Ezekiel's body struck the ground with oppressive force.
His vision blurred, optical veins rupturing from the impact. The bitter, metallic taste of blood invaded his tongue, brows knitted together as his screams persisted.
His legs grew stiff, the connection severed right at the middle. Panic overflowed, blood evading his system with morbious speed.
Jarul looked on in cold approval. He licked his lips as his masterpiece broke out in tears, hands struggling to crawl away.
Weighed down by useless limbs, his movements were sluggish, painful, and overall, fruitless. Ezekiel turned his head, watery eyes gazing up at curved, crimson slits in the darkness.
"If only you could remain like this forever," Jarul's voice dripped with sadism, nostrils flaring as excitement took hold. "It's a pitty your body is special. Such damage would undo itself, given due time. Still, I suppose it makes it all the more fun," he crouched on his knees, meeting Ezekiel's gaze at eye level. "No matter how many times you heal, I'll just break you again. I'll keep at it till I tire. Or perhaps till you tire. You never know. I might end up breaking something irrevocable, next time," he chuckled, the low, grating sound spiking the air with sinister threats.
Ezekiel gritted his teeth, eyes slendered as he held Jarul's gaze. The pain was exquisite, but his hatred burned hotter.
He pursed his lips, the very action sending jolts through his skull. He endured, and spat the next moment.
A heavy mass of blood erupted from his mouth, striking Jarul's chiselled face like water praying stone.
Gasps echoed throughout the compound, their words growing louder as they cursed in outrage.
"If only your face could remain like this forever," Ezekiel hissed, his head twitching in agony as he felt something snap.
Jarul's brows shook, the smile disappearing from his face. His hands vibrated, crimson sparks flickering wildly.
Soon after, the red aura coated his fists. He geared them back, the weight of humiliation carried forth with blinding speed.
They struck Ezekiel's face, each blow crushing flesh and bones. Blood clogged his nostrils, internal pathways bashed as his head swung back.
His body descended in a spiral of crimson, vision receding under the weight of futility. Diminished hearing absorbed the guard's collective clamor, their words sparked with satisfaction.
Then, a weight settled on his chest, static and firm. Damaged pupils stared ahead, the towering figure snickering before him.
Twin gems kept his gaze, and within seconds, Ezekiel passed out.
...…
The young vampire woke up to a world of pain.
As his eyes slowly fluttered open, they took in the familiar sights all around him. The rich canopy of obsidian growth, the designs adorning the outer building, and lastly, the malicious guards standing before the entrance like dark sentinels. Their clothing's were a mixed array, all shrouding bodies honed to murder. Deep crimson eyes communicated years of anguish, all poured out onto the youth amongst them.
This was, of course, the overflowing cycle that plagued the Empire. People suffered, and, in turn, they unleashed suffering upon those who came after them. Perhaps it was their way to passing on the grief, or maybe they simply delighted in watching others suffer. Whatever the case might have been, Ezekiel was already on the receiving end of that ire. From his unfortunate encounter with Raphael on the streets, to his recent punishment from Jarul, his body had become a conduit of generational trauma that none were willing to subdue.
"So…hungry," he muttered through the agony. "Why…am I still in pain?" He asked, feeling his lungs strain with every breath he took. He waited there on the icy floor, the acrid odour of blood shredding his nostrils as a response delayed.
'...That is because of what I told you before. I can no longer assist you as much as you'd please. And because of that… the only way you can heal from injuries such as these are for your powers to regenerate. However, since your own powers are so minute, it would take a considerable amount of time for you to return to your past self.
'Unless you manage to kill, your powers won't grow any stronger. And in return, your rate of regeneration would be stunted, as well.'
Ezekiel listened carefully to the words spoken. He tried to clench his jaw, but instantly regretted his decision as his gums sang with seizures. His eyes swelled as they took in the macabre state of his body. Gaping wounds, dark purple bruises, and worse. He could still feel a chilling disconnect from his lower limbs, confirmation that his spinal cord was, indeed, still broken.
'Why did I get used to that voice helping me when I needed it most?' Ezekiel suddenly asked himself, disregarding tge fact that the enigmatic vouce coukd pry into his thoughts. He ignored the audible grumblings as he allowed his thoughts to wander yet again. Distractions were needed when pain was all there was.
'What now…?' His thoughts began. However, this time around, the voice didn't reply. Ezekiel didn't bother reaching out to the voice, choosing to direct his next words to himself as he continued. 'As I am like this, I'm pretty much a living corpse. I need to find a way out of this situation…'
In the midst of his thoughts, chatter from the guards began to audiblize once more. Their words wafted into his ears, and within seconds, they began to shuffle into the exquisite residence. Soon enough, Ezekiel was left alone, the prickling cold spreading through his body like eager scavengers.
There, he remained. He didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually, the guards returned outside once again. The air carried forward the sweet scent of a feast. Just like that, their break came and passed, bellies satiated with bouts of bioluminescent blood and tender meat.
Ezekiel's stomach grumbled as he inhaled desperately, his nostrils aching with each gaseous exchange. At first, the guards simply ignored his existence, their expressions pleased as they exchanged words with each other. Their deep, reverberating laughter sent jolts through Ezekiel's core. This time, though, he did nothing to mentally guard himself. Their words struck him like scorching daggers, digging deeper into the visceral pit of hopeless despair that gnawed his mind. He even averted his gaze, praying that his presence remained insignificant to the cohort of tormentors.
'I wonder if I should just draw one of their attention and end it all…' Ezekiel's thoughts receded, but soon, his eyes snapped, veins protruding from his forehead. 'Curses. I can't let it all end here. This pain, this hatred… I can't let it all go. Not now. Even if I am not destined for a long life, the least I can do is ensure mother's killer gets put to rest. Untill then, I refuse to breathe my last breath.
'Should I…? Should I make a deal again? Years of my life in exchange for power? I have already gambled five away. As vampires, we are set to live for no more than 120. Meaning now, I have a complete 115 years of life. But still, what truly is the guarantee that I will live that long. I was already meant to die during the war, but I only survived thanks toy strange powers. If that is the case, of five years guaranteed my subsequent victory against death, then, what is five more in exchange for full recovery?
'That conflict that Raphael has with the Devil's Flames. If the Supreme Sovereign is with me, hopefully, things will stir up sooner than later. Once that time arises, I'll be ready. I'll take advantage of the chaos that unfolds, and reap as many lives as possible. And then, once all is said and done, I will fight Darion. It will be a battle of vengeance, one that will only end with his defeat.
'I will not loose. Like I already accepted, even if I have to wager my whole life, I will. Even if I die right after, then it is an outcome I shall accept. I suppose father will just have to live on without me,' Ezekiel thought, then shook his head the next moment. 'No, that's not right. Even if I kill Darion, his brothers will remain. Raphael will be furious, and he will definitely thirst for blood.
'I just hope that Devil's Flames gang can deal with them. Patrick, or whatever his name was, he has to be someone strong enough to keep Raphael and his soldiers occupied. That way, I can go after Darion without interference,' the plan was set. Now, all that was left was tax.
'Take my years, and grant me the power to heal my wounds,' Ezekiel thought, his voice cold and calculated.