“You’re training me…to kill you?”
“I am.”
“But that makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it? We oppose the Paragon and his order. But we do not engage them in warfare. Long ago, there was a great war between The Dark Angel’s army of undead and the Paragon’s Luxian Order. That conflict nearly tore Azulia asunder. We maintain the balance and bide our time, waiting for the opportunity to take their Caelum without the dangers of open war. Only the strongest Dark Angel of all time can see this grand dream realized. I have come to know that I am not the one who will lead us to our destiny. But…it could be you. Or…your future apprentice. This is how we ensure that with every new generation, The Dark Angel becomes stronger.”
Alnora’s mind was reeling with this information. Her palms were sweating; her heart was racing within her chest. Could she be the one? The Dark Angel who would take Caelum from the Paragon? Who would shift the balance of Azulia itself to the dark? She imagined the world that spat upon her, covered in never-ending shadows. The Dark Angel’s undead horde at her command, tearing through those who sought her undoing. She would reign over them for eternity…after she killed her master.
“So, Alnora of the Night, from the streets of Caelum, is it your will to join with my line? Will you learn at my feet? Will you kill me on the day you surpass me? Will you become the strongest Dark Angel our order has ever known?”
Her answer came with no hesitation.
“Yes, Master,” she said, bowing her head. “I will learn all that you have to teach…before I kill you.”
Chapter Three
Citizens of Caelum shivered as the howling winter wind shredded through their thin, simple garments. The chill did not disturb Alnora of the Night. In fact, she relished it. The nineteen-year-old beauty allowed the biting frost of the breeze to pass through her, the churning magic running through her body, making her immune to such trivial human matters.
She watched the shuddering populace with a slight curl of her lip. Eight years had done little to quell her rage. In fact, the inferno of her emotions had only grown more potent as time passed by. But her master’s tutelage had helped her hone these base feelings into a powerful weapon. No longer did her emotional state define her. She was the master of her own mind and heart.
The journey into the grand city of light had been her first journey outside of The Dark Angel’s palace since her tutelage began eleven years prior. Being here in this place was testing the true nature of her newfound control. This place, these streets…the worst atrocities of her life had occurred here. One in particular. That was the wrong she had been sent to right.
Alnora clenched one hand, feeling the cool bands of the rings that adorned each finger, pressing into the flesh of her palm. Some were red, others blue or yellow or purple. They sparkled in the daylight, never growing dull, never scratching. But these were far from simple jewelry. The rings were forged from crystals and served as talismans to her power. Her master had said these specific gemstones had once adorned the shell of a giant ocean-dwelling crustacean, long since extinct. The archaic beast was naturally strong with magical energy, and these shards of its body helped to focus the wild mysticism her emotions drew forth. The rings were not the only focusing talismans she wore.
Around Alnora’s neck hung a silver locket in which lay a tuft of a giant’s hair. Around her wrists sat two translucent bracelets made from the wings of faeries. The talismans all worked in tandem to harness her natural power and give it tangible life. As her anger bubbled up from her troubled heart, Alnora felt a simmering pulsation vibrate the talismans as one.
Soon, my pretty baubles, she thought. Soon.
As the useless pedestrians fumbled around her, Alnora attempted to focus her disgust if only to distract from the rage and dread filling her body. These humans were so pathetic, so small, so helpless. She classified them by race, as she no longer truly felt as though she were one of them. She had evolved throughout the course of her apprenticeship. She was more than just a human. She was destined for immortality. She was the one who would topple the Paragon and his useless followers. Alnora was certain of it.
And when I do, this will all belong to me.
Her master had crafted her into a powerful weapon. He held nothing back in her training even though he was instructing his own murderer. Alnora often found the concept odd. How could her almighty master accept that he was not meant to rule? That he was not the one who would crush the Paragon and fulfill the destiny of the line of Dark Angels? How could someone be content to be a mere footnote in history? It soured her perception of the imposing sorcerer. Over the years, she began to see her master as pathetic, as a weak stepping stone. These rebellious thoughts never once stirred the collar that still remained latched around her throat.
He wants me to have these thoughts. He wants me to kill him when the time is right. It’s pathetic.
Alnora stepped out into the street, and no one paid the slightest mind to the striking young woman in a floor-length, black and purple-trimmed hooded cloak, the spell she had cast upon her arrival in Caelum many days prior working perfectly. Although it would not make her invisible, it would subtly alter the perceptions of those she passed. While they might understand that another person was walking by them, the spell clouded their minds, and they never gave her a second glance. Alnora loved this particular hex and was pleased to finally have simplistic human minds to try it on. She got an otherworldly thrill out of knowing that these people moved on in blissful ignorance, never knowing that the one whom they would one day bow before was casually striding past them, utterly unnoticed.
A glint of passing armor shook Alnora from her pleasurable musings. Her purpose seeped back into the forefront of her mind. The apprentice sorceress was not in Caelum to test out casual cloaking spells. Her master had given her a mission. One that would be vital to the development of her power.
