Infliction
Warmth brushes against my back and thighs. My eyes flit open to a soft, red hued light in the corner of a lavish bedroom that I vaguely recognize.
Lips press to the back of my neck and I nearly melt.
“Morning,” I whisper, turning over in the space beside Cass. “Is it morning?”
Her orange eyes are lit with something I can’t quite identify, but there’s a note of hesitancy to the tremble in her lips.
“It is, indeed,” she says and I can’t even smell morning breath. It’s simply unfair how perfect she is.
I stretch and she runs a palm down my abdomen, brushing lightly over tender flesh that I know she’s more than capable of managing.
“We should discuss something,” she says, and I realize she’s wearing the same clothes from the night before. She’d taken off her cloak, but she’s wearing the Tempest athletic shirt and joggers.
“I don’t know that I like the sound of that,” I say, and she swings her legs out of bed and stands before I can even get a hand on her.
“Cass—” I start, but she turns to me and my stomach bottoms out. “What’s wrong?”
She has an incredibly uncharacteristic look of pure fear on her face. The facade of calmness from a few moments ago has shattered.
I scoot to her side of the bed and manage to grab her wrist before she can back up again. Pulling her forward, I wrap my other hand around her waist and pull her into me.
Hardened muscle flexes against my hand as she lets out a breathy shudder.
“You asked about my powers,” she says, and I try to rub out the knotted back muscles while she talks.
“I did,” I say slowly, meeting her intense gaze. “You don’t need to tell me—”
“I do,” she says quickly. “I owe it to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Cass,” I whisper, moving both hands to behind her back. Mostly so she doesn’t make a break for it.
She shakes her head and finally sinks into me like she’d been resisting it.
“Sit with me, please.” With a sigh, Cass lets me pull her onto the bed.
She turns to face me, folding both legs under her and looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her.
“How—” she huffs out a little, looking like she might have a panic attack. “How much do you know about me?”
I frown but oblige the strange roundabout way of doing this.
“Let’s see,” I sigh, taking her hand in mine. It’s colder than I expected. Like she’s somehow managing to shrink further into herself, including her blood vessels. “Considering how evil the NCPD turned out to be, I imagine what I know is mostly false.”
“Humor me,” she says, and her weak smile is enough to push me on.
“When you jumped me in the cafe, I’d just read a book that said you never chose your name. It said that historical reports of you had been that of a large being traversing the countryside and it was uncertain as to whether or not you were a Remnant or a changed beast.”
Cass’ face has molted to a paler white than I’ve seen before.
I cup both hands behind her neck and pull her into a tender kiss. She moans softly, and I feel just the slightest bit of tension leave her.
“I imagine what they saw, or thought they saw, was either your—” I frown, wondering if calling her the wolf-bat would be offensive, but figure it might lighten the tension, “—wolf-bat, or something else entirely.”
She snorts softly but doesn’t meet my eyes as I continue.
“From what RISE has, your powers are rumored to be related to Affliction itself. My actual experience in losing to you in a fight leads me to believe it might have more to do with siphoning, which is not something I’ve seen outside of manifested weaponry.”
I blow out a slow breath as I watch Cass flinch with almost every word I speak.
“The way you took out Fyre and Revenant leads me to wonder if siphoning isn’t the right term, but certainly a part of it.
You seem to have more than one power, though, since there’s something about your lips that gave me dreamless sleeps.
And you're exceptionally older than most Remnants should live—you and Darkrend both.”
That gets her attention. She sort of watches me warily, white teeth biting down on a full lower lip.
“And otherwise, I know the world fears you. As much as they fear Darkrend who, I believe, you went toe-to-toe with. He lost that battle. I saw the way he stepped back when he saw you.”
“Do you fear me?” she asks so softly I almost miss it.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “You think, after everything, that I’m going to be afraid of you?”
Cass looks like she’s either about to cry or break down. She leans forward as though she might be sick, instead letting out a deep, shuddering breath before meeting my eyes again.
“I would not blame you if you were. I have never told anyone the full extent of my abilities. The reason Azazel was so confused this morning was because Remnants usually only have one or two abilities alongside enhanced reflexes.”
I frown and nod for her to continue.
“You have the control over shadows, the dead, the ability to teleport, enhanced hearing, strength, and a healing factor. By all accounts you should not exist.”
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask, a small smile blooming on my lips.
It dies, though, as Cass doesn’t answer right away. She studies my face, almost like she’s wondering if she’ll be able to see me like this again—vulnerable and by her side.
“I probably should be,” she says, voice raw. “In any other situation, I would have distanced myself when I started to feel attraction for you.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, scooting closer.
Cass takes her hands back and runs long fingers through her hair, mussing the straight flow.
She looks conflicted for so long, I almost wonder if I shouldn’t give her space. Let her figure out what’s doing this to her.
Finally, though, she blows out a slow breath.
“Because the idea of finding someone like me and not taking the chance was too much to bear,” she whispers, orange eyes pocked with tears.
“Oh,” I whisper, “sweetheart.”
She sniffles, and I almost forget she’s seven centuries old. She wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and shakes herself a little.
“I do not fear you,” she says after a moment, sounding less like she might break down in tears. “Not anymore.”
Cass goes quiet for a moment, as if gathering her strength. Then she scoots to the edge of the bed and slips off, turning to face me.
Slowly, she untucks her shirt and my eyes widen as she slips it over her head.
“Oh my God,” I groan, watching the way her abs flex and shift.
