by Arden, Mari
The iciness is back. It starts from underneath me, and it spreads around me like the flapping of a wing. Every second brings more cold, and it is engulfing the space around and inside me. I start coughing. With blinding clarity, I suddenly know what he is trying to do.
He is trying to choke me to death.
He doesn't touch me, but the iciness does, swirling around me like a chokehold. It wraps itself tighter around me, and I can't move. I'm literally frozen from the cold and from the invisible arms that are strangling me with an arctic bitterness.
Keep moving.
Instinct takes over, and I start squirming, thrashing my head in a wild dance, and attempting to find oxygen in an airless space. I curl my fist, and the scar on my finger is burning. I'm imagining the warmth of a fire, the heat of a blaze. It's so cold it's difficult to blink. The image of a perfect flame flickers in my mind. It's orange with swirls of red, and underneath the swirls are roots so intensely blue it reminds me of an ocean. I envision the flame in front of me, stretching to the ice, burning it with all the ferocity I feel. My head's pounding with the strain to hold the image, but I do it.
I see the fire building around me, licking away the cold and replacing it with sizzling warmth that gathers at my core. It grows hot. I look up. I picture the flame shooting straight through the demon, and abruptly it appears before me, as perfect as I have imagined it. It turns into a fiery arrow and with a cackle it shoots itself right through the middle of the demon.
He anticipates it, and he slides into the wall like the shadow that he is. The fire arrow continues to the black door and breaks into little pieces when it touches the door. He quickly appears again, closer, and harder. His laughter is loud in my head.
"Is that all you have?" he taunts. He lifts his hands again, and a twirling tornado spins out between his fingers, coming straight for me. I can't move, and when it finally touches me, it feels like it's sucking the life out of me, spinning and spinning, until it takes everything.
Something ancient and old is inside me, vibrating from the threat. It tells me to rise up, to stand as tall as a dragon. Magically the image is there: a hundred fireflies, glowing with orange and red embers. As my eyes strain the image attempts to come to life in front of me, but it's faint near the dizzying tornado. The cyclone is consuming the fire I'm attempting to make. His laughter continues in my head. The cold is winning again. The invisible smoke filled with arctic wind shakes all around me, cracking the firewall around me. It stabs at me, creating thick airless spaces wherever it touches.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and with a last burst of energy I imagine myself erupting from the icy hands holding me. I imagine my fireflies swarming around him, consuming him the way he had consumed me. Something is ripping inside my hand.
One moment I'm there, and the next I'm on fire.
Chapter 9
Saguinox Headquarters
Hot.
It's feeling very hot. A bead of sweat rolls off his skin, and he wonders why he can even notice it when a hologram of Malachi is right in front of him. Most people would be trembling, especially if they knew what he knew. But he's not, and the heat is so damn irritating. He catches the drop of sweat, breaking it with his fingers. Malachi's glaring at him, yet he takes his time looking up. Malachi's thinking he has a death wish. Maybe he does.
"Are you sure this human is the carrier?" Malachi asks again, his rumbling voice, rupturing with his anger.
"Yes," he answers, sounding more bored than he wants to. "Armin says that last time her mind fought with fire. It can only mean that the fire crystal is inside."
"Your sources have already been wrong twice," Malachi snaps, taking a couple steps closer. The image crackles a bit then reassembles. "Two dead bodies and no crystal. What makes this time any different?"
A hundred answers come to mind, but he silently counts to ten to make sure he says the right thing. "They've been able to get their hands on something that is proving to be very… accurate."
A low groan is emitted, and they pause, glancing at Armin. He's been at it for longer than normal. He see sweat building on Armin's forehead. Soon he'll be drenched in it. Armin's sitting on a chair, both hands deceptively still on the arms of the chair. His eyes are wide open. Only bouts of rapid blinking belie what is truly happening.
They're all killers.
Blood stains the fingerprints of every single one of them.
Armin's weapon is his mind. He can kill with it. Armin's already killed with it. Sometimes he wonders when the blood will haunt Armin's mind, the way it's haunted his own.
