The Power of Blood
“We are linked by blood, and blood is memory without language.”
* Joyce Carol Oates
The silence that permeated the room after Kain’s declaration was deafening, creating a tension so thick it was almost tangible. His team looked from him to Faust, and back again in comical horror. The other Cardinals looked on with mixed emotions ranging from rage to amusement, not sure what to make of their pet talking back. Faust was slowly working his way from shock to fury, his eyes beginning to glow with a poisonous green light.
“What did you say to me, fleshling?!” The words were barely distinguishable through Faust’s clinched teeth as he glared at Kain. Kain didn’t flinch. He had made his decision. Either he would be right, or he would be dead in the next few seconds. Regardless, he was going to thoroughly enjoy this.
“You’re not calling the shots here, boss,” Kain looked from a sputtering Faust to the other Cardinals as he spoke. “I am. And if I wanna take all night ironing out the specifics of this little contract, I will.”
The humor that had been briefly present on several of the Cardinals’ faces was gone now. Some still looked as though they wanted to rip his soul from his body, but others were regarding him with serious expressions. It came as a surprise to Kain that Lucifer was one of the latter, and he directed his next words toward the fallen one.
“See, I’ve been working on a theory ever since we got back from that God-forsaken mountain,” he continued. “And I think it’s time we had a talk.”
Lucifer regarded Kain coolly for a moment, before responding with a single word.
“Proceed.”
Kain nodded. Time to see what kind of hand I’m really holding.
“You guys are the stuff of legends and nightmares. Whole religions are dedicated to the evil you represent. Human beings are nothing but pawns for you to manipulate on your little chess board. Kings don’t negotiate with pawns.”
Kain smiled as he crossed his arms.
“But we aren’t pawns, are we Lou?” It was his first time using the fallen angel’s familiar term, and he reveled in the surprise it caused several of the Cardinals.
“You need us.”
His declaration did not have the effect he expected on the Cardinals. Many smiled, while others nodded in approval. Even Faust seemed to be regarding him with grudging respect. Lucifer just cocked his head to the side slightly.
“What gave the game away, Mr. Hunter?” he asked softly.
“You did,” Kain replied, smirking. “Just now.”
At this, the old serpent leaned his head back and laughed boisterously.
“Touché, Mr. Hunter. Touché,” Lucifer was still chuckling slightly as he regarded Kain. “Well, then. Now that you’ve realized your leverage, what is it that you want?”
All eyes were on Kain as he considered the question. He knew he could ask for anything in the world and the Cardinals would likely grant it to him. He looked at Kieran as he considered their discussions about deals with the devil. Screw it, he thought as he brought the contract out of his jacket pocket. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, so I might as well. There was a collective gasp from the other occupants of the room as Kain pulled an old zippo lighter from his pants pocket, lit it, and held it under the contract.
Kain had a lot of reasons for burning the contract, but he had to admit the looks of utter outrage on the faces of the Cardinals was one of the most satisfying. They watched in fury as he dropped the burning piece of parchment onto the floor, where it was quickly consumed. He was a bit surprised to see that it burned with a pale green glow similar to the one in Faust’s eyes, rather than the standard reddish orange, but he did not comment on it. Instead, he gave his response to Lucifer’s question.
“I want everything you offered,” Kain smiled. “And I’ll take it without strings attached.”
The smoldering remains of the contract were reflected in the devil’s cold gaze as he regarded Kain.
“A bold move boy. Worthy of your ancestors. But tell me, why would we agree to that?”
This time Kain did not hesitate to respond.
“You will, or you won’t,” he shrugged. “Either way, we’re wasting time.”
Lucifer looked at him strangely but did not immediately respond. It was a female Cardinal, dressed in a tight leather corset and skirt, who finally spoke up.
“The defiant has a point,” her voice had a raspy quality, as though she had taken ill. It was the first flaw Kain had noticed from the Cardinals. That was curious.
“Either we snuff out all of our carefully constructed plans here and now, or we allow the brat his victory.”
Kain filed that statement away for further review once his immediate survival had been decided.
“Loviator is correct, Lou,” Lilith’s silky voice offered up its counsel. “We backed the winning horse. It’s only fitting he would be difficult to control.”
Lucifer sighed, relaxing his tense posture.
“You’re right of course. I suppose I can’t be angry the boy is exactly what we hoped he would be.”
Kain could plainly see this sentiment was not reflected in all the Cardinals, a few like Faust making their hatred visible. Most, however, were reserved about showing any emotion at all. Kain appreciated the stoicism.
“Understand, young Nephiyl,” it was Loviator that spoke up again. “Contract or not, our forbearance on your behalf goes hand in hand with your cooperation. If one ends, so does the other.”
“On that at least, we are in agreement,” Kain responded evenly. “Does that mean we are done here?”
