by Rach Elle
“Bawli,” Awilda began to cry as she hit the corner. She had nowhere to go. “I’m so sorry…”
“It was you who sat at the breakfast table and reassured me that trusting the Finder was the correct course of action.”
“I didn’t know…”
“I was murdered because of you!” Bawli hovered over the girl, his eyes red and his fangs bared. “I will never grow old; I’ll never know love or meet my Responsibility. I wasn’t ready to die. And neither are all those people that will die if this prophecy starts. Forget about how it will end; you can’t let it begin.”
Awilda lowered to the floor, crying into her hands and huddling into herself. After a moment of allowing Bawli’s words to register, she sniffled and looked up at him. Quietly she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Bawli stepped aside, as did the others, and watched as the little girl – the young Awilda Rose – approached. She stood over her older self, taking in the pitiful sight for only a moment before revealing a knife and handing it handle first to Awilda.
Awilda tried to suppress her sobs as she carefully and reluctantly took the blade. The little girl stared into her eyes, “You know what to do.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Junior growled toward Tauggle.
The Limrid turned to the savior, his eyes pitch black and soulless. “Nah-ah Savior,” Tauggle sang, “you don’t get to ask any more questions. You don’t get to order me around or dismiss me any longer. I finally have you right where I want you; defenseless and helpless.”
Tauggle placed his hands on his hips and smiled. “You see,” he began, “this mansion isn’t the only thing that’s warded against Limrids,” He pointed a finger at Junior, “You are too. As a Limrid I can’t touch you; not in a harmful way, at least. But this man,” he motioned to the now approaching man – the one keeping Junior pinned against the wall – and continued, “Well he can do just about anything he wants.” Tauggle closed the distance between him and the savior. He lifted himself onto his tip toes and brought his lips to Junior’s ear. Loudly, he whispered, “And I can’t wait to watch.”
Junior’s eyes burned red and he bared his fangs as he tried to muscle out of the telekinetic hold the mystery man had on him, but it was useless. He was trapped.
“You son of a bitch,” he bit. “If you hurt Awilda…”
“Hurt her?” Tauggle acted surprised, “My dear boy, I revere her. Without her Lucifer can’t rise. She will be treated like a queen, trust me.”
Junior scoffed. Tauggle’s eyes hardened at the sound and turned back to the man with the power. “You can’t kill him,” he said matter-of-factly, “only the destroyer can do that; so it is written. But you can mangle him beyond recognition. I only ask you do so slowly, in a calculated manner,” he looked back at the savior and smiled severely, “So that he feels everything; every stab, every cut, every tear of his flesh.”
Junior gritted his teeth, “You’re going to pay for this, Limrid.”
Tauggle motioned for the man to begin the torture.
The man, stout and dark, smiled and lifted a blade to Junior’s chest. Slowly, he pushed the blade through the flesh of the savior’s pectoral. Junior roared in pain as the man sliced downward at an angle.
Tauggle danced for joy as he watched blood seep out of the wound.
“I’m going to kill you,” Junior declared as he locked eyes with the dancing Limrid.
“Awe,” Tauggle beamed, “I love the smell of hopeless determination. It’s most commonly followed by paralyzing defeat, you know.”
The man pressed his blade into Junior’s pectoral again and sliced downward at an opposing angle; the bloody wounds crisscrossing. He glanced at the white haired Limrid next to him and smirked, “X marks the spot.” He lifted his blade, preparing to stab directly into Junior’s chest.
Tauggle lifted his hand and smeared Junior’s blood all over his palm. His lips thinned and his eyes hardened, “That it does.” Swiftly, Tauggle threw his bloody hand toward the man and clasped onto his forehead. The man screamed in agonizing pain as his flesh began to burn; flames engulfing him, paralyzing him and bringing him to his knees.
Seconds later the bright flames disintegrated and morphed into a black, tar-like substance that bubbled and encased the body. The man fell limply and lifelessly to the floor.
