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Cecilia von Estria

The raven arrives early in the morning. It lands on her outstretched hand, her skin a flawless, pale colour. She turns away from the balcony and brings it inside. There, she picks up a knife, caresses the bird’s neck with one slender hand and slices its stomach open. She does this with unwavering accuracy as the raven’s guttural cries starts and abruptly ends. Her hand roots around inside the bird before pulling out a small parchment stained in its blood. She unfolds the message. It’s written beautifully and with care.

He’s here. Come to Rakshult at once.

Your Ever-Faithful Servant,

Her face remains expressionless, but she carefully folds the parchment and places it inside the smouldering fireplace.

In the light of dawn, her eyes flicker a deep and crystal blue.

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Enzo Laurent

I can hear footsteps from above. The sound grows closer, until they stop right outside of my cell and through the bars of the wall; an imp the size of an owl chucks a piece of rotten bread at me. It misses and bounces off the wall, landing into a puddle nearby, splashing my clothes with grimy water.

“Your last meal,” it sneers at me. If you can call it that. It’s obvious it’s not interested in me as the imp immediately leaves, throwing a final glance at me, “We’ll come for you at the first sign of dusk.”

Its footsteps grow distant, then disappear altogether.

From one of the cells next to me, a voice croaks out. “Boy,” it murmurs, making me shiver. ”Boy.” When I don’t reply, he asks, “Are you one of them? One of the gifted?”

Silence.

“So?” he presses. “Are you?”

I remain silent.

He laughs, the echoes of a prisoner who’s been here so long that his mind has been broken. “The demons say that you murdered some of them with their shadows. Well did you? Maybe you can get me out.” He pauses. “What do you think? Help me out of here?” His words dissolve again into giggles of insane laughter.

I try to ignore the sound as best I could. Gifted? The thought was so ridiculous, that I wanted to laugh along with him at the craziness of the suggestion.

Hours pass. Actually, I had no way of knowing how long had passed. All I know is that eventually I hear the pitter-patter of footsteps coming down the long stone stairs. The sounds arrive closer, until there is the turning of a key unlocking my cell door. It’s time.

Three demons around my height enter the cell, their faces grim. I stand up straight, my back creaking in protest, and stare at a gap in the wall ahead. They unlock my shackles, the sound of them dropping to the floor reverberating around the prison.

I let them take me, offering little resistance as they grab hold of each of my arms. It was pointless after all. They drag me up the stairs, a demon in front and two by my side. One floor, two floors, three. That’s how far down I was. Here, the courtyard comes into view — the flooring changes from damp, broken cobble into smooth obsidian, the walls littered with various trophies and the demon lord’s sigil, a snake eating its tail; the Ouroboros. As I grow closer to the centre square, I can hear the shouting coming from outside. I looked down, unwanting to meet the faces of the demons who would see my demise. One of the demons yank on my arms, making me stumble forwards. “Keep moving, boy,” one of them snarls at me, its face a grotesque expression.

Then we step out of the castle and into the courtyard, and for a moment, my world turns a pitch-black and the only thing I could see were the beating hearts of the crowd, so exposed and vulnerable. Hundreds of demons lined up, happily eager to see me executed, expecting an entertaining death. The night sky was clear and beautiful, the stars shimmering in all of their brightness. In the distance, an iron stake stood erected next to a throne made of obsidian, upon which a tall figure sat upon. Standing next to the figure was where a female and a line of demon officers waited. Even from here, I can see their circular emblems shining on their clothing, their black eyes fixated on me. I look away.

Jeers and insults greet me as I am led closer to my death. Some throw rotten food at me, while others spit and curse at my face. They wear thin strips of clothing, dirty shoes or anything else they can find. So many deprived and desperate, come to see me suffer in order to distract themselves from their own sad lives. I keep my head up. The world blurs by as I am dragged further in. Before me, the stake creeps closer and closer until it’s directly in front of me.

“Monster!”, “You deserve to die!”, “Your death will be painful!”, “Abomination!”

