5. Virgil
VIRGIL
I watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, but his mind was far from peaceful. His dreams were vivid, dark things, filled with sex, blood and violence, haunted by a presence I knew all too well. His breath hitched every so often, a hint of the nightmares clawing at him from the dark corners of his subconscious. I’d watched him this way for years, a silent stalker in the shadows, my presence woven through his life like a thread of fate. But tonight, it was different. I felt a pull, stronger than usual, a need to step closer, to make myself known.
In all my long existence, I’d never felt drawn to a human like this. There was something about him—his strength, his unyielding will—that stirred memories in me I thought long dead. In life, I had known love, desire, and lust. Men had once worshipped me, offering their bodies and their souls. I had taken them with pleasure, feeding off their weakness, their need for power, for control. But Virgil wasn’t weak. He was a challenge. And I hadn’t had a challenge in centuries.
I drifted closer, hovering at the edge of his bed, watching the muscles in his arms twitch as if he were readying for a fight even in his sleep. God’s soldier to the core.
For years, I had followed him, a silent shadow present at every death, at every exorcism. I watched as he sent demons screaming into the abyss, severing their hold on the world of the living with the cold precision of a man who had nothing left to lose. I was also there as he allowed the demons to take hold of the living, giving them to me so easily. I was also there as he let his fear take control. I suppose even soldiers of God have their limits, and his, were currently being tested.
The demon that circled his dreams had been coming for him for a long time, slowly wearing down his defenses, gnawing at his strength, causing this psychological turmoil. It was smart in its hatred for him. It wanted more than just to possess him, it wanted to destroy him, to break him down little by little, until there was nothing left but a shell of the man he once was. It was personal.
I knew its hunger, its rage. I knew it better than anyone.
Because I was one of them.
For centuries, I have existed, bound to this world not of my own will. I am not a demon per se, but something far older. Death. An Angel of Death, a title that had become a part of me over the centuries. You could call me an ancient spirit, a harbinger and reaper of souls. All in all, I was your guide at the end.
I am older than humanity, having seen civilizations rise and fall, and wars that shattered men into pieces. I was once beautiful, worshiped even. Men had loved me, desired me, but I had taken from them what they were too weak to hold on to—life. I hadn't been cruel, though. I never made them suffer. I gave them peace and took their pain away before I took their final breath. I had been merciful once before time wore me down into something colder, something detached, something apathetic.
Then God had punished me. Banished me into purgatory to guide those same souls I'd tortured back to hell. I wasn't allowed near heaven. No, my type of reaper could only travel through the darkness. My memories of my previous lives had slowly faded, and I had become this hollow thing that only existed when a human expired. They wouldn't remember me either.
Even after having tasted the souls of warriors, kings, and even the forgotten, none captivated me like this one mortal. Virgil Desdemone. He was a man who walked the fine line between light and darkness, a man whose soul bore the weight of sin and not just his own. He fascinated me, and I admired him for that. I loved him for it, though I would never speak those words aloud. Death does not love. It only takes all love away, leaving you in emptiness.
He was a man who walked that thin razor's edge between the godly and the damned. I found myself drawn to him; bound by something ungodly. I hadn’t feared anything in a long time, but this man…with this mortal I drew caution. Because he was a killer in his own right. He was like me, and that made him dangerous.
And also very desirable.
I saw the shift in his dreams, the moment the demon dug its claws into him, ripping him from the false safety of that woman's arms. That woman that wanted to take him away from me. She was slowly seeping into his heart and that burned something deep within me. Maybe what they called jealousy, or remnants of it and I didn't like it. He was mine.
His body tensed, his breath caught, and his eyes shot open as he gasped into the darkness of his room.
"Barythaya," he gasped and then I sensed him go very still.
I made my presence known tonight, allowing my energy to sweep around him, letting the veil between our worlds thin. He shifted in the bed, his brow furrowing, sensing me before he saw me.
"Who's there?" His voice was hoarse, edged with suspicion, and a trace of fear that sent a thrill through me.
He stiffened, his gaze locking onto the empty space where I hovered, his eyes flickered back and forth, trying to make sense of what he couldn't see. I could feel his fear, that delicious, subtle pulse of it, emanated from him so sweetly. If I licked the air I could probably taste it.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice was steady, although his erratic heartbeat sadly betrayed him.
I let out a soft, almost mournful sigh, softening my voice to a soft feminine, familiar sound. "Time has a way of erasing what once was, of turning those remembered into ashes." I moved closer, letting the shadows dance around me. "I am one of those forgotten, but you are not. I know you," I whispered, softening my voice, making it feminine, familiar. "I've been watching you for a long time."
Virgil sat up, his muscles tensing, eyes still scanning the room, his breath quickened. I could sense the edge of fear rising in him, though he would never admit it. A man like him didn't fear death. But that unknown? The shadows that lurked at the dark edges of his consciousness? Those unsettled him.
"Who the hell are you?" He asked again, his tone sharper, more demanding. I smiled. "I am what you fear, yet what you desire," I whispered, letting my form take shape enough for him to see the outline of my body—once beautiful, now cloaked in the ethereal fog of death. "You feel me, don't you? In every battle, every soul you've sent to the abyss of hell, I've been there."
