There was something about his lips she didn't like. It could have been the fact that they were drawn back, fangs erected, or the wicked grin that humorously lay on them, but niether were accurate. It was the subtle innocence he tried to conceal, but wihtout knowledge, failed. He had never fed-at least on human blood. He was a fledgeling; nothing but a blood-thirsty monster-like a zombie. Without senses. What he lacked knowledge of was nothing but a murder waiting to happen. She stepped out of the darkness, revealing her porcelain-pale face. Wrapped against nearly every bit of skin on her were thick, black, curled tattoos of arabesques. Each of them delicate. Each of them black as poison.
He launched himself at her, bringing his arms up for the grab, but she was faster than he was. "What the-?" he growled, staring at empty palms. The sky was red and roared before dropping down the first needles of water. He felt a cold bite on his neck, the icy droplet streaming down between his clothed shoulder blades. She was there before him, her right arm outstretched with a glowing blade grasped in her opal fingers.
"Who are you?" he grumbled, his head swaying with the waves of hunger and nausea pounding at his face. She took a step forward and brought up the blade. With a flick of her wrist, the blade was airborne and gone. A searing pain spead from his left breast, a sensation of sweltering fire climbing through his veins. It felt like the sun was singeing the flesh of his cold, dead body. Suddenly, he heard a noise of shock-a tear- and the pain receded. The gaze of his eyes spun until the darkness enfolded him, stopping his unessessary breath.
Attoe retrieved the blade from the alleyway and pressed it back into it's sheath at her belt. "Stupid downworlder," said she, already steaped in rainpour. She squinted through the downpour, and peered up. "The Nephilim are taking over."
* * * * *
"Just...be careful," Margaret said, pressing her lips to Caeli's forehead. Caeli rolled her eyes and slung her backpack over her left shoulder. "The house smelled of freshly applied paint, and pasta. "Tell Warren I said hi," Margaret called from the kitchen. Calie headed out of the crammed apartment, chilled from the thought of her nightly plans.Excitement tickled the little, blue veins Caeli had traced hundreds of times. "I promise," she called back to her mother.
The late afternoon heat stunk of Manhattan rush hour grog. Pollutants and humid car ordors. Caeli headed down the staircase beside the apartment and headed down the street. She paced herself according to the distance she was to travel. Caeli hurried alongside the street intently observing the passing shops and buildings, and houses that she'd grown up around. The street, at this hour, was loud enough to hurt your ears, and the pungent scent smelled densely of sweat and taxi-cab car perfume. The sun hung low in the sky, but still had well over an hour until its setting. Caeli proceeded until she approached Terraluna Grill.
Inside, Warren sat at the bar, his fingers linked quietly in his lap. Looking up, a smile spread across his face. Behind the spectacles he wore, Warren's gold-glazed skin brightened. "Look who decides to show up," he muttered, standing. Her smile curved, her lips sliding sideways like they always had when she was around him. "Of course; who else is coming?" she asked, searching for familiar faces. "Well, besides the band, no one-unless your Mom decides to show up," he replied, running thin fingers through his dark-chocolate curls. Caeli chuckled. "No, my mom isn't coming, but she told me to tell you hi." Caeli started to make her way to a booth in the back. "Hi, Margaret."
Warren and Caeli had been very close friends since the second grade. Caeli and Warren existed in the same world always. They coexisted, acting like siblings at most. And, when they needed each other most, one was certainly always there for the other.
Caeli sat down, facing the front of the stage. Warren and his band was performing that night for the first time, after years of practicing in Brent's garage. Caeli had always seemed to find herself laughing at the very thought of Warren's band, which could never decide on a single name, and had alterntating lead singers.
Caeli could remember when Warren first explained to her that he was going to start a band. It wasn't professional at all, or at least that was what Warren said. She remembered sitting in the heat and boxed-in, windowless subwoofer-of-a-garage that she spent watching the band evolve, day after day each summer. Warren had been serious about starting a band, but without the organizational help of the other members, Caeli couldn't remember one single spike of hope for Warren's precious band. Though she spent countless days keeping up the motivation for Warren with nothing but unconditional support, she still could only see the band sliding backward once the heat of luck began.
Caeli folded her hands in her lap and watched Warren plug in as Brent and Olivia tromped in with their equipment and instruments. The late afternoon was starting to climb in through the windows, brightening up the restaurant in a yellow haze. Warren's clicking bounced about the room through the amps. "Testing, check-check," he said, tapping on the microphone. Caeli's eyes wandered, and as she peered around her eyes fell upon a beautiful boy.
He sported deep, dark red curls that fell over his forehead in a mound of blood-redness that encircled his face. Beneath his angelic curls were his eyes. The color was a blue-gray shade that danced and flecked in his entrancing irises, which gleamed in the haze of gold that envoloped him. He was tall with a muscular build, and underneath the black tee-shirt he wore, his muscles were flexed tight against the thin fabric. His eyes were on her in a curious manner as if he'd expected to know her. Caeli pulled her eyes away from his sight and remained in her seat.