Cass’ eyes flick to meet mine, fear clearly evident in the orange hue. But I’m focused on her core. And on her body.
And then I see what she wanted to show me.
“There was only ever one person like me. My entire life, I was surrounded by those who were lesser. Powerful, yes, but ultimately limited.”
She traces the pattern of red along her abdomen that curls up and behind her bra. It’s like a lightning strike painted to her body that traces from just below her collar bone down her chest and disappears beneath joggers.
“Not until you,” she says, still staring down at herself. “You, like me, have powers that should not exist.”
She waves her hand and red Affliction goops up through the skin of her palm.
I shift back a little, knowing just how toxic the fluid is. If Cass notices, she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are focused on the undulating mass floating just over her hand.
“A long, long time ago,” she begins, breathing out like this itself is painful to retell, “I was a little girl. Maybe five years old. By this point the First Disruption had already occurred and Affliction flowed through most societies—expensive, but omnipresent.”
She hums a little and it sounds almost like a nursery rhyme.
“Europe had been flourishing with the developmental properties of Affliction, but so many had died because of its introduction. So few had yet to be Inflicted.”
She bends and curls her fingers and the ball of Affliction changes and shifts. It becomes a thin paned window that glows slightly.
Images flash along the surface. They’re grainy and difficult to make out, but the gist is there. Fire and war. Ancient civilizations granted access to a power far deadlier than they could have ever known. A power they should never have had.
A young man flashes to the surface. Dark hair and a pale, pointed face. He has orange eyes like Cass. His mouth is split in a warm, wide grin.
“That was Ivan Castor,” Cass says, still humming the same tune as the images flash by. “My cousin.”
I glance up at her, but her eyes are closed.
The image flicks again and shows what looks like an armored man standing upon a hill. The hill itself looks to be on fire and yet he stands there like nothing can harm him.
Like a camera operator, the image pans out and the pile becomes easier to see.
“In 1360, I was sixteen years old. A man came to our village promising medicines that could cure diseases we had never thought treatable. He said that the Affliction running rampant through the streets of the cities and kingdoms was meant for the people. He said that the power contained within it would bring upon a Golden Age.”
Cass’ eyes are squeezed so tightly, she looks like she’s in pain. Tears begin to crest at the corners and trail down her beautiful face.
I almost reach for her, but the Affliction-paneled screen flicks again.
“He lied.”
This time, a video plays. And it has sound.
“Please!” someone screams. “Please, it hurts!”
“Do not fear,” a voice like the crashing of vehicles comes from nearby. “I will take away your pain.”
The same voice from before screams louder. The scream turns into a sickly gargle before silence rings loudly.
The image shifts like it’s a camera sitting on someone’s chest or forehead. They looks over and see what had once been a person.
“Oh, God,” a much nearer young, female voice whispers. And then the camera tilts down to reveal skinny knees and bare feet.
A chill rocks down my spine and my gaze snaps to Cass. Her eyes are still welded tight, but she’s shivering. Tears are flowing down her face in earnest now.
“The gods are here now, child,” the eerily familiar voice says, sounding much, much too close. “With us. There is no one left to rule the heavens.”
An armored hand reaches down and pulls the girl to her feet. The camera dips to the girl’s chest to show rags and dirtied cloth. She stumbles forward before falling again onto her bare knees, crying out in pain.
“Where’s Ivan?” she cries, looking up to the beast of a man.
Darkrend looks down at her. His face and eyes masked by the garish helmet. With an exaggerated sigh, he waves his hand.
The girl looks over and sees Ivan. He stumbles forward, hands bound and mouth gagged. His eyes flash with fear and pain, glancing between her and Darkrend.
The monster pushes the younger man to his knees and, glancing over at the girl, crushes the man’s head between his hands.
She screams. Blood curdling panic in every decibel.
Darkrend reaches down and grabs her by the throat. Her screams gurgle into wet, choking breaths as red light traces down Darkrend’s arm and into his hand.
The girl struggles and strains until the screen dims, then it goes blank.
Before I can even look back at Cass, the video returns. The same girl, I assume, stares at what had been a village. It now looks like ash, wood, and rubble.
She then looks down at her small, teenage hands and they glow a soft red. The perspective tilts further down to her feet. A red lightning mark streaks from her bare ankle and disappears beneath the torn cloth and linen.
The Affliction goop mutates back into a circular orb and Cass’ eyes flick open.
“Darkrend decimated my village. He killed my people. He killed my family,” she sounds broken.
Detached. Like this had happened to someone else.
“When he Inflicted me, I believe it went wrong. Or, rather, wrong for him. Instead of making me a thrall or a weaker Remnant, he gave me what he already had.”
“So—” I whisper, remembering the way she’d said 'our power' all those weeks ago. That the anklet would protect me from 'our power.'
“I can do almost everything Darkrend can do. And more, at times,” she whispers, finally looking up to meet my eyes. "We are one and the same."
She expects judgement—maybe fear.
I nearly tackle her as I pull her into my arms. Even though she’s at least two inches taller than me, she curls into me. Her head tucks beneath my chin and we fall backwards onto the bed.
She doesn’t cry as I rub her soft, bared skin.
"You are not the same," I say, holding her tightly. "You are exceptional, brave, and strong—but you are not like him.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, and she nestles further into my neck.
“We will protect our people, Cassandra,” I whisper, pressing another kiss into her hair. “I promise you Darkrend will never take them from us.