I close my eyes. Ironic. Everyone in the courtyard sounds like my father. I can almost hear his voice talking down to me. I hate you all. I imagine my hands at their throats, choking them, silencing them, one by one. I imagine twisting a sword through their hearts, their limp bodies dropping like flies as I do so. Something stirs inside of me, but I ignore it as they shove me against the stake, clamping shackles on to my wrists and ankles and tying me to the pole. The stake was made of white cast iron and was a thick as the trunk of a tree. Piles of wood were thrown at my feet, rapidly stacking up until they reached the height of my knee.

As I look at the people lined up in front of me, my gaze settles on the tall figure rising from the throne. He stands and walks towards me, his shoulders are squared and his hands are folded behind his back. His eyes glow a pale gold, but his unruly hair almost makes him seem human.

“Lord Raphael Gruelle,” the female standing in front of the officers announces with a formal poise. “Arch demon of fire and fury.”

Arch demon? I look at him again. Such a thing exists? And it has come to see me die?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Raphael approaches me now with long, confident strides. I shrink away, now uneager to meet someone with such a status. The cold metal of my shackles begin to cut into my skin as he lowers his head to meet my gaze. His black coat is lined in gold as opposed to red in colour and is embellished with various decorations, much more than the other officers. His face is thin and as if chiselled from marble, impressively regal, and his eyes are pale yellow. Very pale yellow. So pale they seemed to be devoid of life. Something about them makes me shiver in response. There is insanity in those eyes, something uncontrolled and destructive.

He uses one hand to lift my chin and studies my face. The edges of his mouth tilt up, becoming a strange and almost sympathetic smile.

“Such a pity,” he says. “You would have fit perfectly into my ranks.”

I jerk my chin away and look at him with all the hate I can muster.

“A vengeful one too.” His words are laced with venom. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll be quick.” Then quietly, so that only I would be able to hear, “You will find your redemption in the underworld.”

He steps away and turns to face the crowd, raising his hand to call for silence. “Quiet now, my fellow demons. I know we’re all excited.” Once the audience quietens, he clears his throat, and claps his hands together. His words echo across the courtyard. “A beautiful sight we will have here today for you. Some of you may have heard that there has been an increase in the deaths of our officers recently, deaths solely caused by this human here.” He points at me. “Let me reassure you: When we find these vigilantes, we bring them to justice. Blood must be paid in blood.” He scans the crowd. “The order is here to protect you. Let this be a warning to you all.”

I try to struggle against my shackles. My legs are shivering violently from the cold, the wind like a knife, cutting into my skin. I look up towards the night sky. It’s such a beautiful night – how can the sky be this clear?

Raphael takes a lit torch from one of his officers. The sight of the fire sparks a terror through my mind and my eyes widen in horror as I recall a memory. I had screamed in agony when the flames had touched my face as my house burnt down. What kind of pain must you feel when you let fire consume your entire body?

He puts his hand over his heart in a mocking gesture of farewell. Then he bends over and lights the piles of wood at my feet with the torch. The dry wood immediately catches on fire and the crowd roars in approval.

As the flames flicker at my feet, my mind goes into a state of panic at having to let fire touch my body once again. I remembered the pain, the cries for help, and the cruel realization that I was alone in a world of fire, that I had been abandoned. Rage surges through me, coursing through my veins.

God, give me strength. I am not dying here today.

I close my eyes. I reach deep inside me and finally grasp this strange feeling lying in my mind. My heart desperately closes around it, knowing it will be the only thing that might save me.

Time stops.

The flames become motionless, their trails of fire paralysed and void of colour, streaks of black and white left lying in the air. The stars in the night sky slowly turn a crimson red, almost as if they were bleeding, and the cold wind dies against my skin. Raphael’s smile falters as he turns to look at me. The crowd turns silent, confused at what was happening.

Then something inside of me erupts and I know now that it was too late to stop. The world unfreezes — the fire flickering against the wood once again. But overhead, the crimson stars multiply until they fill up the sky in its entirety.

