Mavobella: The Angel Of Death

Chapter 17

In a pair of black leather boots, a black woolen cloak, and slinky silk trousers, as instructed, I stood under a street lamp in Vinetopia before the agreed time. How hardworking I was—but no, it wasn’t dedication. It was my desperation to get off this cursed island that drove me.

The dim glow of the street lamp did little to pierce the dense fog that clung to the narrow streets of Anubistopia, the mist swirling in ghostly tendrils around my feet. Before I could even lean against the lamp post, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Marion. Just then, I noticed the shift in her aura, the faint trace of demon energy rippling around her like a shroud. How she managed to mask her reality so well wasn’t my concern, but what was my concern was that she was supposed to take me to Isaac.

As we set off, the narrow streets closed in around Marion and me, their looming shadows swallowing us whole. The winding alleys, slick with mist and grime, seemed to twist and narrow, forcing us to walk side by side, then single file, and at times barely allowing room to breathe. The weight of the thick fog pressed me down, grounding me to the cobblestone beneath my feet. Marion, always a step ahead, guided us with silent confidence, her sharp eyes scanning every corner of the shadowed streets.

Around us, the city’s architecture loomed like forgotten memories—jagged rooftops and crooked chimneys, much like the ancient buildings of London, if London had been swallowed by centuries of neglect and despair. The gothic facades were cracked, blackened with soot, and adorned with weathered gargoyles that peered down at us like silent sentinels. I kept close to Marion.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper in the oppressive quiet.

Marion didn’t turn. “I’ve been here before. Trust me.”

Her words, clipped and cold, offered no comfort. The alley narrowed further, forcing us to walk single file for a brief stretch. The damp air felt thicker here, heavy with the scent of mildew and the remnants of a long-lost fire. Each step I took echoed strangely, as though the very walls were listening, waiting. When we passed by a rusted iron gate, I noticed how every sound—Marion’s steps, my breathing—seemed to be swallowed by the silence around us.

We soon reached a dead-end. I frowned, but Marion didn’t hesitate. In front of us stood a weathered building, its bricks faded and warped by time. The door was painted black, though much of the paint had chipped away, revealing splintered wood underneath. Small barred windows glinted faintly in the dim light, casting twisted shadows along the walls. Above the entrance, a faded wooden sign swung gently in the breeze: The Black Briar.

“This is it,” Marion said softly, glancing at me before raising her hand to knock.

Her knuckles rapped against the old wood, the sound dull, as if the door absorbed the noise. For a moment, there was no response—just the stillness of the alley and the distant drip of water from some unseen source. Then, with a low creak, the door cracked open.

A figure stood in the shadows behind it—a guard, tall and broad-shouldered, his features hidden beneath a dark hood. The flicker of a lantern cast half his face in light, revealing a rough, scarred cheek and cold, calculating eyes.

“What business?” the guard growled, his voice thick with suspicion.

Marion stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We’re here for Isaac. He’s expecting us.”

The guard’s eyes shifted from Marion to me, assessing us both with a practiced scrutiny. His hand rested casually on the hilt of a sword, but his stance was anything but relaxed. After a long pause, he gave a short nod and stepped aside, allowing us entry.

The interior of The Black Briar was more than just a bar—it felt like stepping into another world. The air inside was thick with the smell of aged wood, old liquor, and damp stone. Lanterns hung low from the ceiling, their light casting long shadows that danced across the worn floorboards. The patrons, seated at various tables scattered throughout the dimly lit room, looked like they belonged to another time—mercenaries, thieves, wanderers—all cloaked in mystery and suspicion.

Marion moved through the crowd with ease, as though she had done this countless times before. I stayed close, my senses sharp. The further we ventured into the bar, the more I felt the strange energy clinging to the place, like the building itself was watching us, taking note of every movement. Marion, however, seemed unbothered, as if this place held no surprises for her despite the fact that she knew that this place was not a place for humans—especially not of her age.

At the far end of the room, near a massive stone fireplace that crackled with warmth, another guard stood by a door. This one was older, his sharp, calculating eyes seeming to take in every detail of the room at once. As we approached, he gave Marion a knowing look.

“No newcomers,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“She’s with me,” Marion replied smoothly, casting a brief glance at me. “And we’re here for Isaac. No delays.”

The guard’s eyes flickered between the two of us, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod and stepped aside to let us through.

Beyond the door, the atmosphere shifted. The noise of the bar faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the quiet hum of something far older, far darker. The hallway we stepped into was narrow, its walls lined with cold stone, and the air grew noticeably colder as we descended a set of stairs into the bowels of the building.

“What is this place?” I whispered, feeling the weight of the walls pressing in around us.

“A sanctuary,” Marion answered in a low voice, her steps measured and sure. “But not for the weak. Isaac deals in secrets, and those who come to him either find what they’re looking for… or never leave.”

The flickering light from the sconces along the walls cast shadows across Marion’s face, giving her an air of mystery that even I couldn’t fully unravel.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the stone walls opened into a large, cavernous room. The air here was thick, almost suffocating, and at the center of the room sat a figure draped in tattered robes, his face hidden beneath a deep hood.

Isaac.

Marion stopped a few paces from him and motioned for me to do the same. “We’re here,” she said, her voice echoing softly in the stillness of the room. “And we need answers.”

Isaac’s head lifted slightly, the hood casting his face in deep shadow. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and as his robe shifted, the full extent of his disfigurement became clear. Half of his face was a grotesque ruin—burned and charred beyond recognition, the skin stretched tight over exposed bone. His remaining eye, bloodshot and gleaming with malice, locked onto me.

“Many come for answers,” he rasped, his voice like dried leaves rustling in the wind. “And Mavobella, I was expecting you.”

I stiffened, startled by his words. “Why... why were you expecting me?”

For a fallen deity, a former commander of the Imperium's army, just the mention of my name was a privilege. But to be expected? That was something entirely different.

Isaac stepped forward, his massive, gnarled foot thudding heavily on the stone floor. The movement was deliberate, as if each step was meant to unnerve me, and it did. He gestured toward a fountain at the far end of the room. I hadn't noticed it before, but now its presence seemed almost too obvious, the water inside glowing with a faint, eerie light.

“I heard you want to get out of here,” Isaac chuckled, his laughter harsh and cruel. “It will come with a cost.”

I remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

“There is a map,” he said, his voice low and deliberate.

A map? My heart quickened, though I kept my expression neutral.

“I'll give it to you,” Isaac continued, his burned face twisting into a grotesque semblance of a smile. “But in return, I'll need something from you.”

His voice dropped lower, the shadows deepening around him.

“Retribution.”

The word lingered in the air like a curse, and I knew then that whatever Isaac wanted, it wouldn’t be simple.