Born of Death (Editing)

29. Meet Me on the Otherside

         

Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before it takes something from him.

-Louis L'Amour

         

She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, rocking herself against the wall. Maybe, she went about things the wrong way, but Mori hadn't been the only one in the hospital that day. It was foolish to think if she ignored Rosalinda then her abilities wouldn't awaken. None of her children should have abilities! The bloodline was supposed to die with her! This accursed bloodline! The battle of Pruicity had wiped out all of her kind! Her parents, her friends, all gone! Now her children, they were at risk! A sobbed welled inside of chest, despair clinging to her pores.

It hadn't occurred to her that Rachel would develop abilities. She didn't possess the sight, and Mori had sealed Rosalinda's abilities. Now, the hunters from the Welkin were targeting her once more, reminding her of a past she wished to forget! Someone caused the battle of Pruicity, and now, they were causing another war. They were all being manipulated like chess pieces. She sought solace in death. Only a fool would try to manipulate an entity, birthed during creation.

Fear, a daily companion burst inside of her. Afraid of what she had to do to save her children, sobs exploded from her, her teeth chattering. She pressed her thumbs against her eyelids as if she could force the tears away. Damn it. She was such a poor excuse for a mother. Dominic avoided home, Rachel did anything in order to get her to act like a mother, and her poor Rosalinda. There were no words to express the horror her daughter suffered at the hands of a human. Her family was a mess, but she knew, she had to save them all. After all, she was their mother. It was time for her to die.

***

Death sat among the leaders of hell in disguise. He couldn't be more bored. It was a hellish day out, and the darkest of souls were floating about; serial killers, mass murders, rapists, he got hungry just thinking about it. The reason he was in disguise was due to the rumors circling about the demons rallying in hell. Not on his watch, for all was connected to the Slaugh—to Death. Manic glee entered his eyes at the thought of demons daring to oppose him. In fact, he occupied one of the spots as a count of hell, but the others didn't know that.

His eyes slid around his surrounding taking in the modern room they occupied. Traditional paintings from the renaissance period depicted demons in various painting hung elegantly against the black-colored walls. Putting on a bored expression, he studied his blackened pointed nails, a sharp contrast to his red skin. Inky blank hair frame his neck, drifting down to his navel. Called Lucian in this form, he giggled in mirth while studying the other counts. He kicked his legs up onto the U-shape table, leaning further back into his chair without a care in the world.

He ran his tongue across his pointy sharp teeth while manifesting a large trilby hat to cover his face partially to analyze his companions. Used to his antics, they paid him no mind. It was the perfect cover—the role of the fool. The only creature in this room worthy of trust was Abigor. For his daughter was bound to his precious Dumu-mi. As if he sensed his thoughts, those black eyes glanced his way, the black aura around him darkening, reminding death of the delicious souls floating near the ocean of subterfuge. He sighed.

"Is there a problem Lucian?" Abigor's gruff voice tumbled out.

"Hmm, not at all," he giggled, his own black eyes piercing the demon general. Abigor.

"Abigor, tell me how that child of yours is doing?"

"Fine, attending Helvitti, and showing great skills in war and the battlefield," he uttered just a bit smugly.