Chapter Text
“Hush, Lyubov –”
“But mama!”
Her mothers firm hand was pressed firmly to her lips, while her mother made a shushing gesture to her own mouth. “You must be quiet, malen'kiy. They mustn’t hear you, mustn’t see you…”
The tremble in her mothers voice set her on edge. Her mother, a picturesque of grace, beauty, power unyielding, had never sounded so afraid. In turn, it placed blackened fear in Lyubov's chest, coiling its way around her heart and squeezing relentlessly. Her mother noticed this, her face softening from the panic it wore moments ago. She removed her hand, tucking a strand of ashen blonde hair behind her ear.
“My sweet girl,” She cooed softly, her thumbs sweeping under her eyes. “Do not cry.”
It hadn’t even occurred to her that she was crying until her mother had said so. Under normal circumstances, her mothers voice would have been enough to soothe her worries, but as another deafening bang sounded from the floor above the manor’s basement, she realized that nothing would be the same after this. She gazed into her mothers crimson eyes, bright and brilliant just like her own , and even in her adolescence she knew.
She knew they were going to die.
It caused the tears to only flow harder, and her mother pulled her into her bosom, just as she did when she was small. She was no longer a child, having just turned twenty one, but she knew she was so naïve, unprepared, unable to fend for herself. Death with her loved ones was almost preferable, then to be shoved into the unknown forcibly, like a bird thrown from it’s nest, into the wilds, isolated.
Unfortunately for her, her dear, loving mother had no intentions of allowing her only daughter to die today.
Another bang sounded from above, this time closer, an ear-splitting shriek following close after. The voice of her brother, Yuri, all intimidating power now devoid from his throat, leaving the distressed and pained cry of a little boy –
A heavy splat, like someone had thrown a burlap sack of guts into the marble flooring with considerable strength –
“Lyubov.”
She snapped her gaze back to her mothers face, the tone of steeled resolve in her voice enough to shake her from the reverie of the chaos exploding just above their heads. Her mother gripped her shoulders, pushing off of her, putting distance between them.
No no no no –
“Moya Lyubov,” she said gently, reminding her again of when she was much, much smaller. “You must listen to me very carefully, my every instruction, can you do this for me?”
Lyubov knew what was coming. She knew, she knew. “Da m-mama,” her words came out fractured and quiet, painful.
Wordlessly, her mother fumbled with the bag she had brought alongside her when she took them to the basement. When the bad man had come. Lyubov already had an inkling as to what was in that bag, but seeing the contents emptied and confirming her worst fears still broke her heart all the same.
Her mother wrapped the midnight cloak around Lyubov’s trembling shoulders, fastening the silver clip that was their family crest in haste. She looked down upon it with blurred vision; two hell-hounds breathing fire upon their family shield, a classic heater shape. At the crown, roses with threatening thorns burst from the point, wrapping their way down the outer parts of the shield. She ran her fingers gently over the brooch; she’s seen her crest thousands of times, it was posted at various points of the manor. Now, this was likely all she would have left.
“I’ve packed you enough blood for a week,” her mother said hurriedly, as another trembling boom sounded on the above floorboards, shaking dust down from the ceiling to rain upon them.
“W-what happens when I run out?” Lyubov panicked, her eyes wide and afraid. “How will I feed?” She had never had to want for anything before in her sheltered life, too sheltered, for now she had naught an idea of how to take care of herself. A being such as her, alone in the world –
“There will be no more thralls, Lyubov,” her mother said harshly. “You can drink from animals to survive, until you can safely take a human – “
“T-take?!” she choked out. They always had thralls, well taken-care-of cattle at their disposal, honored to give their blood to the prestigious Nikolaev family for fair wages to their families. She had never had to take, never had to kill.
Her mother inhaled sharply, gripping her daughter almost painfully by the wrist. “Yes, Lyubov, take. You are a Nikolaev, one of the black gods most powerful and divine creations, as were your ancestors before you. I see now that we were too comfortable, that your father and I shoulder the blame for leaving you so ill-prepared for the world. You are capable of a many great, dangerous, monstrous things that I hoped so dearly that you would never have to utilize. But it seems our time has come.”
