Soul's Decay : Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fourteen

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If Abel said that opening his eyes took no effort at all, it would be a lie.

He groaned, dug his palms into his eyes, and shook his head before he could focus on his surrounding. Green was the first thing he saw. Not nature-green, but plastic green, artificial green. Still dazed eyes drifted to the side. There was a metal camping table that was foldable, and was overflowing with cooking ingredients; cut meat, pepper, spices, salt, BBQ sauce, and some broccoli. And there was a man. A man who stood there, a wide smile on his brown, slightly wrinkled face, displaying his white, straight teeth.

He brandished an innocent, uncut broccoli at Abel. “Hey man! You're awake!”

With a strangled gasp, Abel shot up to his feet on the long camping chair that he was lying on; which proved to be a bad idea, for he swayed to the side dangerously, crumpled onto the floor with the chair, and then vomited on his elbows and knees.

“What- You- You brought me here.” He panted, rising up slightly to glare at the man, who seemed horrified.

“No, dude, it wasn’t — Not exactly. I don’t want anything, look? Haven’t got any weapon on me.”

From the information Abel had gathered so far, the man was human. If he wasn’t, he would have killed him when he was unconscious. Despite that, the fact that the mortal was treating him like a stray dog was just making him angrier. “What are you?” Abel yelled, rising to his feet. “Who do you work for?!”

The man’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and he took a step back, then more hesitantly, forward. “I’m just a vet! I’m camping here! And you vomited in my tent- Christ. Look, man, you should sit down.”

“I’m not sitting down anywhere! I’m getting out!” Abel snarled, yet careful to not show any fangs or tails; he still respected the Law. He swayed again. I’m weak, he realized with a pained grimace. The vet was still talking. Disgusting humans.

“Dude! You high on something?” He asked, carefully putting the broccoli down on the table.

Abel grabbed onto the nearest thing he could find to keep balance, which happened to be a beer container, and ran a hand over his clammy forehead. “What happened?” He managed to ask.

The vet still studied him with wary eyes. “I was on search for something to burn, ‘cause I had forgotten to bring firewood, then I find you trying to choke yourself. About that, man, what were you doing?” Abel shook his head.

“Wasn’t trying to… Choke myself.”

He could barely remember what had happened before he had apparently passed out, and all he could pull out of his brain was the image of his mother dying. Although, it couldn’t have been real, for the event had already passed. Also, Dominic had been chasing him.

Abel knew what he was going to have to do.

“Hey,” the vet called, “you homeless? What were you doing out here?” Abel shook his head to clear it.

“Yeah. Homeless.” He replied. “Can I stay here?”

It caught the vet off-guard. “Uh, well, is anybody looking for you? Are you a… a criminal or something?”

“No. Nobody’s looking for me.” Abel told the vet automatically. “And I’m not a criminal.” The vet scratched the top of his head, starting to pace. His face was conflicted.

“Well… I guess you can stay here. But I’m only camping for a few days. Then you gotta find somewhere else to live.”

He turned his gaze to Abel, who was starting to find his footings. “But, in case to do that, you’re first gonna have to tell me how you got here, clean up your mess, and reveal who you are. Let’s start with your name. ”

He waited.

“William… William Weisfelder.” Abel told him the first name he could come up with. The vet grinned at him, wiping his hands on his cargo pants.

“Richard. Richard Tadeo.”

He grabbed Abel’s hand and shook it. Letting it go, Richard eyed the fallen chair and the pool of vomit next to it, which only had raw meat chunks. The vet only raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on anything, not even when he seemed to notice a string of vein floating in the gooey substance. Hunter flesh that I tore off, Abel thought, both amused and proud.

“Well, William, I think the vomit comes first.” Richard announced, crossing his arms.

Richard’s eyes were wide by the time Abel finished his made-up life story. “Wow, man, you serious?” He breathed, scooting forward without even realizing it. “You had to catch a hare and then eat it raw?”

Abel grimaced. “Well, yeah, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

The vet whistled lowly, leaning back. “But, wow. A raw hare. A hell of a life you got there, Will.”

Abel nodded in honest agreement.

Richard’s expression became slightly more stony. “And… the friend that threw you out here?” Shrugging in discomfort, Abel looked away.

“A bastard. Never knew that he would do that. Made me drunk, then came out here with me and his jeep to throw me out in the middle of nowhere.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dominic. Look, I really don’t want to talk about him.”

Richard gave him an understanding look. The grass pile he had in front of him turned into ashes and collapsed. The fire went out with it, filling the front of the tent with the darkness of dusk. Richard grunted in frustration. “I knew that the grass won’t work, but I forgot the firewood, dammit.” He muttered, kicking the ashes.

Abel thought for a moment, then stood up. “I’ll get the wood.” He announced. I don’t know what I’m doing.

“There’s no trees around.” Richard told him, frowning. “And it’s getting dark.” Abel shrugged.

“Wouldn’t bother me. I know where some trees are. We can’t go without fire.”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to do this.”

“You took me in, remember?” Abel said, letting his eyes glint for a second. He knew such a simple thing wouldn’t give him away. Richard looked up at him, frowned lightly, and then waved his hand.

“Sure, go, but don’t come crying to me if you can’t find anything.”

