by K T Kaye
The corridor was not helping my anxiety. I was already in a terrible state and the corridor was just making it worse. Before leaving the base, Rowan had given me medication that was supposed to help me keep calm, however it wasn’t working. I was anything but calm! I was stressed and anxious and terrified and…I couldn’t even list all the things I was feeling I was so worked up! I was about to watch someone get executed…executed! I felt faint. From out of nowhere, Araminta appeared by my side. She gently helped me walked down the rest of the corridor. When we finally reach the end of, what I had thought was an endless, corridor we were greeted by a nun and a large wooden door.
“IDs please,” the Nun said. We all quickly pulled out our Lightning Squad ID badges. Once the Nun had checked our IDs, she opened the door and led us out into the bright morning sunlight. We were led into a garden. There were flowers growing and birds singing. It would have been picturesque, if there hadn’t been a huge execution stage in the middle of it. I turned my eyes away from the stage. I couldn’t look at it. I knew full well that if I did, I would have thrown up. I kept my eyes firmly faced down as Araminta guided me through the crowd of people.
Around the stage was coliseum styled seating. Rows upon rows of seats led up to a golden box, in which sat the Emperor. The seating was only on one side of the execution stage, on the other side stood the execution house. The Nun led us to our seats, were we sat nervously. The seats were made of stone. I felt as though I had been transported back in time to the Roman era and was awaiting a gladiator fight. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all. I kept staring down at the ground. I was vaguely aware of the fact that people were staring and pointing in my direction. This was the first time the “legendary” Master of Darkness had been seen in public, so apparently people were very excited to see me. I, however, was not excited to see them. In fact I didn’t see them as I never raised my head.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to see this.
Those two sentences kept rattling around my head.
I couldn’t watch this.
I didn’t want to watch this.
I didn’t want to be there.
No matter what Paris had done, I couldn’t watch him get executed. I felt sick. I could feel the panic rise up from my stomach. It banged on my chest so hard that I felt as though my heart was going to explode. I couldn’t breathe. I felt dizzy. The world seemed to spin around me. I could hear people talking but I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. This was too much. This was wrong!
I needed to escape.
I needed to get out.
I couldn’t do this.
I didn’t want to do this.
“When the Emperor starts speaking,” Araminta muttered, “Everyone will stand up, that’s when I’ll grab you and race you over to that door over there. That door will take you out of here. Just head to the little blue room which is at the end of the corridor we’ve just come through. Once this is over Angel will meet you there. This is her plan. She doesn’t want you to see this. She doesn’t want any of us to see this.”
Panic had gripped my tongue, so I simply nodded. I was extremely grateful that Angel had created an escape plan for me, but I couldn’t express it. I couldn’t even process it properly. I just knew that I wanted to escape. That I needed to escape.
“Good. Damn!” Araminta cursed as a group of people carrying pens and notepads took their seats, “The press is here. Fantastic…”
The gathering fell silent as a drumbeat sounded across the gardens.
The execution was about to begin.
22
‘The End of Paris Surf’
“Perhaps you would like to pray before we go on,” Father Paul suggested to Angel. The priest and Sister Odetta had led the shapeshifter down a long dark corridor and were now stood in front of a small wooden door.
“I’m not religious,” Angel snapped, sounding harsher than she meant to.
“Fair enough but I would suggest that confession may be helpful.”
“I don’t need confession. I just need to make a phone call. It will only take a minute.”
“We’ll leave you to it,” Sister Odetta led the Priest away, leaving Angel alone. She pulled out her phone and called David, but her call went straight to voicemail.
“It’s Angel again. I tried calling you last night, but you didn’t pick up, and you’re still not picking up. Pops, I’m about to become an executioner, a murderer. Pops, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know…the Emperor has ordered this so I can’t refuse. But I don’t want to do it! I don’t want…Pops what do I do!?” Angel exclaimed on the brink of tears.
“Captain Night,” someone called.