“Mother you’re frightening me -!”
Her mother ignored her pleas, shoving an object in her hand and pulling her into a rough embrace that oozed sour tones of goodbyes. “Listen my dear, you are to take the southern tunnel to the cellar door of the barn. Make your way to the garage, take the car and drive straight for Romania. Do not stop until you get there. Only for gas, only for gas, Lyubov, you shouldn’t need to feed between now and then, there’s enough here for the trip. Do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself. He will know you’re gone, he will be looking for you. You cannot stop, promise me child!”
The explosions only grew in intensity, their manor, her home, reduced to utter ruins above. Sobs began to take her body, and in spite of her mothers insistence, she shook her head frantically. “I c-cant, I can’t leave you mama!”
“You will,” The crash of a door slamming open, no, splintering, sounded from the peak of the basement stairs. Her mothers lips pressed firmly to her hairline, before she was yanked suddenly to her feet. “Go now, Lyubov!”
But her head still shook, until her mother physically grasped the front of her cloak in a bunch, shoving her in the direction of the tunnel entrance. “You will go, child! You won’t stop until you reach Romania, promise me!”
Her mothers voice and the commotion at the top of the stairs was the only reason for compliance. “I-I promise mama, I promise –“
“When you get there, find Mother Miranda! She’s the only one who can help you, she will help you!”
“Mother Miranda,” Lyubov tearfully repeated, searing the strange name into her brain. She had never heard it spoken before, and her mother instructions left her with more questions than answers, but they were sorely lacking in time.
“Now go,” her mother said with a tearful smile that wavered on her lips. The vision of a broken mother whom was losing her child, the worst suffering imaginable. “Nikogda ne zabyvay, kak sil'no my tebya lyubim. Ty navsegda v moyem serdtse, malysh.”
Lyubov nodded furiously, each step taken towards the cellar was like walking through the fires of Hell itself. “mama ya lyublyu tebya.” The words tore painfully from the cement in her throat, through tears and heartbreak. Unable to bear the sight of her mother’s tear-stricken face any longer, she turned and ran for the tunnels.
She had just made it through the hatch that lead to the ladder, stretching deep down into the tunnel, when she heard the basement erupt into chaos. The gunfire that left a sickening scent in the air, making her head swim. The agonizing scream of her mother that followed, made her head feel much worse. She dry heaved through tears, the black that dotted her vision promised to take her from consciousness, the dying sounds of her family threatened to upend the contents of her stomach.
But still she ran. Just as mother told her.
She ran through the slanted, twisting tunnel, leading down the mountainside where her families estate (once) sat. While her parents had sheltered her from the darkness of the world her whole life, it was clear they had some sort of contingency plan in place all along. The garage at the base of the hill, the bag that seemingly packed itself, the fact that these emergency tunnels existed at all. Had her parents known that someday, something like this was bound to happen? Or was it just a precaution? Either way, why would they leave her so hopelessly unprepared?
She hadn't time to think on it; her mind was reeling, unable to process everything that just happened, everything that was still happening. It was a miracle she didn’t trip over her own feet as she bolted down the mountainside. While her family genetics were blessed with acute vision, it did nothing when her eyes were streaked wet with tears.
Her sensitive nose detected the scent of fresh, winters air, drafting through the crude door ahead. Finally, she was so close, so far from her beloved family, of which she had literally left to die, but oh so close to freedom, to safety.
She burst through the door into a world of white; being the dead of winter, in such a northern part of the motherland, the winters were harsh even for the most seasoned resident. Though her family and their land stood the test of time against the elements for millennia – they could not survive the hatred of man.
The snow covered garage stood a mere twenty feet away, so she bolted. She could still hear the chaos, even from down the mountainside, the sound of death and destruction filtering down on the winds. She dared not look. Another sense of relief washed over her when she made it to the garage, throwing the cover off the single, unassuming four door nestled inside. She pressed the button to the garage door, cursing as the contraption whirred but nothing happened.
