The Rising

by L F Seitz

  I held it for a moment, quivering its last pump. I let him see his own heart as he died. He fell limp, his head hung forward. The organ shuddered, glowing red with his essence, his energy, and I knew there was no way I’d leave it intact. I wrapped my fingers around and smashed it. White light exploded from it, blinding me for a moment. Soon after, I was again surrounded by darkness.

  My purple light was dim but wouldn’t fade. Despite it, Asmodeus’s blood was taking effect inside me. I could feel my pulse rising higher still. I need to get out of here. I ran through the brush toward the fence, frantically searching for the hole Micah and I came through. I willed myself back to normal, but the purple glow peaking around my neck and hands wouldn’t subside. I crawled through the fence, cutting my hand severely in the process.

  I threw my hood up and tucked my hands into my pockets as I stood and moved quickly. No alarms were going off, and as far as I could see, no one was around. I just hoped no one saw me. I hoped Micah didn’t see me. Dirt stuck to the blood on my bleeding hand as I tried to stop the bleeding. There was so much blood: old and new, on my jacket, pants, even on my face. I ran as fast as I could, stumbling every few steps. My lungs should have begun to burn but didn’t. Why wasn’t I already back at my apartment door? My purple light was almost extinguished now. I must have used too much of it. I finally turned the corner by my apartment building as my knees buckled, forcing me to the ground hard. As soon as I hit, fluid came up and out of my mouth, dark red as it hit the pavement. Blood.

  Tears came as fear overwhelmed me, they were thick and hot. As I tried to wipe them away I noted how it smeared across my face, I could barely see it in the dim street lights. More blood. Was I crying blood? Asmodeus was going to kill me from beyond the grave, and I didn’t know how to stop it. He said if I fought it, I’d die. That was my only option, the only way to keep Micah safe. Come on Lamia, get up, get up. Somehow, I was on my feet again.

  My body shook compulsively as I gagged on the blood that threatened to come up. I shoved the door open to the building and crawled up the stairs on all fours, coughing up large amounts of blood as I did. Micah wasn’t here, or I would be able to smell him.

  My purple markings were almost gone, and I was weakening. I collapsed inside my apartment as I scrambled in and slammed the door behind me and I leaned against it. How did my life come to this? No matter what I did, Micah would get in, but if I make it hard, hopefully he’d be too late. I shoved the recliner against the apartment door – staggering, as I felt the last of the purple light energy fading. I lifted the couch and pulled it vertical and laid it against the frame of the bathroom door before shutting and locking it.

  I was soaked with sweat as I began to strip out of my blood-stained jacket, sweater, and boots. Leaving me in nothing but my jeans and tank top. My skin was burning, even to me. Like I had walked into a sauna. My knees buckled again, crashing my body to the floor in a heaping, sweaty mess. The purple light was gone. All my muscles felt like Jell-O, and I was alone. My nerves tingled violently as I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything else but Micah. The lust for pleasure and sex hit me like a train. I was a starved demon, released from its cage. I wanted to eat something, anything. The ache for him moved across me, popping and zapping like electric shock: across my breasts, and deep between my thighs. Was this truly how I was to die?

  Wet hair stuck to my neck, dripping with salty sweat as my temperature continued to rise. My arms were covered in red blotches. I was the hottest I had ever felt; I was upon the edge of a raging volcano, slowly being lowered with iron chains, as the fiery winds melted the flesh from my bones. I couldn't take it. I cried out as loud as I could, the burning pushing all sense of hearing from my ears. I wailed in agony and pulled myself toward the tub. Anything to cool the acid in my veins. The room spun as I resisted the urge to breathe, until my body betrayed me and sent me into a fit of gasps. I clenched my fists as I resisted the pain, the urge to rip my own skin apart just to feel something against my palms. I will never stop burning.