“Almost, Mr. Hunter,” Lucifer was wearing his signature smirk, once again. Kain groaned inwardly. Complications always followed that smirk.
“We require a moment more of your evening.”
“For what, exactly?” Kain eyed the demon warily.
“For your gifts, child,” A woman in a fur-lined dress stepped forward. She had spoken briefly before, on the mountain, but Kain had no idea who she was. Another old monster, no doubt. His suspicions were shortly confirmed.
“This is Freyja,” Lucifer indicated the woman who had spoken. “She is−”
“The queen of the Völva.”
The quiet answer had come from behind Kain, surprising him. He had become so focused on the Cardinals that he had all but forgotten the other people in the room. He turned to see Layla staring at the woman with both apprehension and interest.
“A point to the lady in the back,” Lucifer joked. Freyja nodded in acknowledgement.
“What is a Völva?” Damon asked. Whatever had kept Kain’s team silent through most of the meeting had apparently ended with Layla’s comment.
“She’s a witch,” Layla answered simply. “Not the watered-down version you hear about today either. According to ancient legends, they could see the future and alter fate, among other things.”
“Aren’t you well-informed,” the witch smiled in approval. “Good. That always makes things run so much more smoothly.”
She turned her attention back to Kain as she pulled a wicked-looking obsidian dagger from a sheath at her side. Perhaps he would die here, after all. He supposed he’d had worse gifts.
“You have bartered for power, young Nephiyl,” she brandished the dark blade. “All real power has a price.”
Kain did not move. Instead, he stared at a pile of ash on the ground before looking up into the witch’s eyes. The question was unspoken, but clear. The witch shrugged.
“There is power in blood, young one, and it can be used for all kinds of purposes. But don’t worry. All I seek to do at this point is unlock the potential in your own.”
Lucifer had alluded to their being dormant power in his blood as well, but neither of them seemed in any hurry to elaborate on what that power was. Before he could ask, however, Layla stepped past him, offering her slender wrist to the Völva. She turned to look at Kain, her eyes alight with mischief.
“Like you said earlier: we’re wasting time.”
She winked at him as the knife flashed, leaving a deep gash across her wrist. Blood began flowing freely from the gash, pooling on the floor beneath her hand. Layla did not even flinch as her life slowly leaked out.
The witch began chanting in a language utterly alien to Kain’s ears as he watched the scene unfold. While he lamented the possible loss of talent, he supposed this was the best scenario he could hope for. If someone was going to die, better her than him, after all. As the chant ended, however, something unexpected happened.
The blood on the floor ignited in eldritch green flames. They followed Layla’s blood as if it were gasoline, jumping up to her arm and engulfing it. Layla screamed as the fire touched her skin. Instead of spreading to the rest of her body, however, the flames continued to follow her blood, burrowing into the large gash. Layla’s body went rigid, her face locked in a rigor mortis of horror.
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As the flames passed into the cut, it was healed seamlessly, a green glow visible beneath the skin. The glow began to move, a shimmer of light traveling along Layla’s veins. It traveled swiftly up her arm and across her shoulder, leaving behind no trace of its passing. Kain and the others watched in morbid fascination as the glow passed her neck, into her head. Just before the horrific spectacle ended, the glow passed into Layla’s wide, pain-filled eyes, growing almost too bright to observe comfortably.
And then it was gone. Layla’s eyes rolled back into her head as her form crumpled to the ground. The others stared at her unmoving body, before lifting their gazes to Freyja as one. The witch looked rather pleased, as though the ritual had worked out better than she’d expected.
“Lovely. Who’s next?”
Kain turned to look at Damon, hoping against hope that his next move would take the Cardinals by surprise. Damon nodded and, without warning, slammed his huge bulk into the door they had entered earlier. The door did not move at all. Instead, Damon was thrown back into Kieran, both men hitting the ground hard.
Kain never faltered, pulling his pistol and firing. Raven had begun launching her projectiles as well. They were under no impression they could beat the monsters in the room with them, but perhaps their physical vessels could be harmed? It was better than standing there waiting to die. It was also an exercise in futility, as Kain watched his bullets pass through multiple targets, to no avail.
Tsk, tsk Mr. Hunter,” the voice came from his left ear. “Somehow I expected more from you.”
Kain felt a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly he was unable to move. He could not even close his eyes as he was forced to watch how pathetic his team was in the face of real power. Freyja moved with insidious speed and grace, her dagger falling again and again.
Kieran was the first to fall, taken by a dark red flame. Dark red energy seemed to leap out from his eyes before they finally closed. Kain reflected in passing that, had Kieran survived the experience, the effect would have left him quite intimidating. C’est la vie.