Fucking door is frozen, fuck!
Panting with adrenaline, she gripped the bottom of the door and gave it a hard yank. Her unnatural strength nearly tore the thing clean off, ripping it upwards and breaking through the ice as though it were nothing at all. Doubling back to the car, she tossed the bag into the passenger seat and with trembling hands, fumbled the key into the ignition. The car sputtered, the damned cold causing the old car great difficulty.
“Please please please please!” She cried frantically, desperately jamming the key and praying every prayer she could remember to the Black God to just start the damn car! After what seemed like eons of pathetic pleas and panicked, jerking motions of the key, the engine roared to life like music to her ears.
Not bothering to restrain her choked cry of relief, she slammed the car into drive and revved the car from the garage, spinning slightly in the heavy fallen snow. She aimed for the road that led down the mountain, her heart thundering in her ears and throat.
Almost, almost –
A startling bang had her shrieking in fright, half ducking down into the seats as her eyes scanned the car for the source. The driver side mirror, it was blown clean from the car, leaving nothing but fractured plastic and frayed wire in its wake. Another bang, a slight feeling of impact, the sound of metal pinging as another shot hit somewhere on the trunk of the car. She floored the gas, snow be damned.
Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look –
She glanced into the rear view.
Her stomach plummeted. Smoke plumed from where her estate once stood, the grand manor now reduced to ruin, the billowing plumes nearly swallowing the entire mountaintop, back dropped by a fiery red haze that painted the sky above. The sickening realization that the white world around her was likely not snow, but ash, was a difficult truth to swallow. Up on the road that led to the manor grounds stood a figure. Tall, menacing, a black silhouette of death, staring down the valley at her car.
Lowering the once shouldered outline of a long gun.
Rounding the corner, the manor and the figure disappeared from sight through the snow covered trees, but the taste of smoke and ash and death still clung stubbornly to her palate, souring the back of her throat, stinging her nose and eyes. She hadnt realized she was hyperventilating, her breathing coming out in a short, cutting cadence.
It was only then that she screamed.
The radio static rippled through the quiet night air, the only comfort she had, and it was barely that.
Tears tracked down her face, leaving painted lines through the smudges of dirt from the basement, the ash that had drifted down the mountainside. She had been driving nearly twenty hours at this point, having stopped for gas uneventfully only a few times. Towns were scarce around these parts, the road empty and never-ending in the thick blanket of night. Still, she drove the speed limit, drove with caution, glancing in the rear view far too many times, only to find nothing behind her but the same blackness that lay ahead.
Her tears had stopped, her eyes now puffy and sore, her throat aching from the long bout of sobs. She took a shuddering inhale, the water never truly left her crimson orbs, despite their cease in falling. Glancing at a passing road sign, she was finally leaving Maldova and entering into Romania.
Don’t stop until you reach Romania.
But even here, she did not wish to stop. She was sure she could drive to the ends of the earth, and it would still feel too soon for stopping. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Hell itself were on her heels, waiting to swallow her whole in its gaping maw filled with deadly fangs. But now that she was here, it begged the question, where the hell would she find Mother Miranda? Romania was a whole damn country – did her mother truly believe she could find her way, with no specific direction?
She sighed as she saw a faint glow of a neon sign coming up the side of the desolate county road. An inn. It was the only lead she could possibly have, if she could luck out that the inn workers would have an idea of where she could find this Mother Miranda. She silently thanked her mother for teaching her Romanian as a child, possibly another cog to her plan of escape if needed.
Though her body didn’t require sleep, her back ached deeply from driving so long, it was tempting to get a room and to lay on a bed. Though the very real, very fresh fear that still coursed through her wouldn’t allow her mind to entertain the idea. She pulled in, relieved to see the parking lot mainly vacant, save for a few cars scattered about, the thin layer of snow atop indicating that they haven’t been used recently. She parked and shut off the car, holding her breath as she waited for something to jump out at her, to yank open her car door and pull her free from the seat. Nothing of the sort happened, and after a few cursory glances of her surroundings she stepped out and made her way inside.
