Chapter 25 #2
Aziel jolted up from the bar, eyes quickly shifting around the room.
The Twisted Willow was already dark, the aura lights having been dimmed, the chairs stacked on top of the tables, glasses and mugs lining the shelves instead of scattered around the bar.
He slowly slid from his stool, eyes narrowed into the darkness in search of traces of Trio’s shadows.
All he saw, towards the back of the tavern, was a set of glowing eyes staring back at him.
He straightened himself, teeth clamping together.
“It’s best if you come forward now.” The creature in the darkness twitched upright, its dark body lengthening.
Long, spindly limbs gripping at every surface as it crawled towards him.
The hissing screams that came from the beast grew louder as it approached, the sounds of bones cracking and realigning becoming more prominent as it jerked and convulsed into an upright position once again.
Aziel could just hardly make out its features. Though the light of the moon shone through the window to his right and illuminated the majority of its ghastly form, the thing’s face was still slightly obscured by shadow—those silver eyes still aglow.
“What business do you have with me, wraith?” He hummed.
Its jaw popped as it dislocated, its maw spreading wide, revealing a tongueless cavern that echoed with groans and screeches. “The roots of deception run far and through, the creature takes to keep what belongs to you.”
Aziel’s brow furrowed, rage radiating off of him in the form of hellfire. “What creature?” He asked.
The wraith gave a guttural scream, its mist-like body twisting as if caught in a vortex. “There are no tongues that can speak its name, for the truth will vanish just as soon as it came.”
He stepped closer into its darkness, his gloved hand taking hold of the creature. It writhed in his grasp, scratching and clawing at him with skeletal fingers. “Enough with your riddles. Speak clearly.”
The wraith’s body creaked, shrilling loudly as it finally slipped free. “You are bewitched.” The creature wailed. “The root of his nature runs far and through. It has ensnared you with his charm. The God of Dastardly Deeds, The God of De—”
“Aziel!” The voice came from the top of the stairs, a sound that echoed through the tavern. Phantom-like and chilling.
When he glanced back in the direction in which the wraith once hovered, his brow furrowed.
And as a sickly sweet scent filled his nose, a scent akin to that of overripe fruit, his body went still.
He couldn’t remember. The creature had just been there…
but he couldn’t remember what it said. The rage from its words still remained, but it did not burn quite as bright as it once had mere moments before.
It was a dim flicker, pulsing with each step he took towards the staircase.
“Aziel!” The voice called again, a soft and melodic voice that he would recognize, even in death. His pulse hammered, the sound of that voice compelling him forward. Closer and closer until he was staring up at a broad, looming figure at the top of those stairs.
He frowned, confusion blurring his thoughts, every bit of his senses obscured. “Gorford?” He called weakly.
“Come closer to see.” Nymiria’s voice replied.
Aziel’s mind blinked in and out of consciousness, splinters of thoughts and warnings filtering in through those dark cracks.
He paused, pressing at the stabbing pain that shot through his temple.
He saw flashes of reality—the figure at the top of the stairs flickering between the form of a woman and the form of a beast.
Every muscle in his body seemed to protest him moving forward, but Aziel fought against it.
He took to the stairs, each step feeling as if it required every ounce of strength to perform, until he stood face to face with something horrid.
Its pale skin was slick with oils, yellow eyes staring back at him.
Sharp, rotting teeth were revealed when its mouth pulled back into a hateful grin.
“You are weak.” Aziel rasped, smirking. “Whatever fool it was that sent you, sent you here with a deathwish.”
The mimic laughed. “My master sent me with only one assignment. What is done to me afterwards is purely based upon what the gods see fit.”
Peculiar that the creature was so faithful. Aziel tilted his head to the side, observing the fresh sigil seared into the beast’s neck. “And who is your master?” He asked. “I don’t believe I have seen these runes before.”
He would have reacted. A part of him wanted to snuff the light from the creature’s eyes, but those eyes were shifting too much.
So much that it felt as if his brain were buzzing, his thoughts and his grip on reality waning.
Nymiria’s face winked in and out of view, but the features were all wrong.
Her nose was too small, too sharp, and too pointed.
Her eyes were slightly too large and close together.
Even her hair was not quite the right shade of silver.
The realization set in too late. When Aziel was finally able to draw the conclusion of what had happened, the Mimic was already placing a large, gnarled hand upon Aziel’s chest.
He watched as the sigil glowed a golden hue, its magic seeping through his clothing and melting into his skin.
“You have seen these runes everywhere,” the mimic whispered, its saccharine breath rousing the contents of Aziel’s stomach.
“But you are blind to them—as are most who are unfamiliar with my master’s greatness. ”
Blood. Mimics used blood to obtain the forms that they took. Aziel’s rage, that small flickering thing, exploded inside of him, his hand shooting out and grabbing the Mimic’s throat with such force that he felt it crush under his grip.
If that creature was able to mimic Nymiria…
Someone made her bleed.
It was the last thought that he had that was his own.
The door slammed closed, leaving Aziel at the center of the room while Thorn and Everand looked on at him.
