Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 18: I Move the Stars for No One

HULLO, all! Thank you for reading this story thus far! 

I hope I'm doing the original series justice! I know it's very different, but it's for the better! :))))))))

Please VOTE and give me some rad comments if you enjoy! I get so excited to read comments on this story. :DDDDDDDDDDD

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       Rain percolated through cracks in the dirty ceiling and the walls, mingling with the blood splattering the stone walls like a painter's canvas, saturating the floors in reddish-brown puddles.

            A rat scurried along the floor, weaving between the prisoner's bare feet.

            "This is my kind of hotel," the human gurgled out sardonically.

            Heavy metal doors flew open, flooding the room with artificial light -- something the prisoner hadn't seen in a good two days.

            A group of bulky men with jagged features and violent eyes came piling into the muggy, moldy, and putrid-smelling basement, flicking on lights and stalking around the room with their massive bodies. Some of them rolled their thick shoulders after a long day of instruction, and others mocked at the gore-covered, beaten, filthy captive dangling from the ceiling like a dark angel. They muttered nasty curse words in their native tongue, and in English spat "Pretty Boy" and "Blondie" over and over again in Latin, making inappropriate gestures at the prisoner's naked body.  

            The prisoner stared down at the floor with the only eye he had that wasn't swollen shut.

            "Filth," one of the men hissed in the prisoner's ear.

            Malphas Cruscellio filled the doorway of the basement with his noticeably well-built frame, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief. He was immaculately dressed as usual in a suit and tie. His black, unusual dreadlocks were tied neatly back and weaved together in warrior braids. The human was disgusted at how flawlessly attractive the damn thing was, features alien, sharp, and cold-bloodedly sensual.

            The captive tried to recall this particular demon in one of his father's books, but couldn't. His lack of sleep, food, and the drugs in his system were plaguing his memory. What he did know was that the demon was older, by the strong compelling nature of its features, and the authority it had over the rest of the younger demons.

            The demon appeared to be stationary in his later twenties, yet visibly held the influence of a fifty year old CEO.

            "Well, well, if it isn't the boy who took out fifteen of my soldiers with just a bow and arrow. You have quite the skill, as I told you the first time we met. Hit each of them right in the heart. It's a shame you aren't fast, though. Humanity weakens you." Malphas approached the prisoner, coal eyes blazing. The prisoner tensed for a the moment, but hid it well. He'd been taught to fight and take a thrashing so excruciatingly painful that he went numb. He was also taught from birth to hide every emotion from the paranormal things in the human world. If he didn't pretend, the supernatural would know he could see them, and then he, and his entire family, were screwed.

            His family of demon hunters.

            "You look a little different than you did a few days ago," the demon continued to taunt. "A little... beaten up. How about, you tell me where the book is, and this can all be over."

            The captive remained silent.

            "You've been instructed to resist mind control, but I didn't think you'd hold up for this long. You're tough for a wee little mortal." Malphas inspected the human as if he didn't quite understand him. "There's no need to make me raise my voice. We've done enough damage to you and your home. Unnecessary damage. Just tell me where it is, and you can go home. Live a normal life. Tell me where The Book of the Dead is."