Chapter 17 Azahara
Azahara
Aburning fire roared in her throat, like the kind of blaze Dragons used to scorch whole kingdoms.
Azahara gasped for breath as the air turned into a storm of blades, triggering a violent, blood-tinged cough.
Her fingers gripped the gravel beneath her, tethering her to the harsh reality.
In the midst of the encroaching darkness, a single beam of light filtered through a solitary opening, casting a faint glow.
Slowly, her vision cleared, revealing the mysterious figure in the room.
His back against the wall, arms crossed over his puffed chest: Goddrick.
“Little mouse, you awaken.” His voice echoed in her head, and she shuddered. She wanted nothing more than to shut it out and never hear it again. “You have been out for hours. This is unusual.” He sounded surprised, which caused Azahara to feel equally such.
“H-Hours?” she stuttered.
The norm had been to awaken shortly within the first hour after death. Though never a pleasant experience, it had never stretched into hours. Her breath grew increasingly agitated, an anxious frenzy taking hold as she thought of Illyan and Kaed.
She rose slowly, first onto her knees, then her feet. Ignoring Goddrick completely, she made her way toward the cave’s mouth, now clearly visible.
Goddrick never took her far from her place of death. He had once mentioned that leaving her dead for too long could destroy that beautiful brain of hers.
This cave was just on the other side of the grouping of trees both she and Kaed traveled by before the Vaeragi showed up. She would be back in his arms, reassuring him soon.
“Leaving in such a hurry?” He stood right before her, almost like he had been beside her the whole time, rather than on the other side of the room.
Azahara stopped before she ran into him. Her expression was both pained and angry. “Get out of my way.”
“Is that any way to show gratitude to your savior?” Goddrick licked his lips and moved closer to her, their chests nearly touching, his chin tilting down towards his throat.
He loomed over her, much like many others did, but he was a god.
Whether due to his sheer size or his commanding presence, he exuded a sense of power while she was insignificant.
Most would beg for someone who looked like Goddrick to be in close proximity to them; broad shoulders, exquisitely cut jawline with flawless skin.
But to her, she’d rather tear her skin off than ever be this close.
She swallowed, her desire to return to Kaed burning within her.
“Thanks,” she muttered through clenched teeth, her words dripping with resentment.
Her head remained still, but her gaze bore into him with an angry intensity through her lowered eyelashes.
“Let me go,” she exhaled forcefully, the plea laced with frustration. “Please.”
A moment passed, enveloped in silence, accompanied only by the whispers of the wind and the patter of rain outside. She briefly pondered his thoughts, those fiery eyes of his seemingly delving into the depths of her soul.
“No,” he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her back into the cave.
“No?! Let me go!” she screamed, her fingers digging into his hand, trying to wedge them through to break from his grasp. “Goddrick, I said no!”
“I will not allow what is mine to be had by some Elf!” Anger like she’d never heard laced his voice. His grip tightened, causing her to scream out in pain. “If I have to trap you, I will.”
Azahara knew he would use the dyspoxii to take her far away. If that happened, she would never make it back. She had to fight.
“No, damn it! Let me go!” She scratched and punched at his fingers, futilely attempting to break free.
“Goddrick, stop! Please! I don’t belong to you, and I never will!
” She shifted her weight suddenly, catching him off guard.
Her feet kicked out forcefully, a surge of determination propelling her to push with all her might, her bones straining under the pressure.
Goddrick roared, releasing her arm and bellowing out a slew of words in a language that she was not familiar with.
She crashed onto the ground, the impact jarring her body. Despite the pain, she scrambled up swiftly and dashed toward the opening. The rain outside beckoned to her, its cold embrace promising the relief she yearned for.
As if she could escape a god.
As if there was ever any hope for her.
A tight hand wrapped around her neck, breaking her run instantly. “No—”
“That bloody no…” His voice was hollow. “It’s going to continue to get you hurt.” The lace of anger and dread in its tone caused her body to tremble. His hand tightened around her neck, her backside to him as he lifted her off the ground.