Junior could feel the hold that pinned him against the wall release. He took a step forward, unsure of what he had just witnessed. He looked at Tauggle, suddenly realizing he hadn’t been betrayed. “What the hell just happened?”
Tauggle lifted his bloody hand, “Blessed blood; perfect for stopping prophecies and killing demons.”
“That man was a demon?”
Tauggle nodded.
“But, why didn’t my blood hurt you?”
Tauggle looked offended, “Because I’m not a low-life demon. We’re different breeds; different properties. Asshole.”
Junior held up his hands, “Sorry. I’m still trying to process this. You had me going there, you know.”
Tauggle shrugged, “I’m a bit of a thespian. Now,” he looked back to the tarred man lying in front of him, “We’ve got a problem on our hands.”
“Which is?”
“This man was a demon, and a strong one at that; too strong for my powers to thwart.”
“I think you thwarted him just fine.”
Tauggle shook his head, “You don’t understand; demons travel in groups. I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t live here alone. Not to mention, he wouldn’t haven’t been strong enough to ward this place like it is – and it’s still warded. Which means…”
“We need to get Awilda out of here now,” Junior cut him off.
Tauggle nodded, “We need to find a way out so we can enter the ballroom through the windows. I highly doubt every single exit is proofed.”
Junior looked up the staircase, “We need to get to higher ground.” He began bounding up the stairs as Tauggle grabbed the knife drenched in Junior’s blood and followed suit.
59
Parag landed in the shadow of a tree just outside the valley in Wiltshire. “What are we doing?” He asked frantically, “We’re still a kilometer out.”
“Patience, my friend,” BeStone said calmly as he held onto the chain that bounded Fazal.
“Hasmukh has the females,” Parag growled.
“And he is expecting us to retrieve them,” BeStone held up his hand to try and calm the large Indian gargoyle. “He has undoubtedly prepared for an aerial attack, which is why we can’t give him one. We continue from here on foot. We will wade across the river and attack from the ground up. He will not suspect; that will be our only advantage. Come,” he yanked on Fazal’s chain and dragged him along like a dog.
Parag took a deep breath and conceded; never taking his eyes off of the expansive mansion in the distance.
60
Awilda looked down at the blade she held in her slender hands. Slowly, she stood; her body quivering as she locked eyes with every single hallucination in front of her. Finally, she looked down at the little girl who motioned for her to follow. She did. Bawli, her grandparents and her mother and father all stood to the side and allowed her to pass. She followed the little girl – her younger self – into the center of the room, which wasn’t a living room anymore; it was a ballroom again. She could barely make out the markings of the granite flooring beneath her feet. And if she looked up and squint she could read the shapes of the dozen darkened chandeliers. But instead she kept her eyes on the blade in her hands.
She stopped in the center of the room; the ominous spotlight now illuminating only her. But she knew who watched from the shadows – everyone she loved – and everyone she killed. Softly, and much more calmly than she anticipated, she heard herself say, “This won’t bring any of you back.”
“We know,” Gayle nodded.
“But it is the only way,” Bawli insisted. “If the prophecy begins, then innocent people will die. Even if the savior is v
ictorious, there will be too many caught in the crossfire. And if the savior is not victorious, then he shall die with the masses.”
A tear rolled down Awilda’s cheek, off of her chin and landed on the blade; distorting her reflection. After moments of silence and contemplation, she said a prayer. She knew her soul was damned; that wasn’t worth praying for. No, she prayed for Junior; for God to watch over him and accept his actions – whatever they may be – after losing the woman he had so profoundly professed his love for. She feared that he would lose sight of his humanity and do unspeakable things in the name of vengeance.
“Junior,” she whispered almost too low for herself to hear as she positioned the knife, preparing to thrust it into her stomach, “May God take you anyway.”
