Nephalim

Chapter 2: Miguel Accosta

It came back after what felt like an eternity of darkness... Light... Light, followed by a searing pain as they shackled me to the wall with chains of silver. It felt as if my skin was burning with the anger of a thousand suns. Every fiber of my being wishing to shift, to change into what I am, but these restraints kept me from doing so.

They brought me water, in a cup attached to a long stick, not daring to come near me. However, I was grateful for the cooling elixir of life.

After I had my fill, they came into my cage. They placed a chair in front of me, and hope began to rise within. Were they to release me from these restraints?

My hopes were quickly stricken down as an elf walked in, wearing a dark military uniform, a black grimoire on it's side, and carrying a small manilla folder. The elf was flanked by two Dwarven guards, each with silver swords. The elf sat in the chair and opened the folder.

The air tasted foul.

"Miguel Accosta," it said, its voice sounding as sweet as a babbling brook. "We are a long way from California aren't we? Tell me, what brings you all the way out here."

"I... I came here for w-work," I stuttered.

"I see," it flipped over a page, "and you are indeed a lycanthrope, Chupacabra, correct?"

I nodded weakly. The manacles digging deeper into my flesh.

"Interesting. How long have you been in the city."

"F-four months..."

It raised an eyebrow and closed the folder carefully. "I see." It rose from its seat and approached. The dwarven guards immediately drew their silver swords, but the elf waved at them to stand down. At that order, the two dwarves left and closed the thick steel door. A loud thunk sounded as the lock fell into place.

"I apologise for my colleagues behaviour," it said. "They are all on edge, as you are undocumented, and the only witness to a classified case."

I looked up and the elf and said, "If you mean the murd-"

It raised a finger as if to silence me. "You are not to discuss such things with me. No, you see, the Citadel has me investigate cases of Lycanthropy, more specifically those who are undocumented. Now, do you understand why this is a problem?"

I weakly shook my head. The elf smiled slightly, and cocked its head to the side. It rose from its chair and took its black oaken wand from around its waist.

"Mr Accosta, I am afraid that being undocumented, and shifting in public is a crime, punishable by death."

I started shaking in my shackles. The pain intensified as the shift began. The searing pain as my body started contorting, the fear rising inside of me as this elf approached even closer with his weapon. It stuck the tip of its wand under my chin, smirking as it did.

"Any final request, Mr. Acc-"

It was cut off by a sudden bang in the hallway, followed by shouts of, "Oi worixk! Ya can't be back here!"

"Fuck off, Kar'darki," sounded a deeper, more demonic voice. "I'm doing a favor for Foley."

"Ah, my apologies, worixk. I was not aware you were the consultant."

The second voice sounded calmer, less demonic now: "No harm done Kar'darki, wait... Why is this door locked? "

"Hmmm," said the elf, "it appears you have received a stay of execution." With a quick flick of his wand, the elf vanished in a puff of black smoke as the door was blown off its hinges.

"By Gorinn's beard! Why the bloody hell did ya do that for!" said the guard as he waddled in. "Ack, Cap'n will have my beard for this!"

"Well, it was locked, and I am in a bit of a hurry," said the other voice.

A man, or what appeared to be a man, walked in. He stood roughly six foot tall, skinny, but not slender. His hair was cropped short, and jet black. The most striking feature was his eyes: one bright sky blue, the other red as blood. He wore a black three piece suit with a white tie, and a black tribbly was held in his right hand.

I tasted the air with my tongue. The scent from the man was strange. A blend of sulphur and lavender.

"Miguel Accosta, I presume," he said.

I nodded weakly.

"Kar'daki," he said turning to the dwarf, "why is this man bound?"

"For your safety."

"Unchain him."

"But he is an undocumented ker'worzi! If we unchain him, he may infect us!"

"I am well aware of the risks."

The dwarf grumbled some insult in his native tongue as he unbound my chains. I rubbed my chafed and burnt wrists.

The man spoke again, and offered his hand. "They call me Cain."