“I’m tired of a mere mouse, my little mouse, telling me no. I will not let you go back to him. Ever!” he screamed, and Azahara shuddered. Her nails scratched at his hand. The air was slowly being cut from her lungs to her throat.
Too tight…. can’t… breathe.
She fought, kicked, and waved her arms.
“You deny me as if I can’t just—”
Snap.
The sound of bones cracking echoed in her ear. It had only taken a flick of his thumb to snap her cervical. Her arms and legs went limp, and darkness took over her vision.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you?” The beautiful tone of Death wrapped her mind.
Azahara’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the embrace of the black room around her. Its warmth cocooned her, evoking a sense of comfort, while the scent of pomegranates wafted gently around her.
“Death?” she whispered.
“I’m here.” The voice seemed to encompass the entire space, and yet she recognized Death standing behind her. A smile graced her lips as she turned, locking eyes with the exquisite being that struck fear into all.
Death’s beauty resembled something drawn from the realms of fiction.
Skin as flawless as pearls, its eyes a penetrating shade of yellow akin to the sun, and a cascade of raven hair that seemed never-ending as it flowed down the length of the shrouding cloak.
Its smile was breathtaking, and had Azahara been capable of drawing a breath, it would have caught in her throat.
“Where am I?” Azahara asked as she stepped towards Death. The creature extended its arm, allowing its skeletal fingers to graze against her skin.
“The life before the death.”
“I’ve never seen this place.” She raised her head as if there was something to see.
“This is Purgatory, my love.” Death leaned its head to the side, watching her with its sunny eyes. “Here is where I cradle souls, granting them respite before their passage. An intermediary realm. A domain of recollection.”
Realization dawned on her at that moment. She gazed at Death, her features a canvas of astonishment. The smile on Death’s lips radiated unadulterated joy, so intense that it seemed on the verge of tears. “We can finally be together,” Death declared.
Azahara drew in a breath, an action her lungs no longer needed, and felt tears welling in her eyes.
“Oh no, don’t cry, please,” Death’s voice gently reassured as it enfolded her in its arms. Azahara wasn’t taken aback to find that Death’s arms were skeletal, devoid of flesh.
Yet, what struck her was the warmth that enveloped her, a stark contrast to the cold, damp world she had inhabited for centuries.
“My exquisite Azahara Rhay Rothwen, turned Starfall,” Death’s voice continued, “do not shed tears. I’m here with you. ”
Resting her forehead against Death’s unyielding chest, Azahara’s arms found their way around her dearest friend.
Death’s cloak, devoid of any apparent guidance, encircled them, wrapping them together in a protective embrace as though warding off whatever ailed her.
“No one shall bring you harm again,” Death’s assurance resonated.
“You are no longer his here, for in this realm, you are mine.” Its fingers gently stroking through her crimson curls.
“How I’ve longed for this day…” Azahara’s shoulders trembled, tears streaming down her cheeks and neck. “To finally be together.”
Death hummed, its gentle voice like a lullaby.
“Azahara.” Her gasp filled the empty room.
Even Death looked around, seemingly able to hear the voice. “How did you get here?”
“Come back to me.” The voice ripped through her, and she pulled away from Death. Her friend’s expression became pained. “Kaed?!” Azahara said his name, and she felt her body filling with an energy she didn’t recognize.
She looked back at Death. “I—”
“You’ve never truly had a choice in your life.” Death’s words held a sympathetic resonance as it extended a hand toward her. Azahara felt no fear in returning to Death’s presence. “He’s perpetually stripped that from you,” it continued.
Azahara wept, her hands shaking as she reached to Death, touching its face. “Death, I—”
“You deserve the choice you never had,” Death continued, “but know that making this decision comes with more than returning to him. It will mean a shift in reality itself. To deny the Fated Line will change everything.”
She leaned back, her eyes swollen. “I only want to be happy. That is all I’ve ever wanted. Safety and happiness.”