Raven was next, the fire that took her more akin to smoke. Her body seemed to waver and become hazy as the sinister force passed through. Kain had once again been impressed with the girl’s level of skill. As inhumanly fast as the Völva was, Raven had still managed to put a dagger into her gut. It mattered little in the end, and her body collapsed as well.
Damon put up much less of a fight, recognizing the uselessness of resistance. It was a violet flame that tore through him. Kain watched it all. To say he was distressed about the death of his team members would have been a stretch. No, what he lamented was that there was now no one between himself and the knife-wielding witch.
Freyja took her time sauntering up to him, amusement plain on her face. It wasn’t as though she needed to hurry. Lucifer had Kain locked in place, a look of pure joy on his own face.
“No hard feelings, huh, kid?” he hissed. “After all, it was always going to end this way, contract or not. You were never more than a pawn in this game.”
Kain felt his arm rising as he watched the slow, inevitable descent of the knife. He was as powerless to stop it as he was to stop the progression of time. There was no room in Kain’s mind for fear as he felt the first tongues of fire lick against his skin. As the pain set in and carried his consciousness away, all he could feel was rage. It was fitting, in a way, that the flames that burrowed into him were as black as the blade that sealed his fate.
**************************************************
“If you cannot control your little pets,” Whiro te tipua waived a hand at the bodies littering the floor, “they will have to be eliminated.”
“They can still serve their purpose,” Lucifer replied calmly as he poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter. “We do not need to control them. We simply need to unleash them.”
“If their goals are not aligned with ours, then they become a liability,” Kali spoke for the first time that night. “Their fates have always been difficult to read, at the very least.”
“Which is why they were supposed to sign those infernal contracts!” Balor sniped, eyeing both Lucifer and Faust. “We needed them on a tight leash.”
“Forcing them into it would have voided the contracts,” Lilith hissed in annoyance. “The Avatar was right. We cannot break the Accords. Not until this war is over at least. We have waited too long and planned too carefully.”
“And the culmination of much of that planning lies on the floor before you,” Lucifer added. “Thousands of years of work went into revitalizing the bloodline after it was lost. These are the strongest of their kind that we have seen in generations. The fool was right, even if he was guessing. We need them.”
“For now,” Faust agreed as he collected the remaining unsigned contracts from the still unmoving bodies. “But the time will come when they outlive their usefulness.”
“That time will come much sooner if they remain uncooperative,” Whiro growled.
“Perhaps,” Lucifer conceded. “For now, let us see what fruit our labors have borne.”
The Avatar of Chaos moved forward and raised his hand, causing the air around the bodies to buzz with an unseen energy. As the energy built, cracks began to appear in the air, as well as the floor. It was only a second longer before the buildup of energy became too much, and reality shattered. The five bodies were swallowed up, as were the Cardinals. When the shards of reality pieced themselves back together, the only sign anyone had been in the room was an empty whiskey glass and a pile of ashes on the floor.
**************************************************
Kain watched the pious man from the shadows with utter contempt as he continued to pray for deliverance. Thrice, his brethren had come to break the man. Thrice they had failed. Finally, his master had called upon him to complete the task. He had been given free reign, with one exception: he was not to kill the man. Kain had no such aspirations as he watched the man bury his children. There were fates worse than death, after all.
His brother and sisters had done well, of course. Kain had watched as one calamity after another had befallen the believer. They had taken his wealth. They had taken his servants. Finally, they had taken his family. The man had been stubborn. His dedication was admirable, if misplaced. It didn’t matter to Kain. They always broke for him.
Kain rose from his hiding place as the man and his sobbing wife made their way back to their home. It was time. He stretched forth his hand, veins as black as his soul tracing sinister patterns beneath his skin. It was the mark of his curse, and he wore it proudly as he summoned the vileness within his soul. He watched with glee as his power took shape.
The man wavered on his feet before collapsing to his knees. His wife gasped as festering boils began to appear all over his body. Pain would bring this man low. It always did. The last things Kain heard before the world dissolved into mist were the agonizing moans of a suffering soul. He smiled.
*
Death. The air was saturated with it. An intangible heaviness covered the valley in a morbid blanket, the residue left behind from souls who were too soon ripped away from the world. War had come to this valley in times past, a great and terrible battle all but forgotten in the slow march of time. A sea of glistening white bone was the only testimony left of the horrific event, any remaining flesh long ago picked clean.
There were no scavengers in the valley these days. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing disturbed the absolute quiet of the dead world. It was a testimony to the end that would eventually claim the rest of the world. Except that it was not the end.
Layla walked peacefully through the silent valley, completely at ease among the corpses that littered the ground, grinning up at her with sightless eyes. She reached down to pick up one of the gleaming skulls, admiring its perfection. She stroked it lovingly for a moment, before continuing on her path.
Death had claimed this valley for its own. Of that there was no doubt. She had simply come to claim it back.