Whimpers from the human girl chained to the wall interrupt his thoughts. Two guards stand by her. She sounds hoarse and weak. Her tears are dried up, and her voice has faded with her screams. The ruby red slave dress hangs on her thin frame, and it almost brightens the ghastly pallor of her pale face. Almost. The crystal's taken too much of her life energy, and when Armin takes her blood she'll be nothing but a corpse.
Malachi is abruptly no longer interested in him. His hologram image turns away, watching Armin. The hologram reveals clearly every detail about Malachi. He's a distinguished looking man, older, but with a full head of dark brown hair. Shades of gray sprinkle his hair, embellishing it like a crown. A hint of a mustache lingers above his lips, creating an aristocratic look demonstrating his royal heritage. He's the King of Sangine. Commander and Chief. Prince of the Crystal. He's invincible. Nothing can destroy him.
With an agonized shout, Armin jerks awake. A large vein is visible near his eye, throbbing with what he's done. Armin's gray eyes find him first, and then to Malachi. A flare of fear flashes in them before he hides it.
"Well?" Malachi prods.
He swallows. "She… got away."
A muscle ticks in Malachi's jaw.
"Sir," Armin says, his usually strong voice soft in the silence, "she pulled herself out at the last second. She's obviously responding very well to the crystal. I was very close--"
"Close isn't close enough," Malachi bites out. "You've been trained your whole life for things like this, dream walker, and it sounds like she doesn't even know what she is!" He pauses, his chest heaving with rage. The look in Malachi's eyes chills him to the bone. "How can a mere untrained girl beat a Saguinox warrior?" he asks. "How?" he presses when no one answers.
Malachi lets the question linger in the air. The King comes closer to them, breathing heavily. He's desperate. Malachi tries to hide it, but he can see through the façade. Malachi needs the crystal.
After a lengthy silence, Malachi gains control of his temper. "You all are my most gifted warriors. It saddens me that this day has come." His glowing eyes became scarlet. "Everyone leave."
Before they can leave, he steps forward. His heart twists with heaviness. "Your highness," he begins in an unwavering voice, bowing slightly "we have been trained from birth to be our world's greatest soldiers, and our enemy's greatest fear. We were raised as brothers, Armin and I especially. When he fails it's as if I have failed also." He looks up. "Let me carry half his punishment, and I promise you we will not fail you again."
He can see Malachi contemplating the request, and he knows Malachi is reluctant to allow it. There are some benefits to being his favorite.
"That's not necessary," Malachi finally answers. He smirks at Armin before looking at me. "At least I know I can trust you to get the job done."
He nods with confidence. "Yes."
"Bring me the carrier."
His face remains expressionless even though his fear is growing.
"Yes," he vows.
Malachi glances back at Armin, noting his pale face and glazed eyes.
"Finish the girl," he nods in the direction of the enchained human who is half unconscious. Armin doesn't wait to be told twice before he pounces on her. She's hooked up to a machine. A guard presses a button. Instantly, a river of blood flows through its plastic tubes. Another guard waits until its sufficiently filled before unhooking the end. A spray head is attach
ed to it and Armin opens his mouth, bending like he's going to drink from a human beer bong. Armin's body trembles in anticipation. When his mouth finally closes on the opening, he sucks at it like he's drawing in air, absorbing the liquid in a frenzy. Scarlet blood dribbles down, staining Armin's neck and shirt, but his need is merciless. Armin's desperation seems endless.
Watching Armin, something steely and hard unwinds inside him: rejection. Disgust. When he turns his eyes away, they land on Malachi who watches Armin with a satisfied smirk. Drinking blood is a privilege that Malachi allows for a select few. Armin makes a desperate sound, and he's not surprised when Armin pushes the Saguinox away. Swaying, Armin reaches for the girl, trembling to fulfill his thirst. Without hesitation, Armin opens his mouth, revealing short canines that are barely visible.
Like the animal he's suddenly become, Armin bites the softest part of her body: her neck. Desperation and the force of his hunger give him a rush of strength. Ripping through skin and tissue, he gorges himself on her flesh. Her terrible screams fill the small room.
Malachi laughs.