The stars begin to join together, forming a single massive entity. The outline of which, take on horrifying, unknown shape, and throughout all of this, the moon still shines, a spectator, watching the event unfold. The crowd screams, a mismatch of cries of help and escape, and the officers arm themselves, their heads tilted upward like the rest of the crowd.

In the midst of all the panic and screaming, the moon also begins to turn a dark shade of red. And just like that, the single mass of stars moves—it scatters into millions of specks that swirl and then fall down, down, down on to all of us. It was like it was raining blood, except that it wasn’t blood. It was a swarm, a nightmare, of locusts. They descend rapidly, their scarlet shapes falling mercilessly, their buzzing drowning out the screams of the crowd. The officers flail their weapons uselessly at them.

However, I noticed the strangest thing. As the locusts came near me, they didn’t devour me as I thought they would. Instead, they passed straight through my body. Almost like they didn’t exist at all. I observed the scene in front of me, and surely enough, the insects went straight through the officers and the demon crowd as well.

Then it clicked. This was all fake. They weren’t real at all, it was all a trick.

All of a sudden—

The temperature drops. Demons drop all around me. Specks of blue and white dart across my vision.

The flames below me were instantly put out, turning into wisps of smoke. Someone stands between me and Raphael, landing with deadly elegance. It’s a girl, I think. Who is she? This girl isn’t fake —I can sense her presence, something that the locusts didn’t have. She is clothed in a blindingly white uniform and a shining silver mask covers her entire face. She faces the arch demon, her focus entirely on her opponent. A long, thin rapier glimmers in her right hand.

Raphael stares at her, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Move aside,” he snarls at the stranger.

The masked girl tilts her head to one side. “How rude,” she mocks, her voice regal and unwavering. Even in the sounds of chaos, I can hear her clearly.

Raphael lunges at her with his drawn sword, but the girl dances out of his patch, gracefully and beautifully, and thrusts with her rapier. It pierces deep inside his body. A penetrating cry sounds out from the battlefield, as the female demon that was standing at my execution sees and dashes over towards him. Something in me sparks with delight.

Officers see their fallen commander and rush to the scene to help. They draw their swords at the girl. She just smirks, her smile a gesture of taunt for them to come closer. When they do, she twirls through them like it was a performance, her figure a blur of movement, her rapier cutting them like butter. One of the officers almost stabs her, but the girl merely cuts the demon’s hand clean off. The sword falls to the ground. The girl kicks the fallen sword up in to the air with a flick of her knee-high boots, then catches it and points it at the other demons.

When I analyse what was transpiring in front of me harder, I noticed there were also similarly masked figures — people dressed in the same white uniform as the girl. It seems she didn’t come here alone.

More officers arrive at the battle. The girl stops for an instant to look at them, her rapier dyed with the colour of demon blood. Then she stands still, points at the ground with her weapon and stabs the tip of her rapier, drawing a circle into the floor.

A circular wall of ice erupts from the ground, separating the demons between us with a column of frost going high into the night sky. The sounds of the battle are muffled behind the icy wall, leaving only the sounds of our breathing alone inside the circle.

The girl approaches me. I stare in awe at her pure white hair and silver mask, her figure almost like a ghost. The only part of her face not hidden by her mask are her eyes —cold, brilliant, blue.

She doesn’t say a word but instead, kneels and grabs at my chains. The shackles in her hand turn blue, then white. They shatter, freeing me from the stake and straight away I collapse, too weak to stand, but she catches me effortlessly and props me up against her exposed shoulder. I’m half afraid she’s also going to turn me into ice and shatter me into a million pieces. Her skin is electric, the coolness of it feels like a cold winter’s day.

“I can walk on my own,” I murmur, but my words come out as a collection of nonsense.

She glances at me, and brings herself close towards me. “Stay still,” She whispers into my ear.

Splecks of darkness grow across my vision as I struggle to stay awake. The last thing I remember is the emblem etched on to her gloved hand.

A white rose.