Death did not waiver and placed a gentle caress against Azahara’s cheek. “It is what you deserve. I cannot tell the future, but I do know that there is someone that lives for nothing more than to keep you safe and happy. Above all else.”
Kaed.
Their foreheads pressed together, and she felt calm. The hyperventilating that had begun was stripped away. “Thank you. For everything you have ever done for me.”
Death’s laughter held a gentle timbre. “You thank me? My love, I thank you. For never fearing me, even in the beginning. For loving me as I am. I truly wait for the day I can have you forever, but I am patient. More so than a god.” They placed both skeletal hands against her cheeks.
“Now, before I let you go, I must give you a gift.”
A smile crossed her face, and she nodded. “Until we meet again.”
“Until death.” It leaned in and placed its lips against hers. The fire that should have scorched her felt akin to being wrapped in love’s embrace. It was not painful but, instead, a thrill of intensity that she would feel as though she were free falling.
The light felt overwhelmingly bright to her eyes, causing her to wince as the world gradually emerged.
She found herself back in the cave, the resounding screams of Goddrick reverberating and fracturing the walls around her.
Her body slumped against the wall, and as she took stock of her surroundings, she observed the god contorting in anguish.
“Ahhh!” Goddrick bellowed.
Azahara was alive, but barely. Her head turned towards him, while the rest of her body, mangled and twisted, lay different ways.
She could see him, the blackness that was taking over his arm.
It was crushing him, or, as if he were turning to ash and taking it piece by piece, destroying him inch by inch.
He looked at her. “You did this—or was it that cunt, Death?!”
She blinked, her gaze fixed on him as he painstakingly crawled towards her. What are you doing? Her thoughts raced. Her body lay numb, devoid of pain and sensation. Oh, how she longed for the embrace of death, its comforting warmth absent.
“I do not know what you have done, but I will deal with you later.” He bit down on his hand, drawing the black blood she’d come to know so well. So much spilled that she felt vomit threatening to show itself.
Abruptly, he thrust his hand against her mouth with such force that it felt like teeth might have dislodged from her jaw. His grip smothered her, and he exerted pressure relentlessly. A deluge of blood flooded her mouth, an immense inundation.
She gagged, fighting against the overwhelming surge, attempting to suppress her body’s instinct to swallow. The taste was repulsive, unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was thick, accompanied by a bitter, metallic tang that assaulted her senses.
When he finally withdrew, she closed her eyes, feeling her body starting to reassemble itself. From the bone in her back realigning the shattered fragments, to the ones in her neck snapping back into position, she experienced every sensation.
She wanted to scream, but a voice spoke, not to her, but to Goddrick.
“You have broken our most sacred law. You have killed a mortal.”
“SHE DID NOT DIE!” Goddrick roared.
“Her heart did cease, Goddrick. You imbecile! Do you understand what you have done?!” the voice thundered with fury, resonating throughout the chamber, its intensity so potent that it seemed capable of shattering the cave to its foundation.
“I broke no such thing,” he countered.
“The Courts will be your judge. Return to Parádeisos immediately.”
In that fleeting moment, Azahara sensed a peal of laughter welling within her, creeping its way from her throat to escape her lips. It commenced as a faint ripple, then gradually expanded, escalating in volume until it reverberated, filling the space with its crescendo.
Facing her, Goddrick’s gaze bore the intensity of a killer, his eye filled with wrath, while the encroaching ash had already consumed half his face.
Instantly, he was before her, their faces just inches apart. Her laughter gradually faded, yet the smile gracing her lips remained utterly captivating. The blood adorning her mouth, trickling down her neck, possessed an eerie yet enchanting quality—simultaneously beautiful and lethal.
This sight prompted Goddrick to draw back instinctively.
“The only power you had over me is gone.” Azahara would never fear him taking the one thing that mattered to her—he would not be able to kill Kaed. “I hope you suffer, o theós na eínai kataraménos.” She spat blood in his face as she damned him.
“I will be back, little mouse.” With one last call of anger, Goddrick cast himself into darkness.
Then… silence.