Part Two

Indenuel’s muscles trembled by the time he climbed through the window. The rain still poured outside as he stumbled inside, leaving a puddle. Puddle, bad. He could get caught. Rain, good. Washed the blood. Couldn’t get caught if there was blood on him. Wouldn’t be questioned. Questioned for murder.

His vision swam as he grabbed the back of the chair. He was soaked to the bone, but he still stripped himself of everything he wore. It was still late. No one saw. No one would be out in this storm, and the guards never expected to look into the air. The guards also wouldn’t notice corruption in the trees. But he was in the city. With the strongest tree speaker in the world living right here. He just led a trail straight to his home.

Shit.

Now that he had time to think, he couldn’t breathe as easily as he’d hoped. He murdered them. With barely a thought, he murdered two people. Despite the fear he felt, he was happy he’d done it, but now he needed to make sure he wouldn’t get caught. He opened the window again, grabbing a tree, welcoming the corruption back, healing the line of trees as far as he could to keep the trail off him. He couldn’t leave even a drop. Navir would discover. He would suspect. The trees willingly gave the corruption back.

Indenuel stumbled back inside and stuffed his clothes under his bed as darkness began to flit around his vision. He was bound to have the devil’s sleep now. How long would he be asleep? He used so much corruption on purpose.

He glanced down and swore again. The mark was on his chest, a visible, angry red. He threw on a night shirt before taking it off again. It was too low. People would see. He threw on another one as he used the other to wipe up the puddle by the window. He moved too fast, making too much noise. People would wonder, they’d suspect.

Murder. He murdered them.

How long would he be under the devil’s sleep? Would he be out for a day? Martin would try to heal him and sense the corruption. He used corrupted pain the most. He didn’t need to use that much. But he couldn’t deny Andres screams were exactly what he needed to hear in the moment.

Indenuel combed his wet hair back with his fingers as he stuffed the nightclothes under his bed with his other wet clothes. He landed hard on his knees, the darkness coming in fast. He grabbed the edge of the bed, forcing himself to pull his body into it. Tears streaked down his face.

Murderer. I’m a murderer.

He pulled himself into bed, throwing the blankets back and forced his body inside. He had to hide. Hide the mark. Hide his wrists, hide everything. His wrists were bruised and cut. He’d have to worry about it tomorrow. If he was awake tomorrow. If he didn’t simply wake up in the dungeons.

The room was dark. There was fog everywhere. Indenuel was still breathing like he was in a panic. He tried not to cry. In fact, he did everything in his power to force himself to wake up. He knew this place. It was familiar, yet different in every sinister way. He knew who was coming to visit him, and he was on edge.

Again, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to wake up.

“You!”

Indenuel’s eyes snapped open, and he was once again face to face with Andres.

“Well shit,” Indenuel mumbled.

“You!” he said again, marching forward. He backed away, terror stricken by the anger in Andres face. Lola was on her knees sobbing.

“You took our lives!” Lola screamed. “You murderer!”

“You honestly think we’re not going to haunt you until the day you die?” Andres asked, throwing his fist back and swinging it straight at Indenuel’s face. Andres couldn’t physically hurt him in this plane, but it didn’t stop pure instinct to throw himself out of the reach of that punch. Panic gave way to hatred.

“Oh, use your brain for once, Andres!” Indenuel shouted. “I used corruption to kill you. I’d never see a spirit who had passed on who was going to rest with the good spirits! It means there’s only one reason why I can see both of you right now!”

Andres punched him again, and this time Indenuel didn’t move as the fist went straight through his face. “What are you talking about!” Andres screamed.

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“You’re bound for Hell! You’ll never escape there! I knew it! I knew you could never rest with the good spirits!” Indenuel said.

Lola screamed and Andres turned to see a demon had grabbed her arm, starting to pull her under the fog. Indenuel gasped, watching the black demon clawing and scraping at Lola’s soul. Andres turned his attention back on Indenuel, trying to choke him, but he didn’t move. He simply closed his eyes, waited for the idiot to realize he couldn’t get hurt, before opening his eyes and facing him again, the anger plain. “Go to Hell, Andres. Suffer with the demons there. Let the devil relish in the memories of all the cruel things you did in this life. I hope he shows you how much of a hell you made my mother’s life!”

Andres glared at him, his hands still desperately grasping Indenuel’s neck. He stopped when a demon grabbed his arm, starting to pull him downward. “Oh, and you don’t think you’re coming with me? I may not be able to haunt you in your life, but you better believe I will be part of the welcome committee when you die! If you thought I made your life hell, just wait until we’re both there!”