“Return to the streets from whence I found you.” She could still hear her master’s words echo through the theater of her memory.
“Have I displeased you, Master?” she had replied dutifully, her face not registering the levels of panic she was feeling at his command.
“Do I now have to explain my commands to you, apprentice?”
His question stung her pride. She hated when he would berate her for some breach in their unspoken protocols. He was never to be questioned. Not ever.
“Of course not, my master. I was simply…” She scoured her mind for some appropriate excuse.
“Being brash and rebellious. Perhaps you believe yourself my superior now? Perhaps you wish to challenge me for the mantle.” Purple jolts of electric hate crackled around The Dark Angel’s fingers, and Alnora quickly bowed her head subserviently.
“Of course not, Master. I was simply taken aback. I have not left the palace these many years.”
“The time has come to take your training to the next level, my apprentice.” Alnora’s curiosity burned at this statement. “I plucked you from a life of poverty, shame, and petty thievery, into a grand destiny that is yours for the taking.” She knew this, of course, and had heard it many times. It was the closest thing she ever had to a bedtime story as a child. “But while I have trained your mind and your body, forged you into what could one day become the ultimate weapon of darkness, you have never given me all that you are.”
She knew better than to respond this time, but her mind burned with curiosity. What could he mean? She had thrown herself into study with all the focus and fervor of obsession. Gaining power and becoming The Dark Angel was her sole ambition. So, what was she supposed to have been holding back all this time?
“Trauma shields a portion of your mind from me. Past experiences still rule you. How am I to command you when memories still guide your thoughts and actions? You will never be truly realized while this one particular event still holds your heart.”
Alnora wanted to shout her master down, to deny his accusation. But she knew instantly of what he
spoke. The phantom smell of whisky-soaked breath involuntarily curled her nostrils. The feel of rough, powerful hands pressing into her soft, young flesh. A massive tongue forcing its way inside her mouth…and then true horror being unleashed inside her innocent body. It was all Alnora could do to keep from having a full-blown panic attack.
“I can sense your fear. Your distress. You know of what I speak?”
“Y…yes, Master.”
“Good. Then I shan’t have to waste precious time spelling this out for you. You will recall that on the day you entered into my service, I slew the men accosting you, but I left one alive.”
Alnora’s heart was practically in her throat as she recalled the face of her tormentor, white with terror and shivering in the massive shadow of her master. He was beaten and petrified, but he was still alive.
“I left him alive, my young apprentice. I did this because his life does not belong to me.” It was only years of practiced protocol that kept Alnora’s head from snapping up at this statement. Was he sending her on a mission of vengeance?
“This man holds your heart. So, you are going to cut out his.”
As the memory faded from her mind’s eye, Alnora began to mutter a low incantation under her breath. The talismans she wore on her fingers, wrists, and neck came alive, pulsating with the force of her dark power. The time for secrecy had ended. This time, the spell she would employ would draw the attention of the rabble. Alnora’s fingers stretched and curled in an elaborate series of movements that, along with the channeling power of her incantation and the focusing energy of the talismans, forged a spell that would once more alter the perceptions of those around her.
To the human eye, she would appear filthy, tattered, and adorned in beige rags, much as she might have today had her master not plucked her from obscurity and handed her the keys to Azulia itself. Another whispered series of gibberish words caused Alnora’s body to secrete a series of pheromones that would waft through the air, drawing the lustful attention of any who craved the female form. She needed an audience for this stage of her plan.
Immediately, she noticed heads turning in her direction, and she made sure to sway her shapely hips to and fro, further enticing those hungry gazes. The years had been kind to Alnora, and her body had developed in all the right places. Her legs were long and bronzed, her stomach flat and tight. The rags that her spell forced onlookers to see could barely contain her ample bust, which seemed ready at any second to burst free of its constrictive holdings. This was the first time the hungry eyes of the masses fed upon the sight of her flawless body, and it made Alnora’s skin crawl. Their lust, their need for physical intimacy was their undoing. Such base emotions clouded higher judgement. Her master had taught this lesson early on as her body had begun to develop. Alnora learned then that she had more weapons at her disposal than magic. A smoldering stare, a casual hair flip, or the right amount of skin could sway the dull, pathetic hearts of depraved men more easily than even the simplest of spells.
She trained her eyes upon an upcoming intersection crossing the central marketplace. She had studied the guard patrols for days leading up to this point, and she knew that her quarry would soon be arriving in that exact area. The knowledge that the man who haunted her waking and resting hours alike was soon to appear caused Alnora’s stomach to tighten into knots. Even with all of this magical might granted unto her by the greatest sorcerer Azulia had ever known, the thought of this one wretch was still enough to make her knees clack together.
Come on, you bastard. Come to me.
Alnora made a spectacle of meandering to the various kiosks that lined the white stone street of Caelum’s marketplace, ensuring that everyone could see her. She could feel the carnal heat emanating off each and every man and several women who locked their eyes upon her. She noticed from the corner of her eyes several small tattered forms weaving silently in and out of the crowd, and she suppressed a smile to herself.
