The Mortal And The Wicked-- ONC 2023

Chapter 24; By which the night falls

CW; drinking/ alcohol usage

Azrael could feel his magic dying with the night.

Upon his wretched throne he sprawled, throwing every aspect of elegance and vanity to the wind, his posture slumped as he nursed himself upon a chalice of the strongest wine he could obtain.

It soothed his mind, lulling him into a stupor in which he might be able to endure the coming of the dawn, his mouth filled with its bitter taste.

With his other hand he held a blood-stained rag to his nose, the bleeding having mostly ceased yet still aching wretchedly. And yet despite his current circumstances he found that it was the one thing he could have a chuckle over.

For in all his years of playing the part of the carnival master, never once had he experienced a move within the game to be quite so... direct.

Yet even with the exhilaration that came with someone finding some clever, if not aggressive, way to solve a problem he had caused, there soon followed a sense he dreaded; the sensation that the night was nearly over, and that he might very well lose this game.

It darkened his mood greatly-- creating some visible anxiety within the air that every creature that ran his wretched carnival sensed. And while most did not dare to comment upon it, Azrael found that Oz was the exception to this.

For in the moments that he had returned, clutching his face as his nose had poured forth a river of blood, the Cat had given him a look as though he sensed that there was something troubling him far more than spoiled looks.

"Run into something, did you?" he asked drily as Azrael had stumbled about, attempting to find a rag.

"Lucy Caramonte hit me! She bloody hit me!"

"You had it coming, no doubt." And that was that.

Now however, as the Lord of Death lounged within his chair, the look had not left the Cat's face and he studied Azrael with the sort of intensity one might study a peculiar insect. And thus, knowing he would not be left alone till the truth was told, he finally spoke, his voice a slurred drawl of misery.

"It's coming to an end now, Oz. It seems as though Miss Caramonte has outsmarted me. Quite delightful of her, though I wish it wouldn't have cost me my stunning demeanor of a nose."

From the corner of his eye he saw the cat nod solemnly, and for once he did not offer up some scathing reply. "Shall you let them have the key, then?"

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Would he, Lord of Darkness and Death, allow such a thing?

Would he at last grant someone else the happiness he could never obtain? Watching in the first light of the dawn as they walked beyond the silver gates into a land he would never see again? Surely, for one year and one year alone, he could bring himself to not be so selfish.

He hummed thoughtfully then; No, he supposed not.

At length, he spoke once more, absentmindedly as though making an effort to hear anything but the silence that threatened to swallow them whole. "Tell me, what do you know of the Baron and Lucy? Of their lives together?"

Oz shrugged. "Very little. Their relationship came about from an arranged marriage, from what I had gathered."

Now this... This was something that interested Azrael greatly and he sat up further within his throne, his attention now turned fully to the Cat. "An arranged marriage, you say? And were either parties pleased with such a situation?"

"An arrangement as such does not always mean there is a lack of love." Oz's whiskered twitched then in slight annoyance. "Mabel is entirely convinced it is true love, yet the two had seemed frigid towards one another at the beginning of the night. Mind you, I watch each of our carnival patrons closely, and they were unlike the hundreds of joyous, weeping faces I am accustomed to witnessing."

"You mean to say then that their love is not genuine, but rather a façade?"

"That is a rather strong assumption. I should not wish to be too bold in my statement simply because they do not behave in a manner similar to the others."

"Yet you suspect?"

"I do."

Drawing in a deep breath, Azrael allowed the words to hang in the air.

It was an inkling of an upper hand, and whether it was entirely true or not did not matter as much as the way in which such an accusation might break Miss Caramonte completely. Tearing through the paper mask she had put in place and exposing her intentions entirely.

Why, perhaps she was not even deserving of the key to begin with, not if she played merely for a false love. Perhaps it might justify his unwillingness to give up the final key. Perhaps they would understand if it was not all for true love.

They would understand...

With this thought Oz seemed to sense something of his demeanor change, and in a tone laced with caution he spoke once more. "Surely if Miss Caramonte had gone to all the trouble of enduring the carnival, there must be some manner of love involved."

"Or perhaps she had done it for entirely selfish reasons."

"I don't believe--"

"Do you think I care?" he snapped suddenly, a cold anger casting a shadow over his heart. His anger directed less at Oz and more towards his lover who's voice still whispered soft words to his mind, still pulling away at the dark veil that threatened to overtake him. A final whisper of what had once been his golden heart. And at times... He hated them for it. "Do you truly believe I care if their love is true or false or selfish? The night is ending. This is no longer about love."

The words sounded hollow even to his own ears, and he watched as Oz shook his head. "You know your own lost love wouldn't allow you to do such a thing."

"Well, they're dead." Azrael felt his voice give way as his throat tightened painfully. "They're dead and I don't remember... I can't remember who they were. I want both the Baron and Lucy to feel such a thing. I want them to know. I had abandoned the idea of love long ago, Oz."

To this the Cat did not immediately reply, yet Azrael could see the spark of quiet anger in his eye. "You have forgotten what all this is for, my friend. I do believe you've lost yourself in the bitterness of it all."

Ignoring this, Azrael turned away from him, allowing himself to slip back into his blackened state of self-pity and resentment. Hearing a moment later the soft padding of paws as Oz left the tent, abandoning him to his thoughts.

He tipped his head back, the thorns of his throne pricking the tender flesh of his neck till it, too, bled. Then, almost as a second thought he reached beneath the collar of his tunic, tugging upon the silver chain and withdrawing the pendant suspended upon its end.

A key of black iron that pressed against his heart, eternally cold despite it resting upon his skin. The key that would set Lucy and the Baron free. He held it, and consequently their own fate, within his hand as he had done for so many others. And like so many others before, he was able to do as the cruel gods had done to him.

He would grind it into the dust.

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