Warren's band began to scream throughout the room, and soon, patrons of the restaurant gathered to watch the band perform. A short, plump lady approached the booth Caeli sat at, with her hands folded behind her back. "Could I get you anything, miss?" she questioned, bringing about a notepad and a pen. Caeli nodded and just said, "Coke, please." As the lady turned to lead away, the boy who had been watching Caeli slid into the opposite side of the booth. Stricken with confusion and irritation, Caeli started to slide out of the booth. But, as she was about to flee the situation, his hot fingers wrapped softly around her wrist.
"Wait," he uttered. His voice was soft and gentle, but deep and musical. She stopped dead on her feet and looked at him. Fear grumbled in the pit of her stomach, and when Warren's music stopped, the pain in her gut enhanced. Caeli looked over at the stage towards Warren, who was frowning through the limelight at her. The crowd moaned and buzzed with disappointment as the music did not continue. Caeli broke free of the boy's grasp and exited the restaurant as quick as she could possibly do so; footsteps behind her followed.
Whipping her head around, she faced the redheaded guy. "What?" she spat. A look of business was made up on his face. Caeli could not remember the last time she had seen this look on a person before. It had been ages ago, and largely familiar. "Caeli, you're being followed," he said plainly, touching her shoulder lightly so she could step out of the way of passing pedestrians. She frowned and rolled her eyes.
"Thank you for stating the obvious. Now, why don't you leave me alone, so that the Following does not continue?" Caeli retorted, her chest fluttering.
His eyes were serious now; they were filled with a look of such craze, it was almost impossible to decipher whether he was going to kill her or not at all. The sun beside them began it's journey below the Earth, strewing a purple shadown across his pale face. "I wouldn't look now, but to the left there are three men are observing your every move," his voice had a hint of an accent, but Caeli could not tell from where it had contributed. "They're probably just passing by. Besides, why would they be following me?" she questioned, shrugging off what he had only said moments ago.
"Well, if they're just passing by, I'd say they're checking you out way too intensely. I've never seen a look of such hunger on their faces," he murmuered. "Except-" the words he presented next were dissolved by a passing taxi. Caeli stared into his eyes. "Look, this is crazy-" she pushed past him and started up the street again. When her eyes met the opposite side of the street, she caught a glimpse of the three men He had just spoken of. All of them were young, and wore normally fitted clothing-the usual jeans and tee-shirt deal. But, when her eyes met theirs, something within her provoked a jolt of surprise.
They owned eyes as red as blood, and teeth as long and sharp as tusks; Caeli leaped back against the wall, frozen with horror. "Believe me now?" the boy screamed, before snatching her hand and taking off. As they ran, the opposing sidewalk rattled to life as the three men running across it destroyed whatever came into their path. Caeli's small, pixie-like figure could only barely keep up with His. As they came to an alley, he turned quickly, and started to shove trashcans over, buying enough time for them to make an escape.
When the pounding of footsteps grew loud from behind them, He stopped and faced them. "What are they?" she heaved, her chest jumping up and down with the lack of breath. One growled at her, and snapped. They were like wild dogs-ferral and viscious. The boy holding her hand, let go. "They're possessed foresaken. Demons," he muttered as one of the foresaken lurched at them. Bringing forward his forearm, the Boy blocked the strike and erected a small knife from his boot.
He slashed at the man's chest, and when it sank into flesh, a grayness spread throughout his face until there was nothing left of the foresaken man. The redheaded boy jumped up and propeled himself towards the others with a boost against the wall, hand with the knife outstretched. The fight broke out from one against two, and even with two opponents, the redheaded boy was still at an advantage. He swung hard at one, and released his grip on the hilt of the knife. One man down, one to go. The third put up a good fight, pinning him down a few times before the boy would sneak around with a techniqoe of another sort. When the foresaken had finally pinned him against the wall, fangs nearly hooked into his neck, the boy simply drew out another blade from between his knuckles and stabbed the demon. The damn thing shriveled before Caeli's eyes, and the boy turned to face her.
"What are you?"
His face glistened with a bullet of sweat that slid down his face. He picked up both blades from the alley floor and put them into his boot. He stepped closer, but caeli walked backward in sync with his steps until her back touched the brick wall. "Who are you?" she squeaked, sliding down the wall. She felt hot tears overwhelm her eyes and slide down her cheeks. He bent down and stared into her eyes quietly. "My name is Calic Brighton. I'm a Nephilim."
Part II
The silence roared in his hears, a faint ringing paining them. It was deadly. His gut churned with anticipation, a blade gripped in his paling fingers. He felt the cool breath of fear crawling into his senses as the prickle of a presence of another became known to him. His breath quickened but the volume remained it's inaudibility. The depression of light in the museum suppressed his sight slightly, but he was calm.
