Lacrimosa (30 page)
Authors: Christine Fonseca
Fresh scents invade my thoughts—a combination of sunshine and vanilla. Celestium. The younger version of me accepts my role as a Watcher, taking an oath to protect humanity from the likes of Azza.
So much has happened since then. So many broken promises and shattered vows. And yet, as the ancient prayer lingers on my tongue, a part of me feels like I never really left Celestium. Never entered the nightmare that now defines me.
A symphony of screams from the UnHoly fills my senses as the last of the prayer fades away. Azza pulls me close, the foul stench of his breath hard against my cheek. “You will not betray me now with your little prayers, Aydan. You will take your oath and wear the brand.”
Although his words are barely audible, they scream through my thoughts. My life is what I’ve made it.
A Living hell.
“I am yours, Master.”
Azza wears a sadistic smile as fire erupts on the ground next to me. A stone pedestal springs up from the flames. Six weapons lay on the altar. One for each of the marks I am to bear.
Azza picks up the weapon closest to him—his own dagger. He places it into the blue-orange center of the fire and turns it until it glows red-hot.
“Almost time, Aydan. Almost time. When the ceremony is complete, you will forget all about your warrior angel. And any hope you still harbor of living in Celestium.”
I stare into the abyss of Azza’s eyes. “You’ll keep your agreement about Nesy? You won’t hurt her if she returns?”
“I will not be the one to harm her as long as she does not interfere. But if she tries to stop me in any way, I will end her life with one swift stroke.”
Her name feeds my torment. “And you will instruct your UnHoly to not harm her?”
“
Your
UnHoly. Once the ceremony is complete, they will serve you as well.”
I don’t want followers.
I don’t want to rule.
I only want her safety.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“You heard all I will say. Now, will you take your marks? Or does Nesy die?”
For a second time, I pray. The prayer offers little comfort. Images of my life as the Beast churn my disgust.
A moment passes
—
there is no way out
.
And another
—
I chose this fate centuries ago.
Azza’s grips my shoulder and squeezes. “Well?”
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, eyeing the red-hot dagger in Azza’s hands.
My heart pounds too loud in my ears as I drop to my knees, the concrete grinding into my skin. I can hear the blood thrumming through Azza’s veins, hear the wind moving through the air. I tilt back my head in submission, ready to end my life.
The dagger twirls in Azza’s hands. He draws the hot blade across my skin, carving the long Celtic symbol down my neck. The mark extends from my jaw to my collarbone in an intricate pattern of knots that blend into my flesh.
Blinding pain streams through me. I grind my teeth, refusing to acquiesce to the feeling of the blade slicing through me. Every loop, every line, brings more torment. Putrid scents invade my nostrils as I hear my flesh sizzle.
Azza chants in the ancient language, releasing the Beast. His voice filters through me. Each word flares the agony caused by the mark, fusing it to my skin. Syllable by syllable, cut by cut, Azza forms the loops and knots of the first mark.
I squeeze my eyes shut, enduring each hate-filled moment.
I will not break
.
Seconds click by until Azza finishes the first rite. My torment ebbs with the withdrawal of his dagger. My nausea passes. As my mind clears, I know…
I will never be the same.
“The first of six has been placed,” Azza says to the crowd. “Each mark is to be made by a different tool, each representing a different bond. One to me and one the UnHoly. One for the clans of dark creatures. One for the crimes of Celestium, one for the sins of mankind. And the final mark as a commitment to freeing our brothers in the Abyss. When Aydan has received all six marks, when we have beaten the Sentinals, we will free those trapped in the eternal flames.”
The mob roars with excitement.
“We will never be subject to the Council’s twisted version of justice again.”
More screams erupt around me. My mind twists around the sounds. I may have survived the first mark, but I doubt I can stay conscious for the rest. Nesy floods my awareness—the scent of her hair, the curve of her face, the blue of her eyes.
My salvation.
I must stay alive, if only to keep her safe.
“Ready for your next mark?” Azza’s breath quivers the hair on my cheek. “That one was nothing compared to the rest.”
I paint a picture of her in my mind.
Help me, Nesy.
Azza grabs the next tool of my torture, the fang of a werewolf. “I’ve been saving this one just for you. Ever since you killed my pet in Germany.” He dips the fang into a vial of smoldering violet liquid. Drops fall to the ground, scorching the concrete next to me.
He loops the second mark through the first, creating a maze of crisscrossing patterns. It feels like liquid fire against my skin. A growl escapes my lips. I look at Azza and grind my teeth. Again, I think of Nesy. Picture the way she looked the first night at the club. Blond hair cascading over her shoulders, endless black leather boots, eyes I can lose myself in.
