The Mark of Fallen Flame

Chapter 2- Levaroth

Screams rang out through the house, announcing that the prisoner was awake. A slow smile danced on Levaroth's lips before he pushed up from the musty, threadbare armchair. The floorboards creaked as he stalked from one end of the derelict house to the other, where a set of stairs led to the basement.

Ragged sobs grew louder with each step he descended. The smell of mildew, the prisoner's fear, and agony mixed in the air with his blood, making Levaroth's stomach clench hungrily. He drew in a deep, greedy breath through his nostrils.

His gaze drilled into the man dangling by his wrists in only his boxer shorts. Dried blood caked on almost every bit of exposed flesh. One leg was bent at an impossible angle, and the swelling in his chest indicated a broken rib, possibly a punctured lung. His eyes were blackened, and one was swollen completely shut. A purposeful move. Levaroth enjoyed seeing their palpable fear, particularly in their eyes. Fear registered on the man's face as he began thrashing against his restraints. New screams reverberated around them and fresh blood trickled down his wrists from where the metal ripped the scabbing skin raw. Levaroth watched with rapt fascination as one bead wended its way through the maze of blond hairs on the outside of his forearm before disappearing around his thin bicep.

"Please, I told you everything I know," the man wheezed in broken English.

Levaroth smiled. "I know you did."

"So, you vill let me go?" he replied hopefully. Levaroth chuckled.

"Why would I do that? I still have use for you, Robert." The man started at the use of his name, and hope seeped from his pores. Killers rarely used names; they bred a humanization that left guilt in its wake—but Levaroth was incapable of such emotions. His lip drew up in disgust.

To clear away the annoyingly bitter taste that had left an unpleasant burn in the back of his throat, Levaroth stepped forward. His hands snapped up like a cobra, encircling Robert's throat. A grin spread on Levaroth's face as he squeezed. The man's eye bulged as he choked and sputtered. His mouth worked like a fish as he tried to take air into his lungs. Before any irreversible damage could be done, Levaroth released him. The atmosphere was thick with fear again, making his mouth water. His blood hummed with anticipation.

He crossed the room to the sleek, metal table where various tools and instruments were laid out. They all winked with the promise of death. His fingers hovered over a twisted tri-claw tool that looked more suited to gardening before selecting the gleaming scalping knife. His gaze inspected the rectangular blade for dullness. Then he turned on his heel to find the prisoner sagging in his manacles. The fool was unconscious again. Levaroth gave an exaggerated huff of irritation.

He smacked the man's bruised and bloodied face. Nothing. This time harder. Still nothing. The anger that always burned just beneath the surface began to boil under his skin. He turned his empty hand palm up. A single flame danced and twirled within it. With a small smirk, he pressed his hand to the man's chest.

Robert's eye-lid flew open, a blood-curdling scream forced from his scorched vocal cords. Between his ribs, the skin was blackened. Beneath the torched flesh, his heart thundered loudly enough for Levaroth to hear.

"That's better. It's rude to pass out while I'm torturing you, Robert," Levaroth said.

"Please, just let me go. I have a sick mother and two sons who need me," the man begged, slipping into Russian, his voice hoarse.

"Not going to happen, Bob. Do people call you Bob?" The man was speaking again, but Levaroth continued chatting, more to himself than to the prisoner, "That's not a very Russian name."

The man's eyelids shuttered. He was slipping again. Rage erupted, and the blade in Levaroth's hand glowed red as it sliced into the man's chest. Once. Twice. Three times. The gleaming edge cut through bone and tissue like warm butter.

"Ssssir!" Levaroth's triumphant roar silenced and he turned slowly. Warm, thick blood coated his face, filled his mouth and dripped onto his crisp, pressed suit. He wiped it from his eyes with his sleeve and then grimaced. He'd have to have his favorite suit cleaned yet again.

"What, Berak?" Levaroth snapped. The tall, thin creature looked past Levaroth to the suspended man who was now dead. A rumbling, animalistic growl sounded in the back of Levaroth's throat as his already thin patience threatened to snap.

"There was an incident in Seattle this evening—"

"Well I should hope so, that is your job." The dark, disfigured creature dipped its head in a show of mock respect, though its eyes were filled with loathing.

"Three of ussss wassss lookin' for a bite when we sssspied two wee hum'n girlssss—"

"Get to the point Berak," Levaroth sighed as he pulled bits of flesh and gore from his front.

The creature hissed angrily. "One of the girlssss turned Reck and Abad into dusssst."

Levaroth stilled. Slowly, his head lifted as he stared at his subordinate. "Into dust," he repeated. "How did you get away? The short version if you please; you take entirely too long to string a sentence together."

The creature let out another hiss at the insult, but it spoke before its leader could react, "The other girl disssstracted her whilsssst I hid."

Levaroth gave the creature a skeptical look. The loss of Reck and Abad brought forth no emotion in Levaroth. It was as if that fact didn't exist at all. "Did you see where she went after?" The thrill of another potential kill made his blood simmer with excitement.

"I followed her to a hossspital," the creature hissed, seemingly proud of its forethought. As if recalling its experience with the girl, it shuddered, dropping its rotting, stinking flesh to the concrete floor with a splat.

"I see," Levaroth said eyeing the floor with disdain. "And using as few syllables as possible, how exactly did she turn them to dust?"

The creature pondered for a moment, opening its large mouth and then shutting it again. The corners of Levaroth's lips twitched as he suppressed a smirk. "I haven't got all night, Berak."

"Touched them," it replied at last, its words harsh and clipped to appease its master. Levaroth's eyes widened. A human girl with supernatural powers? Things are getting more and more interesting, he thought to himself.

He stalked across the room and carefully laid his sticky tool among the clean ones. "And did you get a name for this girl?"

The creature straightened up, pride lighting its eerie eyes.

"Emma Duvall."