Thump! Whipping around, he repositioned the blade in his fingers. Thrusting his forearm forward, his lips shut and cut off his breath. The hilt of the blade his his hand and soared through the air. Calic watched it fly. It disappeared into the darkness and in a matter of seconds, was shot back at him. A cat-like leap prevented the knife from killing him.
As the blade whizzed by Calic's hand jolted up and snatched the knife, his form shifting, crouching in the shadows. "You cannot defeat me, Calician Brighton," it's voice was like scraping metal. Calic was still in his crouch, eyes darting for some phocal point.
"What is your name, foresaken?" Calic growled swallowing hard.
"Tajernoch." A demon king- a banished Angel. Calic took a step backward, but held his blade out in front of him. Tajernoch loomed out from behind a graying pillar, appearing large, burly and surrounded in a cloud of black ash. His perfume smelled densely of char and hot ash. He was a tall man, eyes raging with lapping flames as bright as the sun. The cloud of ash slithered and formed a large representation of his ancient wings, but instead of opal, they were black-dark as charcoal.
"B-but you're bound within the Gates of Hell," he gasped. Tajernoch gleamed, grinning in his superiority. "So, you believe? Ha. My bounds have been cut, little boy," his voice scraped and rung in Calic's singing ears. Tajernoch's eyes were dancing in flames, burning viciously.
"What is your purpose, foresaken from Hell?" Calic was beginning to ache with impatience. His grip on the oak hilt tightened, his knuckles whitening. Tajernoch raised his hand and bared his yellow shark-teeth. "Your ancestors banished me, you fool. I desire vengence. I desire your blood," he roared with a malicious smile made up on his cracked, split lips. Calic's brows came to a straight line across his forehead. "That seems a little...stupid to kill an innocent boy, don't you think?" said Calic standing upright, "I mean, I've never met those ancestors, and you don't know me, so, why kill someone who had nothing to do with you? Besides, you're being kind of a dick."
"Do not try to make me inferior!" he boomed. Calic shook his head, disoriented from the King's loud voice. As he gathered himself, he kept an eye on the demon, who was drooling. The gobs of yellow saliva streamed down his chin in chunks almost like jello. His eyes were now red with fury, and on his large face, there was something puny about him that Calic tried to decipher. Perhaps Calic's words had struck him. "I'd never have thought a king of Hell could be so naive," Calic retorted, placing a hand on his hip. Tajernoch was flaming.
"I will not allow such words to be described as the King! You will suffer, foolish boy-"
"And, may I say, too, that in your name expletives were conceived, oh king of Hell? Shouldn't you have known that?" Calic's voice was rising, colume intensified by five. Tajernoch looked at loss, his eyes blazing. "Die!"
He was hunched over on the cemented floor of the museum, head hanging down, palms facing up in surrender. The silence broke when she stepped inside, and his head jerked up.
Blood red specks loomed in his golden irises. His cheek bones were tight under the skin, and a shadow encircled his pale eyes. A yellow tint was present in his skin, and it appeared stressed-worn out- and dark. Over his forehead, the once red curls were dirt-matted and limp. His muscular build shivered with weakness- she had never seen him so vulnerable. His back arched forward, his hands on the floor.
"Calic," she gasped, sliding to her knees beside him. Her opal fingers raked through his hair as she tried to capture his glimpse. He only looked away
"Leave," he uttered, still avoiding her sight. She pressed her hands to his cheeks and shuttered at his ill tempurature. He was as cold as stone-freezing. "Calic we have to go-together," she whispered into his ears, tears pricking her eyes. The warmth of tears spilled out onto her cheeks as he continued to ignore her. "Leave," was his only word. Caeli sat back on the floor and brought her knees up to her chest, pressing her face between them.
She felt her chest sink as she had given up. Has he given up so easily? She wondered how badly he had been tortured before his faith was obliterated. The grayness of the museum told of a struggle- ash littered the floor, charred pieces of chairs and display podiums were sprawled out all over the place, and the high-hanging chandeliere that had once been Caeli's favorite now lay crushed in pieces. The defeat of Calic plunged Caeli into a deep sadness. Could shame be the reason for his illness? She recoiled from the truth as if it had struck her. She peered up from her knees and took a harsh breath.
She swiped the tears away and stared at him in wonder. Sitting forward, she was careful as she pressed her soft, warm lips to his ice cold ones. More hot tears fell. But, then Calic pressed into the kiss in return, his sick eyes fluttering shut. For what seemed like minutes, Caeli was embraced in the kiss, her heart hammering against her ribcage with blood roaring in her ears. Then, Calic shifted. A warmth began to return to his lips as Caeli kept hers pressed to his. When Caeli pulled back, she stared into his soul. "Let's go," she breathed. For a moment, Calic stared blankly at her. Then slowly, he nodded.
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