This place of Blood and Tears

Survive.

The smell of alcohol hits Ezequiel's nose with the force of a punch. From where he's standing he can see the candlelit flames illuminating the tavern door. It wasn't there before, he realized. He'd walked down this alley, in this neighborhood, in this nameless town, countless times. And yet, he's never been there before.
He blinks, and then he's walking through the door. The stench isn't what surprised him, but had was how undeniably depressing it was. Sadness—no, despair—hung in the air like a veil.  There was the sunken bodies and faces of residents; there was the sobs and groans from those who couldn't escape the grips of sleep.
And another smell, one Ezequiel knew too well. Drugs. There was floíuine, smelling like flames. Decàmabe, smelling like burning water. And, one that Jeremiah had only smelled once, imposkįva. rumor was that it had gave people to be able to tap into magic.
Why would this appear to him now? Why would this place show itself to him now, as if he would find something he needed here?
As if to answer, a voice called out to him from a lone stool in a corner.
"Ezequiel?" His body is suddenly alert; her voice, still soft and light, enters him and wraps itself around his heart. He hates it. He hopes she keeps talking.
"Ezequiel?" Hearing it a second time, he can tell she is delusional. High. He hope it's only off of something soft, like dicab. his eyes find her on a lone stool in a corner.
he approaches, and the sight of her makes rage flare up in his stomach. She's got no clothes on, only a shawl thrown over her. And even then, it doesn't matter. It's see through.
There are bruises along her jaw, on her arms and legs and ribs.
The rage is roaring like an animal, writhing like flames. His rage is spreading through his body, making his vision turn red and blood boil. It is becoming him, overtaking him. It is controlling him. It is him.
"Zequiel? Ezequiel, is that you?" Her voice is a whisper, one that is fighting off unconscious. Because even with drugs in her system, the shadows don't stay away in her dreams.
"I'm here, Aziel. I'm right here." His hand grips hers, softly, guiding it towards his face.
Her hands fumble for a moment, before tracing along Ezequiel's cheek, trying to find his lips. And once they do, she caress them gently, letting out a sigh. Her eyes are closed. She's tracing his face with her fingertips; his jaw and eyes and nose and lips.
"Ezequiel," his name is a sigh as she opens her eyes, connecting with his own. His own are a bunny's fur brown, but hers; they are made of steel. Gray in color, they are cold and hard. Glazed over with the high of drugs. Yet even with her body like this, even while barely being able to move, she looks at him with strength.
"Aziel, what'd you take?" There's a weight when he asks this question. Worried about the answer, worried about why there even is an answer.
"Dicab," she says with a sad smile. The weight is gone. Ezequiel nods once, then closes his eyes and breathes once.
One moment of weakness. One moment. Then you get her out of here, his thoughts yell at him. Get her out.
"Come on, let's get you somewhere else." His hand grabs her wrist, while another helps her up by the waist. They are walking away, when Aziel sobs. Ezequiel ignores it. Because there is nothing to say. Not when it's fault she's here. Not when he shouldn't have made her take this mission in the first place. Not when he could have stopped this.
They walk and walk, until Aziel stops, and simply looks at him.
"What were you doing? What took you so long?" The drugs have faded. She still looks strong. Even half naked, she looks strong. Like metal. Like steel and sword. Like shield and light.
These tears that are in her eyes make her look weak, and I put them their, his thoughts tell him. I made her weak.
"Finishing the kill." The dried blood on his hands confirms it. The blood still dripping from his neck and down his back confirm it. The gash along his forearm confirm it.
"And what if they had killed me. You would have just gotten another whisper, right? Another drug addict." Her voice is fire. It is flames.
No point in lying, "yes."
She nods, like she knew this. Of course she did. She knows me as I know her.
"What if they hadn't killed me, simply made me useless? Ripped my tongue out; or crushed my legs? What if they'd ripped off each of my fingers so I could never touch them again?"
He knows what he wants to say. And he should keep them inside, keep them locked away and hidden. Because this love for her, this forbidden, dangerous emotion will destroy him. It will burn him alive.
And he wants it to. "I would have came and got you. And if they'd cut off my legs, then I'd crawl to you. I would burn this entire city down for you. I'd claw through walls, I'd get you and we'd survive. Because that's what we do. We survive," he knows he should stop, but doesn't stop himself from adding, "and I can't survive without you."
There are tears falling, but she no longer looks weak. There are no words to describe it. She looks at him like he's one of the drugs he's made her take. Like she hates him, yet can not get enough of him.
He strides towards her then, picking her up in his arms. Because from the looks of it, she was about to pass out. And Ezequiel was right, because her head slumps against his shoulder, and her breathing becomes steady.
The brothels are active tonight. Ironic, he assumed. He's got a raped and beaten and drugged and naked girl on in his arms, while walking past other girls that are no doubt experiencing the same thing. No, not the same. Worst. At least Aziel was saved. At least she had a choice.
Was that what Ezequiel gave her? A choice? No. He didn't give her a choice. But he didn't force her either.
"Just a little more," the voice in his head said. It'd always been what he told himself when he started to doubt why he was doing this. Doing theses missions, creating his crew.
At some point, He arrives home. On the edge of the spade sector, it is a 2 floor house, right next to the lake. He lays her down in a bed, and leaves back out.
The way back to the tavern is a blur. But it is a quick one, and it is still there. Good.
It is not hard to recall the image of Aziel's beaten image within this place, and the memory brings flames roaring up from the depths inside of him. Entering, he finds the closets bottle of alcohol, and begins to pour it out around the floor. And does it again, and again, until it is covering people and the floor and the walls.
The people are too delusional, or asleep to realize what he does.
Walking out of the drug house, he looks at it in disgust and anger. With a raise of a hand, purple and blue lighting shoots down from the sky, striking through the ceiling and setting the building ablaze. Ezequiel walks away, the anger inside of him still shocking and hot. He goes home, to watch over Aziel, but he does not sleep. Sleep with not come for a long time.