He's still; knowing to show any weakness is to jeopardize everything he's worked for. He endures her cries in silence. After Armin is done, he slumps to the floor, exhausted.
"Help him to his room," he orders. When their footsteps become nothing but echoes, he checks the girl's pulse. It's hard to find it through torn skin and blood, but he manages. The pulse is weak, but still there. His heart clenches with dread for her.
"Put her with the rest of the slaves," he says softly to the nearest guard.
"Kill her and be done with it," Malachi snaps. "We need healthy slaves, not half dead ones."
Rigid, he nods. "Yes, your highness."
He holds her neck in his hands, feeling arteries and bones. He pretends to look at her, but he's pushing his mind away, going to somewhere no one can reach him: his memories. He's inside one memory in particular. Her voice fills his mind, and it's what he holds onto as he slowly chokes the girl to death. Within seconds the light in her eyes darken, never to shine again. He shuts her eyes as if to make it better, but it doesn't fix anything. He knows her face will echo in his dreams just like all the rest. A guard drags her broken body through the door to a furnace that makes useless things disappear.
Malachi makes a sound to get their attention, baring fangs that glint in the artificial light. "I will be arriving in a month. Make sure the fire crystal is ready."
He bows, desperate to leave.
"Oh, and Rhys?"
He pauses, turning back to face his commander.
"Don't disappoint me," Malachi says with deadly calm.
The invisible threat hangs in the air.
"I won't."
Chapter 9
Saguinox Headquarters
Hot.
It's feeling very hot. A bead of sweat rolls off his skin, and he wonders why he can even notice it when a hologram of Malachi is right in front of him. Most people would be trembling, especially if they knew what he knew. But he's not, and the heat is so damn irritating. He catches the drop of sweat, breaking it with his fingers. Malachi's glaring at him, yet he takes his time looking up. Malachi's thinking he has a death wish. Maybe he does.
"Are you sure this human is the carrier?" Malachi asks again, his rumbling voice, rupturing with his anger.
"Yes," he answers, sounding more bored than he wants to. "Armin says that last time her mind fought with fire. It can only mean that the fire crystal is inside."
"Your sources have already been wrong twice," Malachi snaps, taking a couple steps closer. The image crackles a bit then reassembles. "Two dead bodies and no crystal. What makes this time any different?"
A hundred answers come to mind, but he silently counts to ten to make sure he says the right thing. "They've been able to get their hands on something that is proving to be very… accurate."
A low groan is emitted, and they pause, glancing at Armin. He's been at it for longer than normal. He see sweat building on Armin's forehead. Soon he'll be drenched in it. Armin's sitting on a chair, both hands deceptively still on the arms of the chair. His eyes are wide open. Only bouts of rapid blinking belie what is truly happening.
They're all killers.
Blood stains the fingerprints of every single one of them.
Armin's weapon is his mind. He can kill with it. Armin's already killed with it. Sometimes he wonders when the blood will haunt Armin's mind, the way it's haunted his own.
Whimpers from the human girl chained to the wall interrupt his thoughts. Two guards stand by her. She sounds hoarse and weak. Her tears are dried up, and her voice has faded with her screams. The ruby red slave dress hangs on her thin frame, and it almost brightens the ghastly pallor of her pale face. Almost. The crystal's taken too much of her life energy, and when Armin takes her blood she'll be nothing but a corpse.
Malachi is abruptly no longer interested in him. His hologram image turns away, watching Armin. The hologram reveals clearly every detail about Malachi. He's a distinguished looking man, older, but with a full head of dark brown hair. Shades of gray sprinkle his hair, embellishing it like a crown. A hint of a mustache lingers above his lips, creating an aristocratic look demonstrating his royal heritage. He's the King of Sangine. Commander and Chief. Prince of the Crystal. He's invincible. Nothing can destroy him.
With an agonized shout, Armin jerks awake. A large vein is visible near his eye, throbbing with what he's done. Armin's gray eyes find him first, and then to Malachi. A flare of fear flashes in them before he hides it.
"Well?" Malachi prods.
He swallows. "She… got away."
