Nephalim

Chapter 5: Cain

The descent into the dark pit beneath the Juggler felt like an eternity. The wind rushing past gave me an old familiar feeling. It wasn't fear, but ecstacy. Knowing that if I hit bottom, I would be momentarily incapacitated, but alive, thrilled me.

On the other hand, my comrade, Solwinski, was a mortal. Should he hit the bottom, he would be nothing more than a red stain on the floor of the abyss. I sighed.

Fuck it.

He started to flail his arms as I grabbed him and pulled him close. His insistent screaming and swearing was as off putting as his oder. I held him tightly. I started to feel a ripple beneath my skin.

This is going to hurt...

I felt my back ripping and tearing, along with the sound of fabric being torn. The pain from tearing of my muscles and flesh was excruciating, but necessary. Though I could not see it in the pitch black darkness, I felt blood spray out from my back as two black broken wings sprouted forth. I contorted my back and wrapped my wings around the both of us.

And not a moment too soon.

The impact on the floor of the pit caused excruciating pain to travel down my spine, all resounding with a loud crunch. My already broken wings crumpled and folded more so than before. Thankfully, the damage dealt to them would repair over time. Solwinski, however, was unharmed as he rolled off of me.

"Why the fuck did ya do that, Cain?" he demanded.

I groaned and stood up, feeling the all too familiar pain of my wings retracting into my shoulders. "You're welcome, ass." I retorted.

"Nah, don't give me that shit, bub," he said angerly, standing up as he did. "Why didn't you use your fucking wings when they cock sucker threw us down here to fly us out?!"

"Well in case you didn't notice, they are broken. Using them for flight isn't an option, especially if I have to fly whilst carrying your fat ass."

He tossed his hands up in frustration. I caught the whiff of a foul odor. "Well," he said, pulling out a cigarette, "ain't that fucking great."

The odor disappeared. Must have been that oversized windbag.

As he lit his smoke, the brief flash of light it caused was enough for me to see the floor, or rather whatever cover it. Beneath where we stood was hundreds, if not thousands, of discarded bones. Where we had impacted on them was a clear dent of crushed and broken bones. The light from the match Solwinski used faded a moment later, only the lit cigarette gave his location.

I knelt down and took out my lighter. As soon as it ignited, I was able to get a closer view of the bones, on which we stood.

I picked up a discarded femur, and examined it. Though I had no formal medical training, I knew enough to tell the difference between the various bones littered about. However, as I took a closer look, I noticed that there were small indents in it. As if some has been...

There's that odor again. I stood up and took out my 6 shooter.

"Markus," I said quietly. "Draw your gun, and slowly come over to me."

"Now why would I go and do th-"

"Just shut up and fucking listen. This ain't just some hole beneath a run down dive. It's a goddamn feeding pit."

"A feeding pit... You mean like for ferals?"

"Yes. Now hurry and get your ass into position. Slowly."

I heard him mutter the word "Fuck," followed by heavy steps crunching the bones as he made his way over to me.

"Quietly damn it!" He grunted and come even slower. The sound of bones still crunching.