Rebellion (8 page)

The grotesque beast moved around me in a circular motion. There was a red light shining from the tip of its tail. Like a snake, it positioned its body for an attack.

Without any sudden moves I gazed at the creature with my sword in hand. Three uneven horns protruded out of its nostrils; its gills were colored with a green pigment that glistened in the dark. The smoke cloud grew thicker, making it difficult to breathe. I had to leave this place if I wanted to find the others.

The moment my feet left the ground, the creature snapped, hissing as it tried to sink its teeth into my flesh. I managed to wound its body, slashing its neck with my sword as I turned from its violent attack. It let out a deafening screech, recoiling to the ground. Darkness once again hovered as the light on its tail went out.

My body trembled as I continued to soar into the nothingness, unaware of how far I was from the roof of the cave. The creature’s roars bellowed once more. I looked beneath me and saw nothing but darkness, which was soon broken by a pair of green eyes that approached me at a rapid speed.

I quickly swayed to my left, trying to avoid the creature’s attack. Light once again shone from its tail. The beast reared upon the anterior portion of its scale-covered body as it extended its long neck. Its bright teeth glistened as it opened its mouth, trying once again to wound me. I dodged its attacks; its eerie screeches pierced my ears.

Every time the creature tried to wound me, it would strike its head against the walls of the tunnel, causing rocks and boulders to fall.

To my relief, I caught sight of the roof of the cave above me. Despite the falling rocks, I was able to reach it. Of course, the question now was how to escape this place.

The creature let out a loud groan as it returned to the bottom of the cave, the light on its tail dimming out and sinking into the darkness.

My breathing was now the only sound I could hear. I struggled to keep myself from giving in to despair. I felt the razor-sharp rocks touch the palms of my hands as they trailed the cold roof of the cave, trying to find an escape.

A loud roar resounded as a bright scarlet light flashed throughout the place. I was quick to see that the creature had ascended from the lagoon, its body positioned for a final strike. I plunged down, causing the creature to strike its odd-looking skull against the roof of the cave. In an instant, rocks rained down, creating a massive crater above me and revealing the white landscape. Flurries of snow made their way inside the cave.

With painful groans, the creature recoiled back to the bottom of the cave, slithering its way into the cold waters of the lagoon.

With all the strength I could muster, I made my way out. The frigid wind brushed on my face as I ascended toward the gray skies. In haste, I surveyed the landscape, trying to find the well that had led us to the cave, but it was nowhere in sight. I struggled to fly through the snowstorm, but my eyes failed to see through the thick curtain of white. I used the back of my hand to wipe the blood that oozed from the wound on my forehead.

The sounds of drums echoed in the air once more. I wondered where they were coming from. They seemed to be all around me, but I could not be sure of their exact location.

It was at this moment that my mind recalled the Wastelands of Tristar, the red sand of the deserted landscape, the scarlet sky painted with silver stars—the emptiness of not knowing whether I would ever leave that place. I recalled the foul shadowed creatures that tortured me as I strolled around the lonely hills.

I have not returned to die here,
I thought, filling my mind with memories that brought me strength. I remembered the Creator; Raziel informing me that Death had been conquered; Demetre being brought back to life along with me; the men of Aloisio that had aided us in the Battle of Justicia.

No matter how intensely Lucifer’s army plotted against me, I knew it was my duty to overcome all their evil schemes.

With a great struggle, I landed in front of the old door of the castle. As my legs sank deep into the soft snow, I stood still for a couple of seconds in an attempt to regain some of my strength. Flying still took its toll on my human body. I felt the stinging pain coming from my hands and my head; my wounds dripped with blood.

The high towers of the castle were hidden by the storm. My wings retracted under my skin as I opened the door.

Once inside, I discovered that the torches that had been scattered with great precision throughout the hall no longer burned; an eerie silence lingered in the air. My eyes absorbed the sight of the countless bodies of Bellatorian soldiers scattered on the floor like mere objects. Blood flowed from their wounds; their golden suits of armor were reduced to shards. Human limbs hung from the chandeliers.

Anger stirred within me. I made my way among the bodies, trying my best not to touch them. The canvases lay broken, their pieces spread across the somber hall. I felt as though the sub-zero breeze that blew through the cracks in the windows could touch my bones.

There was fear in me that the worst had happened to my companions. I struggled to make my way up the staircase once I saw all the decapitated corpses piled on top of each other. I tried to capture the last image these men had seen before they died, but none appeared in my mind. I sighed in frustration as a feeling of impotence tried to find its way inside of me. With every step I took, the soles of my boots touched the blood that covered the ground like a long scarlet rug.

The hall that led to the throne room sat in darkness. Flags with the emblem of the white dragon lay on the floor, torn and smeared with blood.

Ahead of me, amidst the destruction, was a man resting on a chair. He had his head bowed. In his hands, he held the head of a soldier; the skin around the soldier’s neck had been ripped from his body. The remnants of his victim lay against the man’s left leg.

“Who are you?” Rage flowed with my words as I marched to him.

The man shot me a surprised, cold stare, but he seemed unbothered by my presence as he let out a soft chuckle.

“What do we have here?” There was a snide tone to his words. The pale man dropped his victim’s head on the floor. My eyes analyzed his flaming red hair, and green irises that seemed to have been painted on his face. His thin lips pursed into a cunning smile, revealing a set of fangs.

“Pardon my appearance, young one. I had to feed,” he said, using his tongue to wipe the blood that was smeared across his chin. His ragged brown coat was punctured with holes, and his white shirt was also covered in bloodstains.

I scowled at him, confused.

“Who might you be?” I watched him with attentive eyes.

The man cackled. “My name is Dahmian, servant of Bartholomew, King of Madbouseux.”