It felt odd to him how the roles had been so quickly reversed.
Merely weeks before, it had been him sitting at Thorn’s side.
No sooner than the thought entered his mind, did it dissipate.
He felt his thoughts wilt—a piece of him lingering inside of his mind trying desperately to grasp onto autonomy. Onto control.
Aziel stared straight ahead. Thoughtless.
Sightless. Enthralled and bewitched. He hardly had the strength to wonder how he'd gotten to the palace or remember what happened to him.
His consciousness seemed to fade in and out, like his thoughts were at one with the tide—constantly moving within and out of reach.
“You were quite difficult to commandeer, Mr. Haze.” Everand walked towards him with a powerful stride. One filled with pride. The rings on his fingers gleamed in the morning light. Something about them made his chest tighten. “I’ve been working at getting you under control for weeks now.”
When his knees struck the floor, pain radiated through his thighs and into his hips. But Aziel’s face remained impassive. Even as the prince of Alvaros came to a stop in front of him, his hand extended in Aziel’s direction.
“Kiss it.” Everand commanded. “You want to be worthy of my favor, Aziel. You want me to forgive you for trying to take claim over what is rightfully mine.”
Everything inside of him screamed for release.
The anger, the urge to kill—he could feel it, but nothing came to the surface.
He felt as if his soul, his conscience, and every ounce of control he possessed was locked in some sort of cell.
A dark cavern within his own mind, forced to watch himself become nothing but a vessel for Everand’s entertainment.
The bloodlust within that cavern in his mind smelled of rotted flesh and fire, his stomach churning with disgust as he leaned forward and placed a kiss upon the ornate golden ring that rested on his middle finger.
The filigree around the glimmering ruby was in the shape of a sun, nestled between two crescent moons of similar design.
Aziel stared at it, eyes narrowing.
He’d seen that ring before. But not on the hand of Everand Alvaros. That ring had belonged to Dorid.
“Good boy.” Everand smirked, patting the top of Aziel’s head before turning to Thorn. “You said that he was dangerous, Thorn. He looks pretty docile to me. Rather harmless. I find it surprisingly underwhelming just how obedient he is being.”
The king stared at Aziel, a mixture of fear and magic clouding his eyes. “Yes. Underwhelming.”
Everand let out a laugh as he stretched himself across the chaise on the far side of the room, leaving Aziel on his knees.
“Perhaps I should have tested my theory on using Nymiria against you sooner, but you never know which stories are myth and factual in a place such as this. Mates.” His final word came out with such disgust, one would believe he’d tasted shit.
“Corebounds, is what they call the likes of you where I am from. And based upon what was detailed to me, it all seemed like a load of nonsense. Still does, if we’re all being frank with one another.
” He crossed one thick leg over the other, joined hands resting behind his head.
There was a screaming in Aziel’s mind, in the pits of that cavern he’d been sequestered to. His spirit raged inside of him, pounding upon the bars of his cage, ripping stones from the walls.
“The storytellers back home believe that mates can sense when their other half is in danger.” Everand was now observing his finger, picking at his nails as if there were dirt underneath them.
From where Aziel knelt, they were just as clean and gleaming as his ridiculous rings.
“But you didn’t hear her screaming for you last night, did you? ”
His hands were trembling, the screams in his head growing louder. He felt them growing—spreading through his chest like a raging storm.
This is her home. She was supposed to be safe here.
This is her home.
The darkness in that cavern receded. The light in the room became too bright.
Everand’s voice was too loud. As soon as Aziel broke through the surface of the enchantment, he flew to his feet.
With a rumbling growl, he’d thrown himself across the room and pulled Everand from the chaise.
He was on top of him, incisors mere centimeters away from the prince’s throat when that cruel and suffocating darkness returned.
He watched the world and all of his fury slip from his grasp again as Everand’s odorous magic flooded him.
“Listen to me,” another wave of magic ran through him, forcing Aziel’s eyes to look at the man now standing over him.
“You will believe everything you hear. You will believe that everything I do is law. You will not argue, you will not fight. But,” he combed his hair back into place.
“I suppose I will allow you to feel the pain of losing your mate to another man. If only for my own satisfaction.” His face dripped with disdain as he looked over Aziel’s body.
“I do enjoy seeing you helpless. It will be my greatest accomplishment, you know? Watching the God of Death die in front of me, but keeping him alive enough to do my biddings. Watching you waste away, day by day. Forcing you to watch me with her…”
There was just enough strength inside of him to look Everand in the eyes.
He hoped, from the deep dark recesses of his mind, that the prick saw the promise of death in his gaze.
It would come for him. He didn’t care if Everand’s name was on The Toll or not.
He didn’t care if Fate brought all of her wrath down upon him for going against the natural order.
He did not care.
And in a voice that sounded deceptively melodic and repulsively enchanting, Everand spun his tale.
“Nymiria is mine, now. You will believe that she left you—that she sought a better, brighter future than you could provide her. She wanted me. She wanted a title. She wanted power. And you, the reminder of her horrors, are nothing.”