“Shi…I’m going to have to go and kill…when you get this the execution will probably be over, even if that’s the case can you still call me back. Please.” With that Angel hung up the phone.
She leant her head against the wall. What was she going to do? How could she escape? The answer Angel knew too well. She couldn’t. To defy the Emperor’s order would be treason. To be accused of treason would lead to both herself and her family being investigated and, should anything the Emperor considered treasonous be found, all executed. And Danny hadn’t been wrong, while the Emperor and David Night were friends, they were also in a bitter competition for the public’s affection. Over the last hundred years, David had become a respected and beloved public figure, more so then the Emperor. There were even rumours, whispered in the shadows of the taverns, that David wanted the throne. While Angel knew this wasn’t true, she was also highly aware that her refusal could cause a political dispute between the Emperor and her father…one that could end in bloodshed.
Perhaps that’s why the Emperor ordered it, the thought plagued the back of Angel’s mind, perhaps the Emperor wanted to test her, and the pack’s, loyalty.
Angel knew that there was no way of getting out of it, but still she tried to think of an escape plan. She had been thinking about it all night yet couldn’t find an answer. She had screamed, she had cried, she had thrown up, she had got angry but still no answer had revealed itself. Angel sighed, tapping her head against the wall. She was going to have to kill him. Angel felt sick. She went over to a bin, retched but didn’t throw up. She had nothing left in her stomach.
Angel had killed before but killing a person in a battle or fight was different to executing them. Not only that, but this wasn’t some evil monster, this was Paris. He had been a member of her squad, a friend, family. To Angel, Lightning Squad was a family. A big, messed up, family. And now she was about to kill one of its members.
“Captain Night,” Sister Odetta called, “I’m afraid it’s time, please come with me.” Sister Odetta led a reluctant Angel into a small room. The room was brightly lit and was filled with weapons. Sat on a bench by a window was a short man with a black beard and a bottle of beer in his hand. His eyes were blood shot and Angel could tell that the bottle in his hand wasn’t the first drink he had had that morning.
“Captain Night this is Derek Clarkson, he’s the head executioner. He’ll show you what to do,” Sister Odetta introduced.
“So this is the Captain then, I was expecting you to be a guy, not a little girly!”
“And I was expecting you to be sober,” Angel snapped, “Seems we’re both disappointed.” Derek got to his wobbling feet, he walked over to a box in the corner of the room and pulled out a thin fencing sword. He handed it to Angel and pointed to a model of a person that was stood in the opposite corner of the room.
“I take it you know how to hold a sword girly,” Derek spluttered.
“No I became Captain by creating daisy chains and playing hopscotch,” Angel hissed sarcastically, she took the sword from Derek and flicked it gently bringing it to a stop by his neck, “Happy?”
“You mock me but when you kill him, you’ll understand exactly how this feels! This is a show to them! We are entertainers!”
“Derek!” the nun interrupted.
“Just run it through,” Derek muttered before collapsing in a heap on the bench. Angel raised her sword and quickly brought it down, slicing across the model’s chest.
“Hey, look at that, the girly is a natural! A natural kill…”
“That’s enough!” Sister Odetta snapped, “Captain Night will you please follow me, it’s time.”
“Go and put on a good show, the Emperor is watching after all!” Derek spat.
Sister Odetta led Angel out of the room and into a pale corridor where they were joined by Father Paul. He led them down a flight of steps and to a door, in front of which were two armed guards. Angel showed them her ID and they let her pass. The shapeshifter was greeted by another flight of stairs before she found herself in the cells. It was dark and a freezing chill ran through the air. Angel’s footsteps echoed as she walked through the rows of damp musty cells. The smell was disgusting but not as horrifying as the smell in the base’s cells (it lacked the putrid odour of rotting zombie flesh). Lit only by candlelight, it was difficult for Angel to tell where the cells began, and the shadows ended.