“Then you serve a dead king, Dahmian.” With caution, I stepped my way to him. “We all know that the inhabitants of that kingdom vanished thousands of years ago.”

Dahmian bit the right side of his bottom lip, taking two short steps in my direction.

“There are always three sides to a story, boy: my version, your version, and the truth. If only our disappearance could be so simply explained.” His right eyebrow rose up to hide under his flaming hair. “We did not just simply vanish into thin air. We became…special.” His tongue caressed his fangs.

I recalled King Demyon’s account of the blood-drinkers. Could it be that Dahmian alone had killed all these men?

“I assume you are responsible for this doing?” My gaze was fixed on the body that lay next to him.

“We all need to eat, young boy.” He knelt next to the headless man; his fingers trailed the blood that poured from the body’s wounds. “I must confess that I cannot wait to taste royal blood.” A cunning smile appeared on his face.

With sword in hand, I moved in his direction. My wings once again appeared despite of my body’s exhaustion. I swung my blade, certain that it would wound his pale skin, but I was caught by surprise when I felt my sword burn the palm of my hand.

I released it from my grasp, staring at him in disbelief.

“What is your name?” He clasped my face with his right hand. “You are surely not ordinary.”

I pierced his eyes with mine.

“No matter.” He tightened his grasp and then released me. “You will answer me soon enough.” He let out a menacing laugh, turning his back to me and facing the wall behind him.

“Now, where is that old man?” Dahmian strolled around the empty hall, humming a disturbing melody.

“What are you doing?” My eyes followed him. Dahmian approached an iron chest that sat near the fireplace.

“Are you in there, my friend?” He kicked the chest three times. “It is time to get out.”

His olive eyes looked over his shoulder. “I must speak to the king. We have urgent matters to discuss.” His lips pursed into a thin smile.

He bent down, opening the two locks on the iron chest. There was a muffled male voice behind the creaking sound.

It was one of the Wise. His clothes were smothered in blood; his eyes and mouth were covered with black rags and his garments had been ripped around his shoulders and waist.

With bare feet, the man crawled out of the chest. I looked for the markings on his skin, but there were none. His hands trembled as he got on his knees.

“You know how to get us to the throne room, don’t you, old man?” Dahmian grabbed the nape of his neck, tightening his grasp as he led him near the wall. “Work your magic and get us to the other side…please.”

For a second, Dahmian had his back to me; his full attention was focused on the wall. Without much thought, I risked another attack. I swung my sword, aiming for his right thigh. At full speed, the blade penetrated his skin. A loud scream came forth.

I waited for Dahmian to strike back. To my surprise, he led his right hand to his thigh and covered the wound.

“You still do not understand.” His eyebrows pressed together. “We cannot be defeated, boy.”

He grabbed the man’s head and cocked it to his right.

“You brought this upon him.”

I heard the painful groans as Dahmian sank his teeth into the left side of the man’s neck. With trembling hands, he tried to push himself away from Dahmian’s grasp.

A tingle of fear rushed down my spine as I contemplated the wound on Dahmian’s right leg, which was now closing up. The bleeding had ceased.

“I won’t kill you…yet.” Dahmian’s lips and chin were smeared with blood. “Now, show us the way.”

“You need to uncover his mouth.” I recalled the way the other Wise men had opened the wall earlier. With a fallen countenance, the man nodded his head in agreement with my statement.

Dahmian narrowed his eyes, scowling at me.

“Do you lie, boy?” His eyebrows rose. “If you are lying,” he pointed his finger at the man, “this old rag will die a very painful death.”

“I am not lying.” I tightened my hands, bearing my eyes into his.

He removed the rag that covered the man’s mouth. I expected him to shout, but no sound came from him.

“What is your name?” Dahmian knelt beside him.

The man lifted his tired eyes, clearing his throat.

“Othaleeon.”

Dahmian slapped the right side of the man’s head. “Do not keep me waiting, Othaleeon.”

“I was entrusted…to keep the secrets of Bellator safe. Do…not expect me to simply open the—”

Dahmian’s right fist collided with the man’s face, opening a wound on his cheek.

“Do you take me for a fool? Show me the way.”

Othaleeon bowed his head.

“Let him kill me.”
I was startled by a strong voice that echoed inside my head.
“Let him take my life away. Do not fight back.”

My eyes turned to Othaleeon. His tongue trailed across his bleeding lips as he looked at the wall.

“I may be of old age, but knowledge is one of my weapons, and I am afraid I cannot show you the way into the throne room.” He pressed his eyelids together, expecting Dahmian to strike him again.

“You—”

“This is no time for games, Dahmian.” A loud voice boomed behind me. I looked over my shoulder, finding a man of high stature standing next to a blond woman. “If we do not enter the throne room soon, our attack will be delayed. Why have you not fulfilled the task I entrusted you with?” The man marched in our direction. His tattered brown coat covered his body down to his knees.

“Who might you be?” He scratched his chin, looking at me as if I was an insect.

“That is none of your concern,” I replied, reaching for my sword, which was lying on the ground.

The man scoffed and continued making his way to Dahmian. His dark hair was tied back; his crimson eyes shimmered in the dark. The woman made no effort to move from her place; as still as a statue, she watched us with her hazel eyes.

Dahmian pointed at the despondent man. “The old man is the only one that can show us the way in, Bartholomew.”

Bartholomew? The King of Madbouseux? Had he returned from his grave as a red-eyed killer?

“Dahmian, how loyal are you?” Bartholomew placed his finger under Dahmian’s chin, lifting his head.

His green eyes widened. “I followed you in your rebellion against the Creator and Elysium when you sold your soul to Lucifer. We rode together to war and to our grave, and never was I disloyal to you.”