She could see why the place was mostly empty, it was a dive to say the least. Paint peeled from the yellowed walls of the lobby, odd mystery stains littered the outdated carpeting, and the ceiling was molded with evident water damage. The orange glow of the lamps only made the walls seem sicker in color. The faint sound of a TV hummed in the background.
She approached the bored looking man at the desk, his face withered with age, a fluffy mat of white hair peeking from below a filthy ball cap. He peered warily at her overtop smudged spectacles, flicking the small black and white TV off, bathing the room in silence.
“Well?” he said shortly, his voice a low groan. “You looking for a room?”
“N-no,” She said lowly, doing her best to hide her fangs by opening her mouth as little as possible. “I’m sorry, I’m not from here and I think I…I think I may be lost. I’m looking for uhm, Mother Miranda?” the name felt silly coming from her mouth, heating her cheeks slightly.
The man’s face, once grizzled and hardened, paled at her words. He pushed back from the desk as though afraid of her. She pursed her lips – shit, had he seen her fangs?”
“M-Mother Miranda,” he repeated, his voice a trembling mutter. “In life and death, we give glory, Mother Miranda.”
“Er, yes,” She agreed. “I need to find her, could you - ?”
“The village,” he whispered harshly.
“But, which village?” She pleaded. “Where?”
He shook his head, glancing over her shoulder with wild eyes. She followed his gaze, but it was as though he could see something that she couldn’t. “You don’t want to go to that village. You have no business there.”
She hardened her gaze at the man. She wasn’t impolite by any means, but whatever was happening was much bigger than herself, this man, and this conversation. “I do have business there,” She said urgently, hoping her tone left no room for argument. “Please, tell me how to find it.”
The man’s jaw wavered as he seemed to contemplate her request. Hesitantly, he pulled a piece of paper from under the desk, and with his pen he began to draw intricate lines, twisting and turning and branching out like the branches of a gnarled tree.
“A map,” he hushed, as though reading her confused gaze. “You must follow it directly; very easy to get lost in these woods, lots of dangers lurking in the night, in the village-“
His voice was a frantic rant, his hand never slowing its scribbling. Finally, he pushed the paper across the desk. He pointed to the right, down the road. “That way. It will take a few hours, it’s very deep, very hidden. Many get lost along the way…never to be seen again.”
She returned a strange look as she hesitantly took the paper. By the Black God, it certainly was a complicated route. He was right, she would have to follow it carefully. “Thank you,” She spoke quietly, but the man only shooed her away, cowering slightly as though she were planning to leap across the desk and take his throat in her hands. “Go now. You were never here.”
She gave the man a final, puzzled look. What has this man so afraid? Was this Mother Miranda some sort of evil-doer? Had he wronged her in some way? Surely her mother wouldn’t send her to someone who would cause her harm, she wouldn’t. Whatever had this man afraid, it had to have been his own doing. Maybe Mother Miranda was like her, like her family was. Of ancient blood. And maybe this man was on the other side, like the black figure that burned down her home, mutilated her family –
She was suddenly clutching the paper closer, fleeing from the inn while giving the man a hardened stare, daring him to do something. He remained shrunken behind the desk, no longer looking in her direction, purposefully so.
She practically ran back to the car after another studious scan of the barren parking lot. Once inside, she unfurled the paper and tried to memorize the directions. They were so winding and ever-changing, it would be damn near impossible to memorize a map like this, despite her vast mental skill. She would have to check it periodically. With a heavy sigh, she pulled out of the hotel lot, back into the lonesome roads of the dense Romanian forest.
Fuck this village.