Awilda’s body jolted as a massive crash filled the ballroom. A figure smashed through one of the stories-high windows and landed on the granite floor. Instantly, the lights burned to life, Awilda’s hallucinations were gone and as if for the first time she truly realized what she was about to do. She shook her head, trying to shake the fatigue from her system. Had she not been fully awake until now?
Awilda dropped the knife and looked up to see the figure getting to his feet; the shards of glass falling off of his frame. Her eyes widened and a smile of relief stretched across her face as she recognized the gargoyle in front of her, “Kingsley!”
Kingsley straightened himself just as Awilda wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He could hear her tears and feel her body convulse with every audible sob. He didn’t know what was going on. A moment ago all he could see was this girl preparing to end her life with a knife to the stomach.
Kingsley pulled away slightly, “Are you okay?” He watched as Awilda nodded. “Where’s Junior?”
“We got separated,” Awilda choked out; her words suddenly laced with worry.
Kingsley took a deep breath and looked up to see Cooper sitting in the frame of the window he’d just barreled through. “Okay,” he began, “I’ll find him. But first, we need to get you out of here.” He swooped her up into his arms and spread his wings, preparing to climb up to the window and fly Awilda to safety when something caught his attention. Kingsley looked upward to see that the golden chandeliers – all dozen of them – were shaking.
“What’s going on?” Awilda asked timidly.
Cooper sat on the sill of the window, watching the chandeliers as they shook; the individual ornaments draped over their frames clinking against each other; growing louder and louder by the second.
A movement on the balcony across the expanse caught her eye. A figure disappeared behind a curtain and another man – dark in a black suit and tie – stood stoically; watching the shaking chandeliers intently.
Kingsley’s eyes darted at the sound of a crack toward the back wall. The ceiling was letting go. He gasped; knowing he didn’t have time to scale the wall and leap out of the window. The ceiling gave way and the first chandelier plummeted downward, smashing into tiny pieces against the granite floor. The next chandelier fell, then the next. Kingsley picked up his feet and ran with Awilda in his arms as the chandeliers fell faster and faster behind him; catching up to him. His heart raced as he realized he was rapidly approaching the closed French doors. He was running out of room.
Kingsley held Awilda as tightly as he could against his body, prompting her to tuck her head and shield herself as he leapt through the air and slammed shoulder first into the French doors. The last chandelier fell and crashed behind him just as the doors flung open against his weight and he and Awilda skidded into the foyer until they hit the opposite wall.
Awilda got up, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Kingsley grunted as he grabbed onto his shoulder. He tried to stand but his leg instantly gave out. He roared in pain as he palmed his knee. “Damn it!”
Kingsley winced in pain as he looked back into the ballroom to see a dark man in a suit and tie jump from the balcony and land perfectly on his feet amongst the shards of broken glass. He began moving toward them.
“You have to get out of here,” he told Awilda.
Awilda ran to the large steel front doors and tried to open them, “It’s locked!”
“Then unlock it,” Kingsley said as the man moved closer.
“I… I don’t know how!” Awilda frantically searched for a lock.
“Forget it,” Kingsley called to her, “You need to find another way out of here.”
Awilda knelt down beside him, “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” he winced again, “just get to the rooftop. I’ll meet you there.”
Awilda looked over her shoulder to see the man heading toward them. She looked back at Kingsley.
“Go,” he whispered to her.
Awilda jumped to her feet and ran to the stairs. She climbed them as fast as she could, hoping the man would follow her and leave Kingsley alone.
Kingsley could tell the man wasn’t interested in Awilda at the moment. His dark eyes never wavered as he moved closer and closer. The old gargoyle leaned against a small table and pulled himself up to a standing position, trying to will his leg to heal faster, but it was no use.
The man stopped at the threshold and looked down at the burnt body of his colleague sprawled along the foyer floor. Without expression he returned his gaze to the gargoyle in front of him. He held out his hand and telekinetically pinned Kingsley against the wall. He slowly made a fist and rotated it; listening to the old man roar with pain as he twisted his insides.