"I...I don't understand. What do you want?"
I ignored his question as memories began to flow through me. "I once considered an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Men worshipped at my feet, desired me, offered their souls for a taste of my favor. But I wanted more than admiration. I wanted control, and power. I was tired of being oppressed and taken for granted by so many. So, I took it. I seduced them, their bodies became mine, their desires blinded them to the blade I kept hidden.
"Each man I killed was with precision, my hands becoming as skilled with a knife as they were with soft caresses and teasing kisses. I watched the life drain from their eyes, felt their souls slip away, and it thrilled me. I reveled in it. But even the most beautiful things decay, and when my sins caught up to me, death claimed me as his bride, binding me to this eternal existence as a reaper of souls.
"Now, I am nothing more than a shadow, a collector of the damned, tasked with guiding souls to their final destination. But Virgil... you are different. I don't just want your soul, I want you. And I have waited too long to claim what should be mine.
I stepped closer to his bed, my form now clearer, a silhouette bathed in a dim, otherworldly glow. He stared at me, confusion and intrigue flashing in his eyes.
"I've watched you for years, Virgil," I said softly, my voice carrying a sadness I hadn't allowed myself to feel in centuries. "You and your kind, those soldiers of God, drenched in blood, caught between the light and the dark. But you… you're different."
His gaze hardened, his suspicion deepening. "What do you want from me?"
I smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Your soul is not what I seek tonight. Not yet."
I moved toward him, and though he tried to retreat, I felt the pull between us—the same pull that had drawn me to him for years. He couldn't deny it any more than I could. He had seen the darkness, lived in it, but there was a part of him still tethered to the light. A part of him that resisted the temptation.
"I am death," I whispered, standing so close now that I could feel the heat of his body, the tremor in his muscles as he tensed. "And I am everything you fear. But I am also what you desire."
My fingers grazed his jaw, and he flinched but didn't pull away. There was fire in him still, a fight I admired. I trailed my hand lower, down his neck, feeling the pulse of his life beneath his skin. He was so full of what I wanted, life, energy, raw power. It was intoxicating.
"I can give you release," I said, my voice dropping to a hushed, sensual tone. "I can take away the pain, the weight you carry. All you have to do is give in."
I could see the conflict in his eyes, the desire warring with his will. He wanted me, even if he didn't understand why. And I wanted him, more than I had ever wanted anyone before.
"I've killed many men," I whispered, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But none like you. You're different. Special."
Virgil's breath hitched as my hand slid lower, across his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths, each one more labored than the last. "What are you?"
I smiled against his skin. "I am yours, if you'll have me."
I let my form shift, taking on the appearance of the one woman who had been on his mind lately—Barythaya. Her dark hair, her sharp eyes, the tattoos that marked her skin. I knew he wanted her, though he kept his distance. I knew the pull she had on him, the way he fought it every time they crossed paths.
His eyes widened as he saw me, confusion flickering across his face. "Barythaya?"
"No," I said softly, taking another step closer. "But I know her. I know what you want from her."
His breath hitched, and he reached for the knife on his bedside table, his fingers brushing the hilt. He didn't trust what he was seeing. He shouldn't.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Virgil," I said, my voice calm, soothing. "I'm here to save you."
He stared at me, the knife now gripped in his hand, but he didn't raise it. "Save me from what?"
"From the demon that haunts your dreams. The one that wants to tear you apart."
I could see the understanding dawn in his eyes. He knew what I was talking about. He had felt the demon's presence, its relentless pursuit. It had been growing stronger, feeding off his exhaustion, his fear. And now it was close, closer than ever before.
"It wants to destroy you," I continued, "It's angry with you, envious of what you are. It craves your pain, your suffering. It won't stop until it has consumed you. It wants you to suffer eternal damnation."
"And you?" he asked, his voice low. "What do you want?"
I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "I want to help you. I've been watching you for years, Virgil. I've seen the battles you've fought, the souls you've saved. But this one… this demon is different. You can't fight it alone."
He stared at me, the weight of my words sinking in. He knew I was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. The demon was too strong, too relentless. And I was the only one who could stop it.
"But why?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why help me?"
I stepped closer, until I was right in front of him, my hand reaching out to touch his chest. "Because I admire you. I've admired you for a long time. And because I don't want to see you fail."
His breath hitched again, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He didn't trust me, not fully, but he was desperate. And desperation made men do foolish things.
"I can protect you," I whispered, my hand sliding down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my touch. "But you have to trust me."
His grip on the knife tightened, but he didn't move. He didn't push me away.
"Let me help you, Virgil," I murmured, my lips hovering just above his. "Let me save you."
For a moment, there was only silence, and then he broke it."I don't need your help. I work alone. I always have. Now get the fuck out," he whispered, his voice rough.
I stared at him for a moment, seeing his resolve, and then I roared in anger. He pressed his arms over his face as I shifted back into that dark fog I came from.
"I will come back for you. You will be mine, soldier. You were meant for Death."
I slowly dissipated, letting the threat linger. I'd have my way, I always did.