The smell was nigh unbearable, as was the pain. Irene approached the thresher, picking up what she supposed was a rib bone. It felt real. Upon closer examination of the skeleton, no skull could be found. Irene turned around, putting her back to the chute as she surveyed the factory for signs of imminent danger. Distant noises of metal bending reached her, but she couldn't tell if that was fighting which had escalated to the catwalks above, or just the large building settling.
While scanning her surroundings, something pale caught her attention near a stack of steel crates. A skull. Irene crawled over and poked it. It rocked at her trembling touch. She jerked back her hand and stared up into the vast darkness. "What is going on!?"
Like an answer from the ether, echoes of a clanking clatter resounded through the large processing floor. She squinted trying to see the source. Interspersed amidst the mechanical din were snippets of men's voices. Irene shambled to her feet, when a hot pain shocked her leg and her injured ankle buckled. A plaintive whimper issued forth as she landed on the ground. Her follow-up groan was drowned out by a loud metallic clunk followed by an elongated yell.
What is that? Another piece of machinery falling? No, it looks human. Wait is that...
"Cyrus!?" CRUNCH! The short vampire's battered body lay crumpled on a nearby conveyor belt. Irene half ran, half stumbled over.
"Ooooooooo…." Cyrus shakily brought a hand to the back of his neck and groaned. Irene grabbed a hold of his free hand. He lifted his head a little and stared at her through one good eye, the other forced shut from excessive swelling.
"What happened? Everything went quiet!"
Cyrus stared at her dazed for a moment, then forced himself to sit up. There was a distant clatter above them, the sound of rushing footsteps on metal grating.
"Hide! He'll be down here any-"
CRASH!
Cracks in the cement floor spread out from where Gabriel landed mere feet away. He glared at his target while the resonating wail of distressed metal died down. One of his eyes was bloodshot, but the other maintained its eerie paleness.
Gabriel's eye widened momentarily upon seeing Irene, but then they narrowed. "What a waste." His voice had lost that silk-like timbre, leaving roughness in its wake. Gabriel snorted and turned his head to Cyrus, who had been trying to get to his feet. "Give it up, Cyrus. You're nothing next to me! I cleaned up your messes for years! And for what? Your continued blundering and cowardice? Contempt where there should be admiration? Betrayal?"
"Give it a rest Gabriel!" Cyrus shot back. Gabriel's mouth opened, but it was quickly silenced by Cyrus' interruption. "Shut up and fight me, Froggy!" Cyrus swung wide at Gabriel. The larger vampire brought up a solid forearm, deflecting. In a fluid motion, he then grabbed Cyrus's arm and flipped him over, bringing him crashing down onto the pavement. Irene's stomach fluttered and she cringed at the cracking noise. She could not take her eyes off of the blood staining the cement. A chill ran down her spine. For a moment, she saw an ice rink instead, dyed red. She closed her eyes tight trying to reset her brain.
There was no one left to protect her. Irene grit her teeth and launched at Gabriel. He stepped aside, evading her strike with arrogant nonchalance. Movement in Irene's peripheral vision caused her to turn and look, only to see his elbow swinging at her head. It connected with her face, sending Irene reeling back, tears in her eyes. The central pain radiated outwards, and she could feel blood flowing onto her upper lip and slide down the back of her throat, forcing her to cough and sputter.
Gabriel's large hands reached for her, but before his fingers could grip her throat, he stumbled and she darted out of reach. Irene held her breath, stunned to see Cyrus up again. He withdrew the leg in which he used to trip Gabriel, and cradled the back of his head with both of his hands. With the short reprieve, Irene dipped her head forward to let the blood drain out her nostrils. I don't know how much more I can take... but what choice do I have but to keep fighting?
Gabriel was quick to get to his feet. Equally quick but far less composed, Irene reached back and felt around until her hand clasped something cylindrical. She swung a broken pipe as hard as she could at Gabriel, being rewarded with a satisfying hollow noise as it struck him across the chest. He barely flinched. Irene stared with wide eyes as he grabbed the pipe and wrenched it from her, her grip weakened by fatigue and her missing finger. Irene fell back onto her backside, the hard ground jarring every bone in her body, setting off a chain reaction of hot pain and tingling numbness in her ankle and shoulder.
