You need ta understand just how things work,” the man continues. “There ain’t no law here. No one to protect you. You chose a bad place to die.” His tongue pokes out from behind his brown, decayed teeth, yellowed juice leaking out of the space between them.
He takes a step closer, which puts him closer to Eilish. He’ll regret it. This man doesn’t realize who I am. His tactic of intimidation has likely worked numerous times before, but he’s in for a surprise if he expects me to cower before him. The only reason he isn’t already dead is because I need to avoid attention.
But I also need to get him off my back. He tries another step and I push him backward, choosing to show him only a fraction of my power. As he falls to the floor, I realize I’ve failed in that mission; everyone within a ten-foot radius is now turning in their chairs to watch as the loudmouth is leveled. All eyes are fixed on us, greedy for the fight.
He slowly stands, the venom behind his crimson eyes visibly swirling. “You’ve made a mistake, friend,” he hisses. “And it’s just cost you your lives.”
“No one will die today, friend,” I spit back at him. My arms are tense with fury. “Except you.”
He squares his body toward me, snarling, his eyes nearly pulsing in their anger.
I’m aware of all the other eyes on us, and I wonder how I can settle this without causing more of a fuss. I clench and unclench my fist. We may have to fight more than just these two to get out of here alive.
NINETEEN
Dragan
Grimreap
Shadow Realm
The man takes another step closer, but just as he does, another man emerges from beneath a shadow and quickly occupies the space between us. This man is tall and broad, though not as large or imposing as I am. His back is to me, keeping his identity a mystery.
The asshole immediately recognizes the man and his face falls briefly into an expression of fear, which lasts only a millisecond before it’s replaced with pure ire. Whoever has stepped between us obviously has an ugly history with this bastard.
The asshole spits at the man’s feet, carefully aiming the brown blob to avoid actually coming into contact with the worn black shoes of our visitor.
“This ain’t none o’ your business, Revenant,” he spits out.
At first, the stranger—Revenant—doesn’t respond; he merely reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a vial of blue liquid. Whatever’s inside seems to capture the asshole’s attention. Revenant slowly rotates the vial between his narrow fingers.
“It’s funny you should mention business, Ferchad,” he says, finally, in a voice that somehow seems familiar though I’m unsure how that could be possible. I don’t recognize the name Revenant. But I still haven’t seen his face, so perhaps it will soon become clear. “You conduct most of your business at Grisly Dour docks, isn’t that right?”
Ferchad scowls but remains silent. His eyes are fixed on the glass vial in Revenant’s hand. Revenant twirls it between his fingers and I hope, for all our sakes, that it doesn’t contain anything airborne.
“It would be a pity if your access to the docks was suddenly jeopardized, wouldn’t it?” the man, Revenant, continues.
“Why would it be jeopardized?”
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m… let us say… close with the shipyard watch.”
“Daltry,” Ferchad says.
Revenant nods. “He owes me a favor. Quite a few, actually.”
“Oh yeah? An’ what’s that mean?”
“It means I doubt you’d want to risk a steady stream of income over a squabble with strangers,” replies Revenant casually.
The asshole eyes him narrowly. “An’ why you involvin’ yourself? You never put your neck out for no one.”
“My reasons will remain my own,” Revenant responds.
Ferchad hesitates for a few seconds as he apparently weighs Revenant’s argument. Eventually, he expels a long sigh and backs away. The look on his face is still angry, hard. Underneath his calm exterior, he’s fuming.
“You’ll regret interferin’ here, Revenant,” he warns.
“Perhaps, and perhaps not.”
“We had us an agreement,” Ferchad continues, his jaw tight.
“We still have us an agreement,” Revenant replies, mirth in his voice. Ferchad doesn’t realize Revenant’s mocking him with his word choice.
Ferchad exhales strongly out of his nose before nodding quickly, turning, and walking out of the tavern. His comrade is right behind him.
The onlookers pivot back to their conversations, their slumped shoulders clearly communicating their disappointment at the lack of bloodshed. Revenant keeps his back to us, continuing to watch the door where Ferchad left as if he expects him to make a sudden return.
It’s maybe a few more seconds before Revenant turns around.
And I’m completely unprepared.
Cambion tenses beside me, and neither of us says anything for a few seconds because we’re both fully aware of the impossibility of this man standing in front of us.
“Baron?” Cambion asks finally.
###
Eilish
It’s the man from the vision.
Baron.
The
one I knew to be alive.
His clean-shaven face is pale and his hair, thick, dark and cut short to his scalp, reveals dark gray streaks along his temples. A narrow white scar bisects his thick eyebrows, ending just above his left eye. His eyes are the most unique shade of blue I’ve ever seen—almost violet. He’s unarguably stunning. Beautiful, even. Handsome is almost too masculine a word for his features, yet there’s something so fierce and dangerous about him that kills any inkling of sensitivity anyone might otherwise imagine him possessing.
When our eyes met over the sounds of Dragan and Ferchad’s harsh exchange, I sensed something. A desire, deep within him. Not the same desire I recognize when others look at me; this wasn’t sexual or physical in nature. It was more like he was searching for something, and thought I knew where to find it.
His eyes, when they first met mine, communicated a longing, a desire so profound it briefly blocked the chaos around me. The world settled, temporarily, as we continued to look at each other, until the moment was broken when Dragan stood and shook the table. But there was something there, no doubt.
My revenant.
It isn’t my thought. Not my words. I can’t make heads or tails of what the words mean, especially when my still-clouded mind is overcome with fear.
Seeing Baron now, my mind hums and for a moment, I think I recognize him. But I don’t understand how that could be; I’ve never seen him before. At least, I don’t think I have, though my memory is unreliable at best. I feel close to him all the same, something which baffles me.
The feelings of closeness I felt and continue to feel towards Baron aren’t my own. I’m fairly convinced they belong to the woman whose voice is inside my head. Whoever she is and whatever she wants, she’s clearly roused by Baron’s presence. Whether for good or bad, I can’t tell. All I know is that his appearance here has created a reaction I haven’t yet experienced from the disembodied voice.