  Clutching the side of the tub, I managed to pull myself over the edge, reaching for the faucet. My body throbbed for Micah's touch, every impulse pushed me to seek him out. I turned the handle sharply, all the way to C. Has Asmodeus done this before? I wonder if any humans went through this with Asmodeus’s blood in their system, or if it affected me uniquely. My own unique torture. The angel blood. There is angel blood in me. Maybe that’s why this feels like death by blowtorch. The cold water felt good, though it didn’t lessen the pain. My body was steaming: I was so torrid the water turned into steam as it hit me. Tears swelled. This was how I was going to die: burned alive from the inside out and completely alone.

  I laid with my head against the back edge of the tub, arms folded over myself, pulled in tight: the only position I had strength to get into. The wanting of sex had faded and the desire for Micah’s blood, for his insides, took over my thoughts. I whimpered. Breathing felt like it charred my lungs, and I knew it was because I wanted more than air. Hopefully, it would only be minutes now. Anything to get away from the agony.

  “Lamia?” Micah’s voice echoed from a distance. “Lamia, I’m coming!” My body locked up for a moment, then my hand moved, without warning, as it gripped the side of the tub.

  My blood was fighting me, fighting for a taste of porcelain skin and thick muscle.

  I heard a crashing and a rustling by the bathroom door.

  “Stop,” I wailed, my voice hoarse as my throat threatening to collapse any moment. Every movement felt like I did it across broken glass.

  “Lamia, what’s going on?” His voice only made it worse. My muscles moved, leaning me forward, but I shoved myself back against the wall as I struggled to breath.

  “His blood makes you kill. Don’t come in.” I coughed, gauging on my own words. Blood fell from my mouth as I smacked the back of my head against the tub, crying with the raging pain.

  “Let me help you,” he said. The door handle jiggled. I tried not to look. If he came in and I saw him, it’d be over. I wouldn’t be able to fight it anymore. The handle jiggled again. Fighting my own body was a losing battle. I put my hands over my face while my muscles flexed to pull them away at the same time.

  “I’ll kill you, Micah, please,” I sobbed, my voice thick with gargled. “I don’t want to kill you.” Blood spewed from my mouth again as I coughed it up, gagging on the taste. “Just a little longer, and it’ll be over,” I coughed. “If I don’t give in, I’ll die.”

  The Prince’s blood was taking over my body, and I swear I could hear his heartbeat through the water. Beating so fast. I wanted it, Micah’s lips on mine, his hips against me. His blood in my mouth and his lungs, to relish in the sensation of them on my fingers. No, Lamia, no you don’t. Stop.

  “Son of a bitch,” I cried, the pain of fighting it off raged in my bones. My muscles began cramping and spasming under the icy water. I can do this. I can. Images of licking Micah’s neck and rubbing his blood on my body refused to subside.

  “Lamia, I’m coming in,” Micah yelled through the door. I pushed my hands so hard against my face that I saw bursts of color in the darkness.

  He threw himself against the door, and then there was a loud bang. In that moment, the world stopped, and my bones hummed with his presence. I felt his hands on my hair then before he lifted my body forward and sat behind me, cradling me in his arms. He pulled me into him, and I shook with the urge to feast on his flesh.

  “Lamia, you have to drink my blood,” he said, his voice tense but soft against the shell of my ear.

  I could smell it- sweet, and sharp. My limbs vibrated with the urge to taste it.

  “No, that’s what he wants,” I wept.

  My tears were hot and thick like before. When they met my lips, I could taste it: I was bleeding from my eyes.

  “I can help you, but you have to trust me.” His lips rubbed against my ear as he spoke.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” I whimpered, fai
ling to control my body’s spasms.

  “Mia, I’m here. Trust me,” he begged, a painful urgency apparent in his voice.

  The agony was so immense.

  “OK.” His skin was already to my lips and I could immediately taste the iron. I closed my mouth around the flesh part of his palm and sucked. My body lusted for it. I clutched his arm with an iron grip, holding it to my mouth.

  Micah breathed hard against my ear, his breath hot as I devoured his blood.