The golden-haired vampire twirled the broken rod in his hand, then gripped the end and twisted it into a screw-like point. Irene stared at the sharpened point as Gabriel raised it, poised to stab downward. Everything slowed down and her ears rang with a buzzing sound nearby. Anticipation of pain monopolised her mind, and she hadn't a shred of wit to make sense of the noise she heard.
Irene scampered up to her feet, hampered by her injured ankle. She barely avoided the lunge from Gabriel. He went from thrusting to swinging in a fluid motion, hitting Irene across the back, winding her and knocking her forward. She fell to the ground, knees and hands scraped. He was still on the attack and all she could do was crawl into a small gap between two metal casings near a caged ladder.
"How quaint..." Gabriel scoffed as he pursued her. He had to turn sideways to fit into the narrow gap, slowing his approach. Buzzing won Irene's attention and her focus was drawn to some thick cables up ahead. Gabriel ducked under a large bar and wore a jeering smirk.
Crap. Dead end. Irene heard Gabriel's shuffling footsteps getting closer as she stared at the impassable wall of metal. There was a pause and a woosh, and Irene only saw out of the corner of her eye movement. She had been crouched over, but now she dropped to the ground, flattening herself. The twisted pipe narrowly missed her; she felt the disturbed air and saw the shadow pass over her.
Choonk. Crackle.
The pointed end of the metal bar sliced through the polymer. Gabriel's hand clenched harder around the rod as sparks flew out from the impact. His teeth clenched, he vocalised a series of rapid grunts. Irene shuddered. She had hoped he would get blown back, but instead he remained where he was, albeit stunned. She turned her head and shut her eyes, bringing her arms over her head to shield herself from the flying sparks.
Hiss. Pop. SLAM! Clatter.
When Irene opened her eyes, the twisted piece of metal landed beside her. Her gaze drifted to where Gabriel lay prone several metres away. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cyrus slowly getting back to his feet, one hand held on his head wound. Irene used the opportunity to scramble out of the nook she was in, nearly tripping over the stunned vampire in the process.
"Hurry.. he won't be..." Cyrus called out to her, beckoning with his other hand.
Gabriel picked himself up, staring at neither Cyrus nor Irene, but something out of Irene's view. She wanted to look, but she was too afraid to ever let her eyes leave the monstrous vampire again.
A low growl escaped his throat, and Gabriel bared his fangs. Once steady, he launched into another assault. Irene reflexively put her working hand in front of her face, shrinking away. To her surprise he rushed right past her. She peeked over her splayed fingers. Gabriel brought a double-handed fist down on top of Cyrus who barely had time to try and brace himself. The smaller vampire dropped like a sandbag. Irene was relieved she wasn't the target again, but it was getting painful to watch anyone, even Cyrus, being beaten so brutally.
Irene searched for an avenue of escape. Then it happened again. A dark shadowy figure moved quickly by Irene, just as it had before some of the machinery started falling. Moments after the rushing sensation a black clad figure appeared beside Gabriel, swinging a weapon. Irene squinted, her eyes catching a glint off of a wedge of steel. Before she could recognize just what it was, Gabriel fell to his knees. Blood gushed from a deep wound in the side of his neck. He covered the wound with one hand, and glared at the shadowy figure.
Gabriel tried to rise up, but the momentum of a second swing arced back towards him. His head rolled on the floor; his body crashed to the ground. Both decayed rapidly before Irene's eyes.
She gasped.
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Gabriel was no more.
Their saviour stood still, blood dripping off of a long-handled fire axe. Although of average stature, the long coat and scarf-covered head gave an imposing air to the figure. The grim person slowly turned to them, the only skin visible was that around a pair of piercing eyes. Irene immediately knew who had saved her. "You! You're…my… creator!"
"Yes," came a rich, womanly voice. She took a few steps closer, her slow sway to her hips prominent. She stopped before a speechless Cyrus and stooped down flawlessly to a kneeling position, laying her weapon down. She unraveled the cloth over her face and head, revealing a thick black braid and a creamy, yet bronze-kissed complexion. Cyrus looked like he could barely keep his head up.
"Layla...?"