She glanced around at the former warriors who had been left to their fate. She would have pitied them were she capable of such emotion. Mankind was such a useless species. So convinced were they with the finality of death that they would leave priceless resources lying around. She would teach them soon. Oh yes, she would teach them all.
When she reached the center of the valley, Layla paused to take in the scene surrounding her. She was a lone dark silhouette amidst a stark white canvas as she raised her hands, palms opened toward the heavens. Death had woven a beautiful tapestry around her, but her purpose here was not to admire the work of fate. Her purpose was to destroy it.
Layla spoke a harsh word in a guttural tongue long forgotten, and eldritch flame exploded out from her hands in a wave. It rolled over the valley of bones, caressing each one in turn until it finally dissipated at the valley’s end.
She faltered slightly, drained from using so much power. The cost would be great, but it did not matter. Her work was done. As the world began to dissolve, the first of the bones began to twitch in response to her call.
*
Kieran stepped from the roiling water and breathed deeply. After so long, he had finally returned. The sunshine was a welcome warmth on his face as he looked out at his new home. The stretch of beach he had arrived on was tranquil, with a small fishing village situated not far inland. He could see the villagers going about their daily tasks with a carefree nature, unaware of what had just washed up on their shores.
The world had changed since the cataclysm. Of that much Kieran was positive. These new humans did not know the fear that had taught their ancestors caution. Had the wrath of the heavens purged monsters from the earth? Had his kind been forgotten, lost to legend? That simply would not do.
Steam began to rise from Kieran’s body as he called to the elements. Fire leapt from his fingertips, flowing out and forming into a long, slender whip. He cracked it against the sand, leaving a scorched strip of glass behind. He would help them remember.
Clouds began to accumulate in the sky, blotting out the sun as Kieran made his way toward the unsuspecting village. He noticed a young boy walking along the shoreline. The child had not yet noticed him, so engrossed was he by the shells he was collecting. Kieran smiled. The innocence of youth was adorable.
The boy slowly began to notice something wrong and looked up to find Kieran smirking at him. His tiny face quickly morphed from joy to horror. Kieran reveled in the fear as he called out to the lightning brewing in the clouds. The lightning answered his call.
*
Damon was dying. He had become careless, and the fruit of his neglect lay in a pool on the floor of his cave. He had barely made it in time. Time…such a fickle construct, intricately tied to fate. The two were impossible to fully control, dedicated to their own purpose, but after centuries of study, Damon had learned they could be altered.
Time. He still had enough. Oh, he did not delude himself. He was going to die. Nothing could stop that, now. Time could not be reversed, fates unsealed. That was not his goal. He allowed a trickle of blood leaking from his abdomen to flow into a small clay bowl.
The ritual inscribed on the floor of his cave had been present for years, the archaic symbols faded, but still present. He’d been forewarned his demise would happen quickly, and he’d made sure he was prepared when the time came. Still, after so long and so much effort, his plans had almost been undone by one of his students. He had gotten careless, and he had been betrayed.
He added the final ingredients to the ritual and moved slowly to its center. He had grown light-headed, and he was so very cold. It would not be long now. Using the last of his spent lifeforce, he called out to the void. To that place outside of time, and free of fate. He did not utter an incantation. Chaos did not use language. Instead, he offered his failing life as a final sacrifice.
Violet fire sprang from his body as his offer was accepted. The fire tore into the fabric of reality, opening a rift into the void beyond. Damon smiled as his soul was ripped from his body, pulled into the black hole he had created. Millenia might pass before he returned to this world, but what did that matter in a place where time did not exist?
As the rift in reality closed, a lifeless, smiling corpse collapsed on the floor of an empty cave.
*
Raven sat in silent meditation on a hill overlooking the battlefield. The idea of two opposing forces gathering on an open field to slaughter one another was ludicrous to one such as her. What good was honor to a dead man? On this night, however, the foolish sentiment had served her plans nicely.
She did not know the reason for the battle that would take place the following day, but she could imagine. Perhaps one of their gods were angry at the other, or maybe one kingdom wished to expand its borders. In truth, she cared little. Religion. Politics. Geography. It was all the same to her, and it all had the same result.
None of them realized that they would never see the battle they were anticipating. Death had come for them, and she was its instrument. She rose to her feet, stretching. It was time.
Raven made her way slowly toward the fires that ringed the first encampment. She could see the silhouettes of several guards, and she almost scoffed at their lack of discipline. Some were drinking, while others were sleeping. Most kept torches or campfires near them, rendering their night vision useless. None of it mattered, of course. There was nothing these poor souls could do. Raven drew her blades as she became a wraith born of wind and shadow.
One by one, the soldiers fell, most still wearing serene expressions as their lifeblood watered the grass beneath them.