She had been driving, what felt like aimlessly, for hours now. It aided her none that the weather soured nearly an hour in, the roads growing worse, nearly impossible to see through the blizzard. It forced her to crawl at a snails pace, lest she total the car and be forced to walk. The cold didn’t really effect her, but the dangers that lurked surely would.
He’ll follow you.
Turns out, she didn’t even need to total the car to render it useless.
“What the fuck...” She mumbled under her breath. Was she crazy? Or was the road getting narrower? Branches thwacked into the sides, smacking into the windshield, killing her vision completely. The forest grew denser, and when the car bumped over a particularly large root of a tree, or a rock, she decided to slow to a stop. Did she take a wrong turn somewhere?
Flicking on the light, she checked the crudely drawn map. She had already had to do a couple of turnarounds so far, the turns so sharp and sudden in this route. Looking it over, she glanced out the window to the path ahead. Then back to the map. Then back to the window.
“What the fuck!” She repeated angrily. She hadn’t taken a wrong turn, she was exactly where she was supposed to be, but it seemed as though the road ended here. She wanted to cry all over again, she was so mad, so desperate to reach whatever the hell she was supposed to find. She just wanted to curl up and grieve her family, somewhere safe. She slammed her palm into the steering wheel, denting the entire right side of it into the dash. It didn’t matter anymore. This was as far as it could take her.
She tore her bag from the seat with a frustrated snarl, yanking the key from the ignition and slamming the door shut. Drawing her hood over her head, she peered into the wilderness. A beaten walking path lay ahead where the road ended, seemingly swallowed by the thick brush of the trees. Checking over her map again, she began the trek through the snow. If anything, she could take comfort that if someone was following her, they too would have to abandon their vehicle.
And she was almost sure she would be faster on foot. Barring she didn’t get lost.
The woods were quiet, yet menacing in the dark. The snowfall deafening the world around her, she relied on her acute hearing to listen for danger. Somewhere, deep in the heart of the forest, there was the mournful howl of what sounded like a wolf. And the longer she walked on the stretch of path, the closer the sound seemed to draw.
She hurried her steps. While Lyubov was sure she could take on even a pack of hungry wolves, it didn’t mean she was exactly jumping at the idea. No, she was on a mission. She had to honor her mother’s word, find Mother Miranda, she would keep her safe.
The path, if one could call it that, grew more treacherous the further she went. The terrain began to incline, jagged rock now accompanied the trees, forcing her to crawl up and around, ducking under low hanging branches, swinging her body up over rock shelf. It was then she scented something heady in the air; the thick aroma of copper, but not human. It wasn’t long before she saw them in the dark, strewn about the path, nearly a dozen dead ravens. Torn apart by a wild animal, and so many of them too.
She hugged her cloak a little closer and continued, trying not to let bizarre sight bother her, whilst simultaneously ignoring the grueling howls of the night. Thankful for her eyesight, she saw a run-down shack – or house? – just up ahead, nestled in the snow. She looked at the map again; with how many obstacles littered the path, she couldn’t be sure if she went far off course, but according to this, she was close to the village.
But if this was part of the village, it looked, well…abandoned.
Was she too late?
She pushed open the door, not bothering a knock or a greeting. It gave quite easily, leading into a dark and confirmed abandoned dwelling. The place was in disarray – it wasn’t so much that there was much useless junk strewn about, but rather what had remained was in clear disuse, broken, the floor splintered and rotten, with cabinets to match. There was a few dressers, peeking into one of the drawers she found only rope, a few miscellaneous tools.
Even the air smelled of stagnancy, mixed with that familiar copper undertone. Cupboards lay open and bare, there was even some broken pallets propped up against the walls. Perhaps the homeless would squat here, she couldn’t possibly envision someone inhabiting a place in such disrepair.
She found a set if stairs leading into a basement. Her curiosity growing, as was her keen desire for a rest, she went down. There was an old metal serving cart, bare except for the face-down picture frame which sat atop. She flipped it over and examined the photo. It was strange, it appeared to depict a woman, though it looked as though she were dressed in some odd Halloween costume. She wore a golden mask bearing the sharp resemblance of a bird, and flowing dark robes that hid the remainder of her figure. A circular crown seemed to protrude from her back, wrapping around the frame of her face. A strange photo to have framed, indeed.