A muscle ticks in Malachi's jaw.
"Sir," Armin says, his usually strong voice soft in the silence, "she pulled herself out at the last second. She's obviously responding very well to the crystal. I was very close--"
"Close isn't close enough," Malachi bites out. "You've been trained your whole life for things like this, dream walker, and it sounds like she doesn't even know what she is!" He pauses, his chest heaving with rage. The look in Malachi's eyes chills him to the bone. "How can a mere untrained girl beat a Saguinox warrior?" he asks. "How?" he presses when no one answers.
Malachi lets the question linger in the air. The King comes closer to them, breathing heavily. He's desperate. Malachi tries to hide it, but he can see through the façade. Malachi needs the crystal.
After a lengthy silence, Malachi gains control of his temper. "You all are my most gifted warriors. It saddens me that this day has come." His glowing eyes became scarlet. "Everyone leave."
Before they can leave, he steps forward. His heart twists with heaviness. "Your highness," he begins in an unwavering voice, bowing slightly "we have been trained from birth to be our world's greatest soldiers, and our enemy's greatest fear. We were raised as brothers, Armin and I especially. When he fails it's as if I have failed also." He looks up. "Let me carry half his punishment, and I promise you we will not fail you again."
He can see Malachi contemplating the request, and he knows Malachi is reluctant to allow it. There are some benefits to being his favorite.
"That's not necessary," Malachi finally answers. He smirks at Armin before looking at me. "At least I know I can trust you to get the job done."
He nods with confidence. "Yes."
"Bring me the carrier."
His face remains expressionless even though his fear is growing.
"Yes," he vows.
Malachi glances back at Armin, noting his pale face and glazed eyes.
"Finish the girl," he nods in the direction of the enchained human who is half unconscious. Armin doesn't wait to be told twice before he pounces on her. She's hooked up to a machine. A guard presses a button. Instantly, a river of blood flows through its plastic tubes. Another guard waits until its sufficiently filled before unhooking the end. A spray head is attached to it and Armin opens his mouth, bending like he's going to drink from a human beer bong. Armin's body trembles in an
ticipation. When his mouth finally closes on the opening, he sucks at it like he's drawing in air, absorbing the liquid in a frenzy. Scarlet blood dribbles down, staining Armin's neck and shirt, but his need is merciless. Armin's desperation seems endless.
Watching Armin, something steely and hard unwinds inside him: rejection. Disgust. When he turns his eyes away, they land on Malachi who watches Armin with a satisfied smirk. Drinking blood is a privilege that Malachi allows for a select few. Armin makes a desperate sound, and he's not surprised when Armin pushes the Saguinox away. Swaying, Armin reaches for the girl, trembling to fulfill his thirst. Without hesitation, Armin opens his mouth, revealing short canines that are barely visible.
Like the animal he's suddenly become, Armin bites the softest part of her body: her neck. Desperation and the force of his hunger give him a rush of strength. Ripping through skin and tissue, he gorges himself on her flesh. Her terrible screams fill the small room.
Malachi laughs.
He's still; knowing to show any weakness is to jeopardize everything he's worked for. He endures her cries in silence. After Armin is done, he slumps to the floor, exhausted.
"Help him to his room," he orders. When their footsteps become nothing but echoes, he checks the girl's pulse. It's hard to find it through torn skin and blood, but he manages. The pulse is weak, but still there. His heart clenches with dread for her.
"Put her with the rest of the slaves," he says softly to the nearest guard.
"Kill her and be done with it," Malachi snaps. "We need healthy slaves, not half dead ones."
Rigid, he nods. "Yes, your highness."
He holds her neck in his hands, feeling arteries and bones. He pretends to look at her, but he's pushing his mind away, going to somewhere no one can reach him: his memories. He's inside one memory in particular. Her voice fills his mind, and it's what he holds onto as he slowly chokes the girl to death. Within seconds the light in her eyes darken, never to shine again. He shuts her eyes as if to make it better, but it doesn't fix anything. He knows her face will echo in his dreams just like all the rest. A guard drags her broken body through the door to a furnace that makes useless things disappear.