“Those,” Father Paul pointed to a row of cells to Angel’s left, “Are prisoners waiting to go on trial. The ones to your right are the prisoners waiting to be executed.”
Angel looked at the prisoners waiting to be executed. There were a lot of them, each as beaten and bruised as the next. They ran up to the bars of their cells as Angel approached, reaching out their thin arms, they tried to grab her. They screamed at her, some screamed abuse while others begged her to save them. Angel shut out their cries, continuously reminding herself that they were criminals who had committed serious crimes and followed the priest to Paris’ cell.
Paris was sat on the floor, his eyes staring at the candle that hung on the wall opposite. His body was bruised and his face haggard. He no longer looked like the carefree playful young man Angel once knew. Paris looked up as she arrived, a sinister smile illuminating his face.
“Are you here to kill me?” Paris asked, his voice was emotionless.
“Yeah wasn’t exactly how I had pictured my morning either,” Angel replied.
“Paris Surf,” Father Paul said solemnly, “Before your sentence is passed is there anything you wish to confess?”
“Do you really have the guts to kill me?” Paris got to his feet and walked over to the bars. His face was only centimetres away from Angel’s, “If you do, you’ll never find out who your parents are, where you came from…or the identity of the witch who’s haunting you.”
“Who is she? Did you let her onto the base? Is she working with Mr Jet?”
“Help me escape and I’ll tell you.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Then you’ll never know.”
“No I will. I just won’t find out from you.”
“Paris Surf before your sentence is passed is there anything you wish to confess?” Father Paul repeated.
“Confess!” Paris laughed, “Yes I confess that I’m rather looking forward to seeing your demise, Angel Night.”
“You should be thinking about your own demise, not mine.”
“Oh Angel, you’ll soon come to realise that in this world death is only the beginning.”
“What does…” Angel’s question was interrupted by the sound of drums. The noise sent the prisoners crawling back in fear. This was the sound of the execution march. This was the soundtrack to Paris’ death. Two guards unlocked Paris’ cell while the Nun and the Priest dropped to their knees and began to pray. The guards grabbed Paris’ shoulders and pushed him forwards. Angel followed. They made their way up the large staircase, into the blinding sunlight that engulfed the execution platform. Angel couldn’t bring herself to look at the crowd. She didn’t want to see how many citizens had shown up to enjoy such a horrific form of entertainment. Angel could feel her stomach turn. Vomit tickled her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Angel’s eyes remained fixed on her boots as Paris was strapped to a wooden board and a sword was placed in her hand.
The Emperor and the crowd stood up as the execution march ended. Out of the corner of her eye, Angel noticed someone slip out of the crowd and disappear out of the execution garden. How Angel wished she could have done the same. The crowd sat down as the Emperor raised his hand.
“This man is guilty of terrorism, demon worshipping and attempted murder,” the Emperor’s powerful voice echoed around the execution gardens, “After hundreds of years of war, the paranormal empire is finally at peace. This man and the terrorist known as Mr Jet wish to destroy this peace. Demons have no place in this empire! Let today stand as a warning, anyone who threatens the peace of the empire will be annihilated. Proceed!”
Damn, why was his speech so short!? Angel thought.
Her hands were shaking as she raised the sword. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and swiftly ran Paris through. Angel dropped the sword. The blood on the blade splattered onto Angel’s boots as the sword clattered to the ground. Angel opened her eyes. Paris stared at her and smiled.
“This is not the end,” Paris hissed, “This is not the end Angel Night. We shall be seeing each other again soon. Just you wait. Oh and look the next player in this game has arrived.”
Paris coughed up blood and his head flopped forwards.
And that was the end of Paris Surf.
“The next player,” Angel muttered, she followed Paris’ gaze. His cold dead eyes were staring out into the crowd. Staring at one member of the crowd in particular.
“Mr Jet!” Angel yelled.