“You’ll be too busy suffering your own torment! Look at me for the last time, Andres! You’ll never hurt me again! I’m sure that will be its own form of torment!”

Lola screamed as she was dragged under, the demons laughing and cackling as they went. Andres began to sink as he tried to push the demons away. The more he pushed, the more they multiplied. “I will see you in Hell, Indenuel! I know the kind of man you are! Nothing but a selfish murderer! You’re never going to win this war! You will bring destruction to Santollia!”

Indenuel stood before Andres, who’s lower body was sunk into the floor. “I don’t know, Andres. Killing a sniveling coward and hypocrite like yourself, knowing you and your gossip spouting wife are suffering in Hell? Santollia is much more peaceful already.”

Andres glared, struggling against the twenty demons now straining to pull him down. Despite the fear of getting caught, despite the long list of things he needs to do in order for the suspicion to be away from him, Indenuel raised his hands and connected with the demons, his eyes glowing black. He then strained against Andres, doing everything in his power to give that God-forsaken man the final push he needed to go to Hell.

Andres bellowed in rage as he sank. Indenuel threw every ounce of strength toward the demons, watching Andres’ face disappear among the fog.

“Indenuel!”

He was awake, aware of someone grabbing him by the shoulders. He threw himself out of the person’s reach but miscalculated how far he made it into his bed. Which wasn’t far at all. He tumbled off, taking many blankets with him.

“Indenuel! Are you alright?” Tolomon asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“Stay away!” Indenuel screamed. “Please, stay away!”

“Alright, alright. You sounded like you were in the middle of a nightmare,” Tolomon said. “I’m sorry.”

Indenuel continued to breathe deeply, trying to orient himself. His mind was sluggish and slow. The curtains were still drawn, so he couldn’t sense what time of day it was. He sucked in air, trying to steady himself. He was on his hands and knees, staring at the ground, trying to guess whether or not his eyes were black.

“Indenuel?” Tolomon asked, softer this time. “Are you alright?”

The door opened and servants threw back the curtains. The sun had crested the horizon. He shouldn’t be awake yet. Not after using that much power. He saw his wrists, saw where the branches dug into them. They were cut and bruised. He needed to hide them. Sitting here on his hands and knees, he could only hope his eyes weren’t black. He grabbed his nightshirt closer around him to make sure no one could see the mark. It had turned a brighter shade of red. “Give me a moment,” Indenuel said between breaths. “I’m sorry, just give me a moment. I will come out when I’m ready.”

“Do you need anything sir?” Pablo asked.

“No. No,” Indenuel said, still between breaths, still on his hands and knees, still not looking at anyone. “Please, everyone out. I just need a moment. Give me a chance to breathe.”

They all did, obediently. Indenuel closed his eyes, placing the back of his hand against his mouth, trying to orient himself. Somehow, he was awake. He was groggy, like he’d drank and entire bottle of wine last night, but he was awake. There was a mountain of things he had to do before he left this room. He got up, his legs trembling as he walked around. His mind wasn’t clear, but clear enough. He looked in the mirror, seeing his face. His eyes weren’t black, but he’d have to wear a double layer shirt to make certain no one could see the red mark. He dressed quickly before looking at his hands. They were bruised and cut. He washed them as best he could. He didn’t know what to do with them. If he bandaged them, it would almost be as bad as advertising he was hurt. He couldn’t get them healed. There would be too many questions. And there was the possibility of the healer sensing the corruption in him.

Indenuel grabbed a pair of gloves, giving them a good look over before slipping them on his hands. They were a darker color, but he’d just have to pass them off as fashion somehow. They covered enough of his bruised hands, and his jacket covered the rest. Indenuel gave himself another look in the mirror before walking around one last time. The windows were closed. The wet clothes were damp, but he placed them out and triple checked for blood stains. There was nothing. He simply gathered them up and placed them to one side. The servants wouldn’t ask questions.

You’re the Warrior. A mythical man in a class even above the High Elders. Play it safe. No one would dare accuse you of anything. Indenuel winced at the line of thought. It wasn’t like he was ever going to murder again. If he did what he did before when faced with accusations of murder, he could make it work. He had to look the part. Stay quiet and lead the law enforcement officers away from him. The less he talked, the less he had to remember. And if he did have to talk, the closer to the truth it was, the less he had to remember. He could do this. He was the Warrior. He would be able to get away with murder.