Nothing has changed, Alnora mused within her mind. The young thieves and pickpockets still worked these streets diligently as she had for many years. Her eyes dropped toward a small girl who was quietly stalking a noble woman as she bounced from vendor to vendor. Alnora remembered what it was like to be that girl, and for a rare moment, her heart went out to the human being. Had this girl starved? Had she suffered as Alnora had? Had she come face to face with the monster Alnora would end on this day?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of clanking metal footsteps drawing near. Luxian knights were moving as one on patrol. She could sense the object of her terror and rage among them, leading them, and it made her blood simmer. It was time to act.
Alnora dashed toward a fruit vendor’s stand, upon which various succulent wares sat in large baskets for the perusal of shoppers. Just as the first glare of sunlight glinted off the armor of the advancing guards, Alnora reached out, grabbed an apple in full sight of the merchant, and ran.
“Thief!” the merchant screamed, no doubt thanking his luck that just as his stores were pilfered, the Paragon’s elite knights happened to stumble upon the scene. Alnora could feel the rush of chaotic energy flying through the market. All eyes had been on her as she grabbed the triumphal fruit. It was the sloppiest and most amateurish bit of thievery ever enacted within this marketplace, and she was certain the experienced pickpockets who worked those streets were shaking their heads at this ridiculous girl and her horrid luck.
Humans and their assumptions…
“Stop right there, girl!” a voice rang out, and Alnora’s legs nearly turned to jelly as she heard the older but no less recognizable voice of the man who had defiled her. She could hear the clanking of booted feet upon the street, giving chase as she absconded down a side street. Sending a quick glance back over her shoulder, Alnora caught sight of four men pursuing her. It was her target and three others. The spares would have to be dealt with.
As she ran, Alnora weaved in and out of the startled populace of Caelum, who bustled about the busy morning street. As she moved, her lips began to form a series of incantations. Her fingers twitched as she dropped the apple. The talismans upon her body roared to life, and Alnora began to work the dark beauty of her gifts upon those who stood beside her tormentor.
At Alnora’s command, shadowy tendrils of magical energy snaked up from below to wrap around the legs of the slowest guard. Unbeknownst to his fellows, the man fell to the ground as the wriggling vines of Alnora’s hate continued to wrap around his body, working their way up. His screams were drowned out by the commotion of the chase and silenced as the ebony tentacles reached his throat and constricted his breath until he moved no more.
One down, she thought as she claimed her first ever human life. Alnora would not allow herself to reflect too heavily on this moment. The young woman realized that she needed to act quickly to remove these other two inconsequential soldiers from the equation before she reached her ultimate destination. As she worked hard to keep the perception of panic in her frenzied flight, Alnora enacted another spell. Upon her command, a splotch of the stone road liquified in the path of the next slowest guard. His foot and leg plunged into the newly formed sinkhole. As he crashed to the ground, the entrapment he had foolishly wandered into solidified once more, trapping him in place. The stone continued to flow up his body as casual bystanders screamed in horror. As the spell swallowed his terror, he would remain frozen in place, a living statue for all eternity.
As she burst down a side street, Alnora knew that her destination was forthcoming. There was one last annoyance to take down before she could have her victim all alone. Her next execution needed to be quick and precise. Uttering a short, simple incantation, Alnora let loose a tiny, almost imperceivable purple jolt of magical energy from the index finger of her left hand. The minuscule projectile cut through the air, bouncing harmlessly off a nearby window before ricocheting back onto the street, striking the final companion guard between the eyes. He dropped like a stone, and Alnora’s tormentor had no idea.
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Grinning to herself as the finish line appeared, Alnora sprinted down a dark alleyway, one that wound about in an “L” shape, leading to a shadowed and secluded dead end. Her pursuer followed, exactly as she knew he would. She could sense waves of confident glee emanating off the disgusting cretin. He knew there was no way out of this alleyway. What he did not know was that this worked to his disadvantage.
They were not followed. The panicked haste of the populace to get out of the way as their chase plowed through the street made for perfect camouflage. They would be undisturbed. Alnora’s magic would see to that. She skidded to a practiced panicked stop while muttering yet another incantation under her breath—a repelling spell that would keep prying eyes and ears away as she did what needed to be done. Any human who even considered meandering down that alleyway would suddenly remember they had pressing business elsewhere. It was a simple illusion, but a useful one.
“Nowhere to run, girl,” the heinous guard said, panting in exhaustion from their harrowing chase. Alnora still stood with her back turned, not yet garnering the courage to turn and meet this monster eye to eye.
Nowhere to run indeed, she thought to herself, rage twisting the fear from her eyes momentarily. Then she remembered she had to maintain the deception for just a moment longer. She wanted to let him feel as though he were still in control. She wanted to test him, to see if anything had changed. Taking a deep breath, Alnora turned and stared her ultimate foe in the face.
Winters of Alnora_Birth of the Dark Angel Page 4