Darkest Angel

He could see her sitting there, reflected in the pool of dank water that his head was held over, ready to be drowned yet again. Held down by a pair of deathly white, monstrously strong hands, he had been drowned on no less than three occasions this evening in this bizarre game, no doubt perfected by his sadistic queen that sat watching. Three times he had been submerged into that black, swirling liquid; three times he had been thrust into that realm of ice and death, where he could hear the screams of the mortals that had been consumed by her, pleas for help and cries of rage that only swelled his fear, a storm that beat against his frail exterior; and three times he had not died, bound to this life by the small marks on his chest and the tainted blood that coursed through him, a decaying river that he hated more than anything.

The owner of one of the hands grabbed his mass of matted, greasy brown hair and dragged his head upward, craning his neck towards the woman. Before his eyes, stinging with sweat and ice-water, a dark red podium stood, foreboding and domineering. It had been created with this in mind, it's towering structure to remind those that came before Her self-proclaimed Majesty how far above them she sat in terms of power, knowledge and strength. Atop the podium was a marble throne, its gleaming white juxtaposed with the spatters of dark blood that covered the gleaming surface in several places. Just behind the throne stood a large torch, made of gold and equally blood-spattered; the only light in the large atrium, that sent twisting shadows across the floor, dancing monstrosities, following the beat of the red-orange flames flicker. Before the throne, chained and beaten like a rabid beast, sat a mortal girl curled in a ball, shaking violently. He presumed she was no more than fifteen or sixteen. Her eyes, shining spectacles in the dark, glowed with a fierce intelligence as they darted around the room. The lower part of her face was hidden, huddled into her bloodied knees.
And sat on the throne, right leg crossed over the left and clothed in a startlingly white dress was Lady Madeline, daughter of clan leader Malachite and self-professed Queen of her new, unified Brethren kingdom.

Stroking her right knee with one hand, nails long and painted black, she scrutinised the prisoner, her gaze penetrating every fiber of his body. He suddenly knew the truth: she could see into his mind, she knew his thoughts, knew everything he had done and thought to do, and would surely end his life for his planned crimes. He soiled himself, feeling the warm liquid slowly spreading over his crotch and legs, soaking into his torn trousers.

Biting down on his lip, he forced himself to shut his fear out; he was being silly, no one could read minds, she was just a woman, her rise to power was simply due to her ruthlessness and cunning, not some higher power like the rumours said. He stared into her face, hoping that his features were unreadable and the fear he felt did not show on his face. After a while, she smiled at him.

"Is it not funny" she whispered, yet it reverberated around the room like she had screamed it, "the barbarism that these mortals use to destroy our kind?"

As she said this, she swung her left leg out from below her right and kicked the mortal girl in the side. The girl gave a strangled yelp, before scrabbling away behind the throne where she hoped Lady Madeline would be unable to reach her. The Queen gave a small chuckle, and he looked up into her face with a mixture of fear and confusion. What was going on here?

"The most common way to kill a Brethren, according to the mortal pestilence, are driving a wooden stake through their heart, decapitation, or incineration. Is it not amusing, traitor?" He felt his body physically quiver as she uttered the word. "Is it not laughable, that they despise us for our so-called savagery, when they revert to these equally savage tactics to dispose of us? Answer me, whelp!"

These last words were screamed, a piercing and stone shattering sound that made even the bodies holding him back away nervously. She jumped to her feet, face contorted in rage, and paced forward several steps until she stood on the precipice of her royal podium.

"I- I don't understand, my Lady." the prisoner uttered, his voice audibly cracking in the face of her terrifying outburst.

She stood at the edge of her podium and, continuing to baffle those who nervously watched her, smiled. She began to chuckle, a cruel and harsh sound that echoed off the stony walls; her shoulders trembled slightly, and she threw her head back, dark hair whipping out behind her, bellowing a laugh that he thought caused the pool before him to ripple. Perhaps it trembled, as he did? Or perhaps his mind was simply playing tricks on him, the adrenaline rushing to his mind.

"My Lady?" she spat, visible spittle flying in all directions. "My Lady? I am your Queen, traitorous wretch, and you shall address me as such!"