  “In nomine Lucifer enim ostendis tu qui ad eum. Ut nepos, adversus se superiorem. Et ignis ardebit quasi infernus animam piam contaminant iterum ad vos mittere. Qui dedit nobis confirmasti tibi finis erit secundum operationem Satanae,” Micah recited the angel incantation.

  Everything flashed white. I arched at the sudden, red-hot pain, the angel burning I felt before, the blood beginning to surface. I screamed. My neck craned against Micah’s shoulder as his arms pressed me to him, holding me down. Heavenly fire seared beneath my rib cage, my veins, in every part of my being, and I knew this was death. I clawed at the middle of my chest, to rip out my heart, to stop this torture, but a hand pulled my palms away and clasped around mine. It burned straight through me to my soul, and then – it stopped.

  My vision darkened, and eventually disappeared, and I felt completely numb, fried past the point of consciousness. My breath was ragged.

  “Lamia?” Micah whispered frantically. I wanted to look at him, to thank him, but it was impossible. I couldn’t move, I could only sink deeper into the dark depths of my mind. I felt Micah’s fingers on my neck, my pulse pounding against the pressure, confirming I was alive. He relaxed then, petting my hair. He rested his head on mine as he exhaled slowly, sounding as exhausted as I felt.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Lamia,” he said softly, his voice strained.

  Seventeen.

  WAKING UP WASN’T THE worst part: it was what came after. I was still damp, and my head was pounding like a war drum.

  “Lamia?” Micah’s voice was quiet as I came around to where I was. My whole body ached and throbbed. Slowly, I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it: the sun was too bright.

  “Uhhh,” I groaned. My throat felt like I’d swallowed razors.

  “I have soup on the counter, if you want some,” Micah offered. I could smell it: classic chicken noodle.

  My mouth was dry as I squinted, taking in my surroundings: getting my bearings before moving. Everything was blurred and bright, which didn’t help the nagging pain in my head. A dull throbbing went from the back of my skull and wrapped around to the front with every pulse.

  “Why –” My voice caught, and I coughed. “I’m still wet.”

  Micah tapped my foot. I looked up to see him standing at the end of the couch. I moved my feet, and he sat. “Because I was planning on changing all your clothes, but I figured you be angrier if I saw you naked.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  Well, he was right; I was grateful he hadn’t changed me completely. Though the thought of him taking wet clothes off my unconscious body was torture enough. Not that I was particularly ashamed of my body, but I had parts I was self-conscious of. My muffin top was a big one.

  “Thank you,” I croaked. “How long have I been out?”

  “About thirteen hours. It’s almost noon now.”

  “What day is it?” I asked.

  “Friday the 28th. Why?”

  November 28th. I was turning 19 today. It had been years since the last time I celebrated a birthday. I wasn’t going to start again, either.

  “No reason.” I turned my body and tried to sit up. My arms shook as I tried using them. Micah’s hand was on my shoulder, ready to help. The headache continued to pound away at base of my skull. “Why do I feel so horrible?”

  “Your nuclear power plant had a meltdown, and without my help, you would have died,” he said lightly.

  “Can you do me a favor?” I whispered, trying to block out the sun. “Please heal my brain of this raging headache before I pass out from the pain.”

  Micah put his fingers to my temple, and a moment later, the throb was gone. Though the rest of my aches and pains remained. My mouth was still extremely dry.

  “Thank you,” I said, sighing. I could finally see him now – his figure, at least. Slowly I adjusted to the light.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, leaned back and rested his head against the couch.

  “No, for last night, too,” I said. “I wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t come to my apartment.” My vision cleared as focused on his face. His gaze found mine.

  “You’re thanking me for putting you in that mess, but Lamia, you almost died. I feel like shit for what happened to you,” Micah huffed as he slouched. I’d never seen Micah look so guilty before. His face was sallow and dull as he rubbed his forehead, smoothing the lines in it. I should want him upset, filled with regret, to know what he did was wrong. What he forced me to do, to go in there with Asmodeus, was beyond anything any reasonable person would have asked. And to be forced to do it alone ... I should hate him. As I Regarded him now, the way his half-lidded eyes strained to remain open after being up all night caring for me, and the heaviness in his movements from prolonged sleeplessness – he really did think things would be simple.