Kingsley thought his stomach was going to explode as it tightened more and more when suddenly, the excruciating pain stopped and the man fell unconsciously to the floor; his body dropping to reveal a petite Cooper with a stone statue in her hands.
Awilda ran down a corridor, then another and another. She had no idea where she was or where she could possibly gain access to the rooftop. Her head began to spin as she whipped it in every direction, hoping to find a way out of this maze. Finally, she stopped running and tried to collect her thoughts; the only sound that filled the air was her own heavy breathing.
Awilda leaned against the wall and tried to calm herself down; to will her adrenaline down to a simmer.
Before she could register what was happening, a hand shot out from around the corner and cupped itself over her mouth. A large figure wrapped its arm around her waist and dragged her down an adjacent hall; muffling her screams.
Awilda was thrown into a room she could only assume was a study of some sort. A large, stone fireplace sat along the wall and plush, leather furniture adorned the center of the room. In the back corner stood a man, much like the man that stalked Kingsley in the foyer. He was tall with dark hair and even darker eyes. He wore a black suit and tie, and stared intently into the corner opposite him.
“Awilda,” Junior’s voice rang in her ear. She pivoted sharply to see him plastered against the wall, unable to move. He had shifted. His torso was bare and his large, dinosaur-like feet stuck out from beneath his black slacks.
“Junior,” she exhaled. She looked back to the dark man and then back to Junior, “What is he doing to you?”
“Never mind,” Junior’s voice cracked, “You need to fight Awilda. You need to get out of here.”
“Where’s Tauggle?!”
“Ahem,” a small clearing of the throat echoed throughout. Awilda looked up and gasped at the sight of Tauggle plastered in the upper corner of the room with chains wrapped around his lean body. He smiled, “Hello Love.”
Awilda turned around to face the dark man, “Why are you doing this? Let them go!” The door to the study slammed shut, jolting her and forcing her to turn around once more. Her eyes narrowed before widening as she recognized the two gargoyles standing in the shadows. “Augmen,” she breathed as the brothers stepped into the light, “Cypro; what are you doing here?”
“We’re fulfilling a prophecy,” Augmen answered.
Awilda shook her head, confused, “I don’t understand.”
�
�You see,” the older brother began; arrogance flooding his voice, “most people believe that when it comes to the Ultimate War there is only one prophecy; the devil’s. But there is actually another one – God’s. He prophesized that the devil’s premonition would never come true; and that’s the one we would like to uphold.”
Awilda pointed to Junior, “By turning against the savior? He’s the one that’s going to stop this whole thing!”
“Not as long as he’s in love with the destroyer.” Augmen’s lips thinned as he took a deep breath, “I wanted to believe we could allow our fates to rest in the savior’s hands; I really did. But it has become apparent that that was a foolish dream. Let’s face it; if he had the guts to kill you he would have already done so. Just as you should have, as well.”
Augmen clasped his hands behind his back and sauntered around the room; his tail dragging against the carpet and his wings wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. “You should have listened to your grandmother and your friend.”
Awilda kicked up her chin; her memory replaying her hallucinations from earlier. “That was you? You tried to convince me to kill myself?”
Augmen shrugged, “I merely put you in a trance and placed a few familiar faces in your way. You did the rest. I must say, it was fascinating; listening to all they had to say – or rather – you had to say. Every single word came from your subconscious; which, if I’m not mistaken, is riddled with guilt. How do you carry on every day?”
Augmen watched as the girl wrapped her arms around herself and looked to the floor. Softly, he shook his head, “Pity that old gargoyle had to show up and ruin the moment. But I guess,” he picked a blood soaked knife off of the end table, “when you want something done right…” He began stalking Awilda.
“Augmen, stop,” Junior demanded.
The gargoyle looked at the savior, “You say that as if I have a choice.” He looked down at the blade in his hand; the one covered in Junior’s blood, “If you’re not going to save the world,” he continued his steps toward the girl, “then I will.”