One of the bodies behind him jabbed its fist into his right kidney, causing a spasm of pain that forced him to arch his back.

"I apologise, my Queen, I am truly sorry!" he shouted, silently wishing for the death he knew was coming, anything to end this mad debacle. "I am not worthy to be in your presence, forgive me for my misdemeanors!"

She slowly began walking down the steps leading to the pool, her long white dress flowing along behind her like a brides train. A deranged angel, descending from heaven to smite him for his plan, his audacity to think that he alone could come here, assail her impenetrable fortress himself...

"Forgiveness." she whispered, a quiet breath that did not echo, that focused all attention from his private thoughts back on her. She looked at her feet, toes protruding as she continued to descend. "Did you know, my would be assassin, my sweet fathers toy, that some traditions say that a Brethren cannot enter a mortals abode unless invited first?" She giggled again slightly, a feral look entering her eyes. "A childish, silly superstition that some unintelligent sects of humanity cling too, like apes clinging to their mothers, hoping this will protect them from us. Amy's mother and father believed this" she said, gesturing back up towards the throne where the human child hid, "before I took her for my familiar."

She reached the bottom of the podium and, standing at the pools edge, stared into the water there. The stories were true, he realised; she had truly been driven insane, gone mad with power or driven to the brink of insanity by her unquenchable blood-lust. He did not know, he did not care; more pressing, more terrifying than this realisation was the knowledge that she knew who had sent him to kill her. How could she have known that her father was behind the attempt on her life? Was there a spy in their movements midst? Did she, even now, know where their leaders were hidden, waiting for him to return triumphant?

She seemed captivated by the pool. Her eyes were glazed, as if some unknown force had reached into her mind and wrenched her consciousness from her body. The rage was gone form her features, now close enough for him to fully discern; sharp, defined features, a beautiful, soft skin that was an exquisite pale white colour, devoid of wrinkles or blemishes despite her unfathomable age. She was motionless. Her arms at her side did not quiver with anger, her body didn't even tremble. It was as if time had stopped in a bubble around her, a merciless figure frozen in her hour of triumph.

He allowed his eyes to glance down at the water below him, and he almost forgot to breathe. There were faces in the water, countless faces, all staring upwards. Human faces; men and women, parents and children, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. Each looked upwards at him, or so he thought, their hollowed eyes burning invisible holes in his skin, their ragged and blistered lips emitting silent screams, the screams he had heard during his torturous plunges, he knew instantly. He suddenly grasped what had happened to the wretched Queen: now he had gazed on them he could not draw his eyes away. They sucked everything from him, his thoughts and emotions, his conscious thoughts, until nothing was left but them and their ghastly sunken faces. He felt their call, whispered voices in his head, tempting him, commanding him, to join them in the darkness.

"My pets." Her voice, sounding so small and cold alongside the ghostly whispers in his head, yet enough to drag him back into reality. "The ones that I drank from, took the life essence from, but did not have the strength of character to evolve. Pathetic humans... and yet they serve their purpose. As will you." She raised her head and, to audible gasps from those in the atrium, began walking into the pool. He expected at any moment for sickly arms to reach out of the water, deaths hands grasping for her, to pull her down into the dark. The dead souls having their revenge. It took him several moments to realise that she was not walking into the pool.
She was walking across it.

He was ashamed that fear took him in such a way at this unprecedented spectacle, this unholy miracle. He tried, with screams of fear echoing around the room, to free himself from the hands that bound him, but like elder trees they grasped him and forced him down to the ground, immovable. He writhed in their grip, struggling in vain to break free as she strode ever closer, taking measured, controlled paces that barely rippled the surface of the water. Then her feet were beneath his nose, standing on his side of the pool, barely a droplet of water on them. She kneeled down before him, her white dress billowing out across the floor and brushing against his cheek.

"I could give you the death that you so desire." she whispered in his ear, her face now so close to his he could feel her breath on his cheek. "I could kill you right now, end this pathetic fallacy that you call life. But would that be a fitting enough punishment, for one who would invade my house, would plot my downfall? I think not; Instead, my sweet, nameless assassin, you will work for me."