The enigmatic vampire remained with her head lowered and said nothing. It seemed absurd to Irene as she juxtaposed Layla's perfect submissiveness with the brutal and efficient killer from moments before. Yet, despite the thrill of danger she conveyed, Irene felt drawn to her. This woman was the very picture of beauty. It was no wonder Cyrus adored her. Said vampire lifted a hand as if to reach out to her, and then collapsed to an unmoving heap.
Irene tried to crawl closer to check on him. She wasn't sure why. With Gabriel and Cyrus gone, the world would be just a little better. The pain, however, was too much. She glanced one more time up to Layla as she picked up Cyrus's limp hand. Then the pain all flooded back, and with danger no longer kicking up her adrenaline, Irene soon felt the cold ground against her face.
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"Mmmmf…" It took considerable effort, but eventually Irene's eyes peeled open. Her vision was blurry, and her other eye was caked shut. She went to wipe away the ocular sludge, only to find herself tightly bound by linens. She groaned and rolled, pushing her face into her pillow, rubbing her eye against the textures of the pillowcase, only to cringe in pain. The area around her nose was tender.
"Awake?"
"Wha… wait a min… did… but…y-you..." She blinked rapidly to finish clearing her eyes, trying to see who was beside her.
Layla. Her face presented as austere as her portrait. Her eyes were deeply set under bold, black eyebrows which tapered and angled sharply towards her temples. Her slightly square jaw coupled with full, round cheeks contrasted yet complemented a long, hooked nose. She wore simple modern clothes, a loose plum turtleneck and black slacks.
Aware of her slack-jaw staring, Irene shut her mouth and glanced down. Neither vampire spoke. Silence proceeded awkwardly, verging on unbearable. It needed to end.
"So it was you... in the fire..."
Layla nodded.
Folding her hands in her lap, Irene looked back up at Layla. Her thoughts were reaching for something, but it slithered away as a crescendo of pain engulfed her. Grimacing, she leaned forward and gasped.
"I'm gonna puke!"
Layla placed her hand firmly on Irene's shoulder, then gently placed two fingers under her chin, guiding it to tilt upward until both women were eye to eye. Her expression was unchanged, but there was a subtle layer of tenderness in her stoic face.
"You will do no such thing." Finally hearing a sentence from Layla, Irene could detect a faint accent. Her eyes darted about and then returned to Layla's eyes, uncertain how to respond. Layla bit into her own wrist then brought it to Irene's lips. "Drink."
Didn't Cyrus say drinking vampire blood was dangerous? However, Irene had no will to argue or defy her. The blood was very thick and not as warm as the blood from a mortal. The taste was familiar. Irene closed her eyes and the pain and nausea subsided. It wasn't flavour or texture was desirable, but there was something comforting about this blood; it evoked a mug of hot chocolate on a rainy day.
Layla pulled her wrist away, and Irene shot back into reality. Embarrassment suddenly took root, although she was unsure from whence it came. She dropped her gaze and hunched her shoulders. Did I drink too much? Did I do something wrong? Layla placed her arms about Irene's shoulders in a comforting gesture.
Layla was not angry with her. Relief.
Irene took a moment to look around. She was not in her basement as she originally thought. However the unfinished look of one wall, the cement floor, and the single hanging lightbulb in a windowless room gave her the sense she was in a basement. She was sitting on a low trundle bed; a larger four post bed lay across the room, although one of its posts had been broken off and the others quite scarred. The mattress also sagged significantly. Wooden studs lay bare with no drywall to cover them, and no insulation between them, unless one counted cobwebs. A dusty, wood-railed staircase came down, an empty and very dusty wine rack built underneath it. None of its diamond shaped cubbies were occupied.
Once Layla's touch trailed away, Irene worked to unwind herself from her sheets to examine her ankle. It was still swollen, but even to her poking and prodding it produced no pain - just the pressure of her finger. She continued to poke her ankle for a while, then brought her hand up to her face, feeling around her nose gently. That, too, was puffy. Instantly she began to feel about her person for more cuts, bruises, and welts, since there was no sensation to alert her to her own injuries. Even with various medicines, Irene had never experienced absolute analgesia without a loss of alertness. The fascination enveloped her, until she heard a whistle.