If only.
My master continues to carve the pattern in my skin. I cling to the image in my mind. Clawing my own skin, I fight back the nausea welling inside. Lightning streaks across my vision.
I will not scream.
I will not scream.
My skin hisses as Azza forms the mark. He chants, sending a fresh wave of agony through me.
Seconds last for hours as Azza replenishes the smoldering liquid on the fang. Each gash burns its way through the outer layers of my skin and into my soul.
He carves a third, deeper mark with the fang. The violet liquid drips down my neck as the mark is carved, leaving its own trail of pain. And I know…
This is death.
Time has no meaning to me now. The UnHoly groan, scream, cheer as the mark is finished. But Azza does not pause; he begins the next line immediately. His tool, a dagger stolen from the Guardian he killed on the streets of Chelsea, is coated in angelic blood. It feels like acid pouring into my raw flesh. Fiery agony fills every cell. I have to stay conscious, keep myself from dying.
But nothing makes sense. Not the muffled sounds of the UnHoly. Nor the ancient chant spoken by Azza.
I try to focus on Nesy. Try to keep from losing my mind.
Not possible.
Azza loops the fourth mark through the first three, weaving it wide across my neck. Each knot strips a piece of Nesy from me. I pull on to the vanishing memories, desperate to hold onto her.
A scream erupts from somewhere outside of me. Tears overflow my eyes. “Nesy!” Her name rips across my lips, scorching every part of me.
Azza smiles down at me as my defenses crack. Everything I am—everything that is good or merciful, everything that belongs to Nesy—falls away. Wave after wave of nausea rolls over me. My soul shreds to pieces.
Along with my memories of Nesy. Of our love.
“Let go of her and this will be easier.”
“Never,” I utter.
“Suit yourself. But you won’t survive the sacrament if you don’t let go. And if you die, I will be sure to torture your love before I end her life.”
Azza grabs a crude human knife from the stone alter. “Do you know what this is?”
I can’t process the words.
“The knife of Akedah. Soaked in the blood I drained from the dregs of humanity. With it, I will end your ties to Celestium. And your lover.” Azza dips the knife into his concoction and places it against a new part of my neck. Starting near my ear, he loops the fifth mark into the others, weaving and knotting each connection.
The human blood eats away what’s left of my flesh as my soul absorbs every torment. I scream, white-hot pain searing my senses. I search my heart for Nesy, for us. I need her love. “Nesy, help me.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.
Azza’s maniacal laugh slaps me. “Too late for that. I doubt her sword could hurt you much now.”
He continues the fifth mark, my torture nearly complete. Flashes of my past stream in front of me, only to fade.
Every touch.
Every kiss.
Every moment.
Forever gone.
I bite down on my hand, desperate to stop screaming.
The mark continues.
I cling to the passing images, pushing against my own anguish.
I can’t let her go.
Let myself go.
My mind closes in on itself as the last knot of the fifth mark is finished.
“Nesy!” My scream ends as Azza lifts the knife.
“You’re stronger than I thought. But this last one will break you. And then, you will belong to me. For all eternity.”
“Mark me, Azza.” My voice is raw. Barely audible. “I will still never belong to you.”
He howls as he slaps his hand hard against my face. I fall, my skin angry and my flesh raw. Azza lifts the final torturous tool—his own angelic sword from before his fall. He slashes his forearm, coating the metal with his demonic blood.
The final mark begins. And my mind turns black.
I walk through the city streets as the evening fog hugs the ground. I move through the mist, confused. She is near. Somewhere just out of reach.
I search through the tangled jungle of metal and concrete. “Nesy, my love. I need you.”
“I’m here, Aydan.”
I turn toward her voice. Her image emerges from the fog. Magnificent golden skin, cascading hair that shines like the sun. Penetrating blue eyes. She carries no signs of battle. No wounds from Azza’s sword, no scars of any kind.
I run to her. Embrace her. She pulls back and cups my face. “I love you, Aydan. I’ll always love you.” She kisses me gently.
I need her. Hunger for her.
I pull her flat against me and deepen the kiss.
She struggles against my embrace. I want to stop. Must stop.
The frenzy is too great.
I drink from her soul, unleashing the Beast.
I can’t stop.
Every last drop drains into me.
Until she is gone.
And I am forever…
Damned.
“No!” I scream as I wake.
Azza smiles. And begins the final mark.
Chapter 40 – Armageddon Waged