SPECIES- OLIVER

8. CUPID

He took a deep breath, feeling each droplet of water sliding down his strong body. He gently tilted his head back, almost enjoying the jet of water hitting his face. His eyes were closed, and his fists were clenched tightly against his body. Slowly, he moved his head from left shoulder to right, until he felt the crack of his cervical vertebrae. He was tense. He couldn't fully relax or shake off the strange feeling in his body. Not even the powerful stream of warm water helped. The tension he had felt over the past few days permeated every muscle. He placed his strong hands in front of him on the wall. His figure was imposing. He looked like a dark Greek god. His body was large and strong, with pronounced muscles over which droplets of water slid and streamed down. They accentuated every detail of his physique. His dark, wet hair was slicked back, highlighting his sharp facial features. He looked intensely masculine.

Deep inside, he felt something happening, something he had never felt before, despite his experience. Though he appeared to be in his early thirties, his soul was old. For over 300 years, he had walked the earth, so much that it had become boring. His childhood was a blur, and he had begun to forget. He no longer evens tried to remember events, as nothing excited him. Neither death nor life, nor women. Everything repeated itself. Every day was the same, without temptation. He was trapped in the void known as time. His life was reduced to cycles, until a few days ago. That's when something changed. Something had challenged him. A smile appeared on his face. He had been standing in the shower for a long time, trying to sort out his thoughts, to figure out what he was feeling inside. He was intrigued, curious. He had to understand what was nagging him like a pebble in his shoe. It wasn't evil; he was sure of that because he knew evil all too well. He was evil. No, he thought to himself. What I'm feeling is pure light. Innocent and timid and... It needs me! He suddenly opened his eyes. They were deep and dark, radiating an intense expression. The realization hit him like a slap. He quickly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Who are you? He took a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He didn't bother drying himself. He walked into his room with droplets of water still sliding down his muscles. He grabbed a cigarette from the table and headed to the terrace of his large penthouse. He stood there, staring thoughtfully into the distance. The city lights lay before him. Night had fallen, and Ravenholm had awakened. He slowly drew in a cigarette's smoke. He lightly massaged his scalp with his hand and then laughed at himself. He didn't want to believe what his instinct was screaming.

Suddenly, he felt a breeze behind him. The smile disappeared from his face. He lazily extinguished the cigarette and then turned around. A young man dressed entirely in black stood before him. He wore dark jeans and a hoodie that concealed his face.

"Seraphim," he said coldly.

"Brolanthar."

"To what do I owe your visit? Must be very important. How long has it been, 100, 150 years?"

"169 years," Seraphim replied seriously.

Brolan frowned. Thirteen cycles of thirteen years, he thought to himself.

"The thirteenth cycle is coming to an end soon," Seraphim said calmly. "It's awakening."

"I don't care. That's not my problem!" Brolan growled through clenched teeth.

Seraphim remained silent.

"Ah," Brolan exhaled cynically, lighting another cigarette. He demonstratively blew the smoke out of his lungs. "You're not still demoted, are you? Still playing Cupid?"

He laughed cynically, just enough to show his white teeth. "Yes," he responded almost playfully. "I'm here on business."

Brolan's expression suddenly became serious.