A sudden crash through the upstairs tore her away from the photograph, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. Her heart froze in her chest.
He’ll follow you.
“Oh little mouse,” a deep, shuddering voice sounded from above. “Did you think you could run?”
She had to move. She had to move!
While fear made a valiant attempt to root her feet to the ground, she knew if she didn’t get out of this house she would die. Stupid, she was stupid! How could she think it a good idea to linger around when she should’ve been finding Mother Miranda?
Another crash. It sounded like the figure was ripping open cabinets, overturning tables, to find where she might be hiding. She glanced around wildly, there must be a window down here somewhere, a cellar door, something!
Bursting through one of the rooms of the basement, she felt the draft before she spotted it. A window. Freedom. Wasting no time on discretion, she sleeved her fist and slammed it through the window, shattering the glass and breaking off the jagged pieces that littered the edges.
“I hear you, little mouse! There’s nowhere to go!”
She grabbed desperately onto the base of the frame, hauling herself upwards and out, gaining a face full of snow in the process. She was there, she was out, and in a second she was on her feet and barreling from the house.
A bang and a whoosh of air blew past her and she screamed in surprise as a branch just to her right was blown to splinters. She bolted, chancing a daring glance behind her. It pooled a liquid terror in her gut, causing her heart to wrench itself in her throat. There stood the tall black figure, a man, the man from the mountaintop. The tail of his black coat billowed gently around his knees, the shotgun cradled in his arm pointed in her direction, gun powder still leaking from the barrel. His hair was clean cut, his face menacing and scarred. His eyes, utterly cold and grey.
“Get back here, you fucking bitch!”
Obviously, she didn’t heed a word of his demand. She was so caught up in her escape, she hadn’t even realized her own fangs were now protruding from her lips, her nails growing into threatening black claws. Her survival instincts kicking into high gear, it would seem her body was following suit. But the man was armed, he killed her entire family, her father, none were more powerful than he. What was she to do, a useless creature with no knowledge of how to even begin ending someone’s life?
She vaulted over a short wooden fence, seconds before it was blown to pieces, causing her to stumble and fall flat on her face.
Fuck. This is it.
She was stupid for running in the first place. She should have stayed with her mother, her home, at least died trying to defend it. Instead here she was, running like a coward in some unknown forest of Romania, in spite of the power her father always told her she possessed, that which ran through her ancestors veins pulsed deep in her own. And she was running.
She squeezed her eyes shut, claws seeking purchase in the snow. Rage coursed through her, burning through her system, boiling the liquid of her gut. Her arms trembled, though not of fear. The crunching of steel boots sounded behind her and she whipped around, her eyes a blazing inferno. Something swirled outward from her chest, blowing out her muscles, and she swore she heard the faint sound of her joints popping, felt the slight pain that came with it, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it came from. It was like her entire body lit up at once, and tonguing her cheek she realized that not only had her fangs grown sharp, but all of her once blunt teeth.
She growled as she stood to her feet, her claws now an impossible length. A hum buzzed under her skin, like something was begging to be let free, to burst forth from her back, her hands, even her face, like her skin was too small for her body.
“One more step and I’ll cut you to ribbons!” She snarled, a inhuman voice she didn’t recognize. If it weren’t for the situation, she would’ve frightened even herself.
To her ever surmounting fury, the man had the nerve to smirk, his smile slimy and off-putting, dangerous. “Well well, little lady. Nice tunnel you had back there, fucking dumber than you look if you think you can run from me.”
“Who are you?!” She shrieked, baring her fangs at him. There was something dark, something sinister shifting in her veins. “Why are you doing this?”
The man spat on the ground. “I’m the mother fucker that puts monsters like you where they belong, back to the stinkin’ pits of hell you crawled out of.”