Leaning over the bannister, sure enough, was Cyrus. His patched-up injuries and squinting eye emphasized his rakishness. "My two favorite women in the same bed. I must have died and gone to hea-"
"That's the last place in any universe you'd go!" Irene interrupted. Nothing seems to sober him up. Nothing.
Layla rose and walked to the foot of the stairs, briefly glancing over her shoulder at Irene. "She needs more rest."
"I know," Cyrus stepped down and placed a hand on Layla's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "She can have all the rest she needs while you and I have a little chat." His voice had an unpleasant edge to it.
Irene felt the urge to spring to her feet and intercede in her sire's defense. She could not quite fathom why. Cyrus is a tool, but Layla owes him an explanation. She owes all of us an explanation. Still she could not shake the sense something was amiss.
"You need to recover as well. I shall hunt for you." Layla bowed. Cyrus shook his head, digging his fingertips into her shoulder. It looked painful, but she didn't flinch.
"That can wait. Come with me."
Layla bowed again and conceded to his request.
Irene frowned as the both of them left. She probably did need rest. However, curiosity was keeping her mind alert and forbidding sleep. So Irene carefully went up the stairs on all fours until she reached the top. She crouched in the shadows and listened.
"...all a mess! I just don't understand how you could have DONE that to me! If I wasn't such a coward I would have-"
"A coward would not have kept fighting the way you did," Layla interrupted. There was the sound of Cyrus scoffing. Layla immediately added, "I can not give you the disservice of allowing you to say such things about yourself."
"Do you have any idea what your possum performance could have done? I could be dead because of you! You show no remorse, you never have!" Cyrus accused.
Irene frowned. Kettle, pot.
"Please forgive me. But you needed to see the truth about Gabriel," Layla responded with aplomb.
"Whom you dispatched flawlessly! Why couldn't you have just killed Gabriel in the first place? Why fake your death?" Cyrus continued to question.
"Timing. Had I killed him then, you would have been duty bound to kill me," Layla spoke in a calm, unfaltering voice. There was neither fear nor penitence in her tone.
"If you had explained afterwards I would have believed you! I was going to apologize to you, Layla! Me! Apologize! Then I found your note!" Cyrus responded in exasperation.
"It was too late by then. I have no regrets. We are reunited, and I wish to continue in service to you."
Cyrus went quiet. The more Irene heard from Layla, the more unfathomable she became. Who in their right mind would want to serve Cyrus? Irene winced, an almost physical reprisal to her uncharitable thoughts jarring her skull. Why do I feel this way about her? Is this what Layla feels to Cyrus? Will I end up like her? Please, no.
"Service? Serving me would be doing what I tell you. I'm the master, I decide what's good for us, not the other way around!" Cyrus grumbled petulantly. Irene shook her head and let out a quiet sigh. "And Irene, eavesdropping is unbecoming of you!"
Uh oh! Busted.
Irene rose to her feet and climbed the last step. "Cyrus, what's wrong with you? One night all you were pining for Layla, and now you're scolding her!" Irene reproached. Cyrus stared at her and raised his hand, one finger extended, about to say something. Quick on the uptake, Irene headed him off with an abrupt change of topic. "What I want to know is what happens now?"
Cyrus's face went blank. There was some tiny sign of thought in his eyes. Irene could almost hear gears grinding away in his head. Cyrus dropped his hand and glanced between Layla and Irene. "I don't know. What do you want to happen next? You always insisted that the only reason you were tied to me was the fear of Gabriel. Now he's… gone." Cyrus whispered the last word after a short pause. He donned a pensive expression and paced in the small landing above the stairs, his bare feet padding lightly on a scuffed hardwood floor. "You are no longer of any use to me, Irene. This changes everything."
Irene watched him for a moment, then her gaze shifted to Layla, who was still as a statue, and just as opaque. "Cyrus…"
"Irene, go rest. Now," Cyrus commanded.
Irene stared at him indignantly. I am NOT his slave. Where does he get off ordering me about? Something in Cyrus's countenance hinted at a sense of danger. I'm no use to him; he has no reason to hold back anymore. Warily, Irene withdrew to the basement.
A sigh escaped Irene's split lip. Where do we go from here?