Mr Jet smiled, got to his feet, and zoomed out of the crowd. Angel transformed into a vampire and chased after him. Angel followed Mr Jet out of the execution gardens into a courtyard, where the vampire stood waiting. The courtyard was small; there was a water fountain in the middle which took up most of the space and a cherry blossom tree grew peacefully next to it. There were three exits, Angel quickly noted, one was the way they had come, the other led to the main road and the other led into the execution house. Angel pulled out her gun and aimed at Mr Jet. She approached him carefully, not daring to get close.
“It’s lovely to see you again Samantha,” Mr Jet smiled.
Angel pulled the trigger, the wooden bullet flew straight through the air and hit Mr Jet right above the heart. The vampire steamed as the wood cut into his skin. Mr Jet grunted, pulling the bullet out of his body, and throwing it to the ground.
“It seems the time for pleasantries has passed,” Mr Jet said with a light and playful air, “What a shame, I do enjoy our little chats.”
“Yeah, well I don’t,” Angel shot Mr Jet again but this time he held up his hand. The bullet froze mid-air, it then turned around and aimed for Angel. She ducked as the bullet hit the tree behind her. She went to fire again, but, with a flick of Mr Jet’s wrist, her gun flew from her hands. Mr Jet clicked his fingers and the roots from a nearby tree shot into the air and wrapped around Angel’s body.
“How did you do that!? Vampires can’t have magic!” Angel exclaimed as she struggled against the tree roots.
Mr Jet simply smiled, “They’re all lying to you Samantha. The Colonel, the Emperor, your father. They’re all lying to you. Ask them. Ask them the identity of the witch who haunts you. For they all know.”
“So do you it seems. Does she work for you?”
“Something like that. But that isn’t really the point, is it Samantha? The point is your leader, your commander, your family and even your vampire lover…”
“Who?” Angel asked genuinely confused.
“Alexander!”
“Oh. Just say that then! He’s not my lover. Hang on, why am I explaining this to you?”
“The point is,” Mr Jet snapped, “They’re all lying to you, so that they can use you. They all…”
“No the point is,” Angel interrupted, “The only reason I let you keep talking, was so that you’d be distracted long enough for me to break free of these tree roots.”
With t
hat Angel escaped the tree roots, transforming into a large white dragon as she did so. The dragon spat fire at Mr Jet, causing the vampire to be trapped in a circle of flames. The dragon dived down, transforming into a white lioness as it hit the ground. The lioness pounced forwards but before it could devour the vampire, Mr Jet threw a glowing orange object in its direction. The object hit the lioness’ forehead, the creature stumbled to the ground and was forced to transform back into Angel.
“Nice trick,” Angel muttered as she spat out blood, “But what are you going to do now? You’re stuck, unless you want to burn.”
Mr Jet smiled. He jumped through the flames and then rolled across the water fountain he had landed in, dousing down the fire.
“I did not think of that,” Angel muttered before she got to her feet and followed Mr Jet through the flames and into the fountain. Mr Jet grabbed hold of Angel and pushed her under the water. Angel pulled out her knife and sliced wildly at Mr Jet’s legs. The vampire stumbled backwards. Angel transformed into water and swam up behind Mr Jet. She then transformed back into herself and stabbed the vampire’s back. Mr Jet hissed, swinging round, cutting Angel with his sharp vampire nails. Angel went to punch Mr Jet, but her fist was caught by the vampire. His hand glowed orange and Angel began to feel a violent pain spread through her hand. Angel tried to shapeshift into a stronger creature however she found, to her utter horror, that she was unable to. Mr Jet smiled as he tightened his grip, crushing the bones in Angel’s hand.
Angel yelled out in agony.
Her cry was so powerful that it lifted the water from the fountain into the air. The water slammed into Mr Jet, pushing him backwards off the fountain and onto the cobbled ground. The vampire hit the ground heavily. Angel raised her unbroken hand and the flames, that had once circled the vampire, attacked Mr Jet. He raised his arms and a forcefield grew up around him, protecting him from the blaze.