  He got tunnel vision with the information and disregarded everything else. Like me, being brand new to all of this and asking me to speak to a Prince of Hell. Or the fact that just walking in and talking to him was a complete crapshoot. It was arrogant of him to think so, and really naive, but it was obvious he regretted it. The strain in Micah’s features made me realize we all make mistakes when we’re focused on things we want and I wasn't any better than him when I wanted something. My past was full of many failures, some as dangerous as this was.

  I shrugged. “I’m alive, and that’s all that matters.” I wanted to move away from this subject – literally – so I tried to get up. My legs felt like they had just been reattached. I empathized with Frankenstein’s monster. No wonder he walked like that.

  “Lamia, you’re irritating me by trying to do stuff on your own. Just tell me what you need.” He stood by my side, grabbing my arm to steady me. I straightened my legs and shooed off his hand. He reluctantly let go, and I wobbled to the coffeemaker, where half a pot was waiting for me.

  “Do the Nephilim suspect anything?”

  “They think one of his own followers, possibly another demon, came and staged his escape, leaving the body as a taunt,” he said.

  "They don't think he's dead?" I asked.

  Micah shook his head. "Until today I too thought that Princes couldn't be kill without advanced weaponry. To even get close enough to use it was next to impossible. The council doesn't know what we did, so yes, they currently believe he vacated his body and slipped into another before mutilating it and leaving it for us to find."

  I chuckled then coughed. I could see Micah watching me as I shuffled around the apartment, pouring myself coffee before I headed to my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and hobbled slowly, cautiously, as I changed into dry clothes. Once done, I noted the cats on my pillow, cuddled up with one another.

  “You two deserve better,” I whispered as I petted them before stepping back into the living room.

  Micah had picked up the towels he had laid under me to keep the couch from getting wet. I sat with a sigh and relaxed my muscles. I felt like I had hollow bones. This is how it is to be elderly. No wonder they were so grumpy.

  “They don’t suspect you had anything to do with it?” I asked. I settled my warm mug into my lap between my brittle hands.

  “No, I did have some demon dogs waiting at an abandoned house, so they thought I really was in trouble.” Micah studied me, analyzing my face. What was he looking for? “H-how did you do that Lamia? How did you yank out his heart?” Shock filled his voice as he stared at me. I focused on my mug, and watched the steam roll off the black liquid as I let the sound of his words sink in.
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br />   “I tried to pretend I was one of Orias’s associates, but he knew I was lying. He knew my name, Micah.” I pursed my lips as the fear of it all threatened to silence me. “I resorted to asking him about The Rising, and he laughed in my face. It ... didn’t go well after that.”

  Little relief came in describing the encounter, since I couldn’t tell Micah everything. Telling him that the Prince knew who I was because he knew my father sounded like a death sentence. My father might be powerful, and he might be watching. Besides, it would make me appear even guiltier to him, to the Nephilim, and who knew what they’d do to me with that kind of information. I may be more than just a Cambion, but that’s all they’d see me as. In the end I told him I used my demonic blood in a freak adrenaline rush to stop his heart, that being new I didn't realize how strong I was and it just happened. I didn't like lying like this.

  “I’ve never seen anyone do something like that,” Micah mumbled as he shook his head.

  I couldn’t look at him, out of fear of what I might see. That I might hate it. What if he thought of me as a monster now? “I did things I’m not proud of, Micah. Please don’t make me explain it.” I stared at my reflection in my coffee mug.

  “What did he do to provoke you? I can see being angry, but the ability to do that is ... impossible,” he said uneasily.

  “He threatened you, personally. I don’t know how he knew you.” I paused. “He threatened the Nephilim, said they’d burn. I couldn’t let it stand.”