Nameless Ghoul

Aftermath

Itzal woke up slowly. His mind was foggy, and he could taste the tang of blood in his mouth. He was face down on his bed and as he reached out with his senses; he realised he was thankfully alone. As the fog cleared, his brain lit up with all kinds of pain signals. He catalogued the damage from his head, to his cheek and all down his back. The memory of the previous night rose to the surface, and he let out a shuddering breath. His mind skimmed over the stinging pain of the violation and locked it away with the rest.

As he moved to get up, he felt the already healing scabs on his back and the stretch of the dried blood that coated his skin. A ghoul had superior healing abilities to a human, so his injuries would mostly heal within a couple of weeks. But because he couldn't change into his shadow form for healing, he wouldn't heal as quickly as other species of ghouls. This would leave him with more scars, the same way a human would heal.

Itzal clumsily got to his feet and shuffled over to the shower. He cranked the heat all the way up and waited for the steam to start before he stepped under the spray. The scolding water ran down his back and his wounds smarted and stung, but he revelled in the cleansing heat of the water and watched as his blood flowed down the drain. He had no idea how long he stood there for, scrubbing his skin clean for longer than he probably should have and absorbing the warmth of the hot water into his bones. The filth from the previous night washed away.

Itzal thought of the ghuleh from the show, and of the card she'd given him. He'd stashed it during his run, as he didn't want to risk Santos finding it if he brought it back with him. He had no idea what he should do about it. By all rights, the Clergy and their ghouls should want to rip him to shreds. Papa Santos' sect was the stereotypical Satanic cult, sacrificing virgins and making deals with lesser demons for power and riches. All of those stereotypes were true as far as he was concerned. It was everything that Itzal had been taught the Clergy was not. And whether he acted willingly or not, he belonged to Santos and he'd been there at the forefront of most of the atrocities that had been done in the name of the Dark Lord.

But then he remembered the concern on the ghuleh's face when she asked if he was okay. He remembered how she'd backed off when she saw his collar with a frown marring her lovely face. Maybe she was right and he needed a friend, but contacting her again would put her in danger. Ugh, at least when Santos took the reins, he didn't need to make any decisions. He was just the blunt instrument. He didn't have to think about what he was doing, he just did as he was told.

He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, patting the water out of his hair and carefully draping it over his shoulders so as not to catch on his wounds. He took out fresh clothes from the wardrobe and dressed slowly. His battered body protested with every sudden movement. He went to brush his teeth and glanced at his reflection in the mirrored cabinet above the sink. One of his eyes was puffy and he had a healing cut on his eyebrow. His cheek carried a dark purple bruise and, as he prodded his fang with his tongue, it felt loose. He wouldn't be winning any beauty contests anytime soon, that was for sure.

If he was lucky, he would be here alone for a day or so now. Santos usually gave him some time to recover after one of his lessons, and last night had been worse than it had been for a long time. So hopefully he would have twenty-four hours before anything more was required of him. He grabbed his thickest blanket, wrapped himself in it, and lay down on his bed. He drew his knees up to his chest and held the blanket up to his chin. It was one of his only luxuries in this godforsaken cold place. It was thick and soft, made of some kind of fluffy wool. He felt instantly warmer under its gentle embrace.

Again, his mind wandered to the ghuleh and he tried to rationalise what he should do. As a Clergy ghuleh, she would be well protected and surrounded by other powerful ghouls and ghulehs in the safety of the Abbey, the Clergy's base in this city. Maybe he could go and see her there? If he could make it that far without Santos realising where he was going, of course.

Walking into a Clergy stronghold would probably not be his brightest move though. They could kill him on sight, or they could torture him for information about Santos. It made him smile as he thought of them killing him, and of the momentary surprise on Santos' face when he realised that his ghoul was dead and he would soon follow. It would be worth it just for that one moment, and it would rid the world of a great evil too.

Itzal closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion swept over him. He would decide what to do once he'd slept. He had time. There was no need to rush anything as Santos was still at the information-gathering phase of his plan, so the Clergy was not in any immediate danger. He closed his eyes, let the warmth of his blanket lull him, and he drifted off to sleep.