A low growl sounded in her throat, out of her control. She advanced on him in furious determination, her burning eyes caught in the unyielding gaze of her target, her mind now wiped free of reason and rationality. She only saw red. She only smelled smoke.
Suddenly the man flicked his sleeve. It came out of nowhere, hidden in his jacket, too fast and too sudden for her to have a chance at stopping it. It shot from his sleeve, a long chain shimmering in the low morning light, with ends like the teeth of a beast –
The air was stolen from her lungs as the chain made contact with her breastplate. In a flash, as quickly as it come on, her skin suddenly grew back to normal size. The red filter was lifted from her eyes, the shifting feeling in her veins has ceased, the powerful stretch of her muscles receding into weakness. Glancing down, she saw the odd star-shaped object now embedded in her chest, dug in and hooked with the many rows of teeth. She frowned; her body should have rejected this. Her regenerative abilities should be closing the wound by now.
A foreign, agonizing feeling exploded from the sight of the object. Pain. It was pain she was feeling. White hot, scorching it’s tendrils from her chest straight into her bloodstream, burrowing in her brain, settling in her numbing fingertips. She fell to her knees, wheezing from the sheer force of the sensation.
“W-wha…” She tried to choke out, but she was taken by lurching heaves as she collapsed on her side, her eyes threatening to roll into her head as she saw stars dotting her vision.
The man barked a crooked laugh, his footsteps thundering closer until he entered her line of sight. “Three nines fine!” he chuckled, his laughter subsiding. “Purest silver money can buy. Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”
She wanted to answer, tried to spit out some sort of retort, even telling him to go fuck himself would’ve sufficed. But all she could manage was the same wheezing sound as her veins were slowly lit on fire, something warm and sticky oozing from the corner of her mouth.
Suddenly the man was on her. She could smell the heavy scent of stale tobacco and gunpowder upon him, mixed with the sickening scent of something familiar…
Her parents blood.
He reached into the front pocket of his coat, pulling out another silver object that looked like a set of rings. He affixed them to his knuckles, and cracked them menacingly, the sound echoing like a gunshot underwater in her pounding ears. “And this beauty here,” he growled, gesturing to the piece, “is crafted of the same metal. Now, let’s give you a pretty fucking face-lift!”
The first hit didn’t even register. Her brain literally rocked, the world around her grew silent for a sweet, blissful moment, before the agonizing ringing in her ears set in. Then his fist was like a flurry, over and over. Her cheek exploded in pain, the skin burst open. Then it was her lip, filling her mouth with blood. Her nose, nothing but a pile of smashed cartilage, spewing crimson from her face to splatter on her clothing.
I’m going to die, I’m going to die –
Then it was over. The next hit never came, they were so constant that it was rather jarring when they ceased. She couldn’t see really, one eye had swollen completely shut, and the other had so much blood slicked through it that she might as well have been blind. Even without these things, her head had been knocked so hard that she didn’t trust her vision regardless. But the ringing was subsiding, and faintly, she heard a strange squelching sound. She squeezed her eye shut rapidly in a desperate attempt to clear her vision, never quite managing to focus on the looming figure above her.
The man was tossed aside with a dull thump. She thought she saw a flicker of red fly through the air, but she wasn’t sure. Light began to do her vision once more, no matter how furiously she tried to blink it away.
Feathers, so many feathers…
She must be so badly concussed she was seeing far more than double. It looked like the figure sported nearly ten wings, fanning out in large black blurs on either side of the silhouette. She must be dying, her brain must be just pooling blood in her head and she was hallucinating as a result. She tried to laugh weakly, why she didn’t know, it just felt normal at the time for her foggy mind. But all that came out was a weak gurgle as blood poured from her lips.
She shouldn’t have done that. The very slight force of pressure on her head from the attempted chuckle had the black creeping into her eyes, her consciousness slipping away with no hope of holding on. She felt a slight tug at the clip that adorned her cloak.
“Interesting..." the smooth voice of a definite angel of death was the last thing she heard.