His face visibly contorted. He brought his head up, eye-to-eye with this living contradiction, a Queen that was at once beautiful and dreadful. "I wont work for you!" he said, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, but you will." Lady Madeline whispered in his ear, a cooing sound, as if she were convincing a child to eat its greens. "You will work for me, will carry out my orders, for I know you. Better that you know yourself perhaps. Your name is unimportant." she interjected, as he tried to speak. He was taken aback by this. How did she know what he was going to say? "By working for me, you will come to hate yourself more than you do now, more than you ever thought you could" she continued, "You will carry out unspeakable evils, atrocities that you never thought yourself capable of, and you will do it at my bidding. For you, this will be worse than any torture I could force upon your physical body."

"No!" he shouted in her face, his spittle spraying in small flecks over her perfect face. "You can't force me, there's no way I'll do anything for you, you monster!"

She smiled, a knowing smile that terrified him again, blunting his anger. She plunged her hand into a slit in her dress, and from it she withdrew a small silver token. It glowed slightly, a shimmering red colour. Confusion, again mingled with fear. What was she doing? What was that small talisman?

In a violent lurch, she thrust out towards him and embedded the token into his cheek. He screamed, an agony the likes of which he had never felt before piercing his face and shooting down through his body. The orange talisman smoked against his skin, a burning sensation that spread throughout his cheek as she pushed harder and harder. It burned so violently, he thought he would pass out from the pain.

And suddenly, it was no longer there; the burning, the pain, it was all gone. She brought her hand back to her side, and he was startled to see that the talisman had disappeared from her hand. He looked around on the floor to see if she had dropped it. Perhaps the burning had been too much for her as well? But he could not see it, could not find it anywhere. If it had fallen into the pool he would have heard the splashing sound, he was sure of it.

In his frantic search for the missing object, it took him several seconds to realise the weight on his shoulders had lifted. The hands that had held him down had retreated, leaving him kneeling on the ground. He swiveled his head slowly, expecting a severe blow at any second. But nothing came; behind him, walking slowly backwards into the darkness, across the room and through a pair of bejeweled, monstrous doors, his captors went staring all the while at their Queen. He turned his head back towards her, and watched in stunned silence as Lady Madeline produced a short piece of wood from the slit in her dress, large and blunt at one end and whittled to a sharp point at another.

"Take it." she commanded, stretching out her hand and offering the stake to him. A frightened dog at his masters feet, he stood, expecting his legs to give way at any moment. He was shaking more violently than he had realised, and the small grin he saw flash across her face confirmed she saw it too. He took the stake from her outstretched hand and turned it over slowly in his. He was unsure what to do, what to say. The overwhelming sense that some dreadful trick was being played, a grand scheme in which he was being used for comedic effect, welled up within him. He looked up and stared into her eyes, barely feet away from him now, and felt a strange sensation that seemed to spread from his cheek of all places, as if she looked into his very soul.

"Now" she said, her voice smooth and cooing, "Kill me."

He instantly knew this was a trap. He would be struck down the second he made a move on her; but this temptation, to end what he came to start, to complete the mission given to him was too good an opportunity to pass up. Time seemed to slow, everything in his perceptions faded away; all except himself, the stake and her. It was as if he became detached from himself in that moment, as he watched himself lift his arm, and in an almighty swing aim the stake for her heart. She smiled at him, and in that instant he was drawn back into his own body, a distinct feeling of dread swelling in his mind.

A pain, as searing and powerful as he had ever felt, exploded outwards from his cheek and swept along his body. The stake fell from his hand, clattering onto the floor and rolling behind her into the pool. He fell to the ground a second after, clutching his cheek, his entire body convulsing in agony. Dark spots appeared in his vision, his ears rang with screams; his own and that, he recognised in a moment of unprecedented clarity, a girls. In his fading consciousness he felt something brush against his side, and looked upwards, the last ounce of strength he could muster.

Her face was close to his again, her lips brushing against his ear.
"You are mine." she whispered, a gleeful, feral breath.
The pain became unbearable. His world died around him.