Abel smirked. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Abel set out, leaving the mortal behind. When he set a good distance between him and Richard, he started to sprint; first, normally, and then faster until everything rushed by him in a blur. The air was cool, and the moon was nearly half full and pale in the sky. Abel could still see the silhouettes of the grass and other things moving. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t see in the dark; it was just that he would prefer to return before the night came.

He easily found a tree, but it was after going away from Richard’s tent by at least two miles. Laying a hand against the trunk, he closed his eyes, sighed, and then carefully placed his hands around the tree. With a deep inhale, he snapped it in two without much of an effort. He lay the upper piece on the ground with a small grunt, sensing some of the dizziness return.

Well. How do I do this? Abel scratched the base of his neck, and walked over to where the branches were. He started to step on each one of them, making them break. Crack, crack, crack, crack. When he was done, he moved onto the thicker part of the tree.

“Father.” He spoke coldly as he pondered what he could do in the situation. Should I rip it apart? Or should I leave it behind and take only the branches? All was silent for a long, painful moment.

Then, a voice spoke in Abel’s mind; My offspring. I see that you have mingled with a mortal. Abel didn’t look up as he started to gather up the broken branches, giving up on the leftover tree.

“Well, father, you see, I have a little bit of a problem with my kin, so I am by myself. It would help if I had a little barbecued meat in my stomach.” His father didn’t answer, so therefore Abel decided to add, “The mortal is a vet.”

At last, his father moved into his line of sight, just as Abel was standing up with an abundant pile of branches in his arms. He moved like a ghost; his transparent fur appearing and disappearing in the darkness, his eyes gleaming pale, blending with the night in an eerily beautiful way.

Bao-Zhi Lee glared at his son. He is a mortal. Dispatch him and then come with me. We have matters to discuss.

Abel shook his head as he began walking in the direction of Richard’s campsite with his arms full, but not heavy. “No can do, father. I’ve had more than enough matters to discuss with anyone.” With a long exhale, he looked up into the sky, the sprinkled stars just starting to show up, glowing with the moon. “Father, go bug someone else. I’m not going to come running to you just because you haven’t been around for a millennium and a couple hundred years.” Give or take, he solemnly added to himself.

Bao-Zhi walked up to Abel. Even on four feet, he was taller than his son. I don’t know when, but you’re going to regret this. Abel smiled at him grimly, picking up his pace.

“Trust me, father, you don’t want to know how much I despise you.”

The next thing Bao-Zhi called out stopped him dead on his tracks. Do you even know what is happening to you?

Slowly, Abel turned around, his neck stiff as a log. “Except for going insane and hallucinating? No.” His father sniffed the air, once, twice.

You have cow blood in your veins. He declared, almost smugly. And I am thinking that it is getting into your brain.

Abel blinked and then growled in denial, narrowing his eyes. “No. I’m getting better. I know it.” Bao-Zhi stared at him with the pale moon eyes.

Perhaps. We shall see.

Then he was gone. Yet, Abel could still see his father’s eyes in the moon.

Numbly, he made his way back to Richard’s camp. When he arrived, Richard was about to put away the prepared ingredients. “Will! You actually came back-“ His eyes dropped to what Abel was carrying in his arms. “You brought wood! How?”

Abel shook his head, suddenly tired. He thought that I was going to run away. “I don’t know. Can we just… make a fire with these and then get some food?” Richard nodded, looking at Abel strangely, but nevertheless took the firewood and started to click a lighter against the pile after he set it down in the ashes.

Unknown to him, Abel’s shoulders slumped in fatigue, and he ran a hand over his face. “…ing into your brain, getting into your brain, getting into your brain, getting into…”

He released a shaky, frustrated breath. Damn him. What is he doing in my life now?

A fire flared in the darkness, lighting up the area. Richard clapped and whooped, grinning. “Now we can eat.” He announced, and then hurried to get the meat. Abel ignored his temporarily missing presence, and stared at the ground, where the flames were making twisted, flickering, dancing shadows. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, paralyzed.

“Flames make some wonderful shadows, Abel. You should take a look at it.”

“Fuck!” Abel screamed, and kicked a burning log from the fire. It spiraled into the night. From a distance, Abel saw the fire on the log sputter then go out. Immediately, there was a clattering sound inside the tent.

“What?!” Richard yelled, rushing out of the tent, meat, spices, a bottle of BBQ sauce and a broccoli in his arms. “What is it?”

Abel gave him a strained smile, ignoring the burn his foot had suffered when he let the fire embrace it. “It was nothing. It ran away when I scared it.”

Richard frowned, carefully setting the food down on the table. He brushed his hands off absently. “What was it, though?” Another tight smile was shot in his direction.

“Just a fox.”

☪

Lewis frowned down at the map in front of him, trying to blink the sleep out of his drooping eyes.

“Do we have to strike again?” He asked, again, for a chill that had run down his back earlier was still bothering him. It had felt like someone was making a death threat to him, or holding a knife right above his neck.

Adrian Bridge looked at him and sighed. “Yes, Lewis. We have to. They’re tired, wounded, and we are going to take advantage of that.” Lewis shifted, uncomfortable, thinking about his brother. Adrian looked at him, eyes hard. “Do not blame yourself for what you did. It was the right thing to do.”

Lewis shook his head, shaking his thoughts away. “Yeah.” He said absent-mindedly. “Yeah. It probably was.” But it wasn’t. Adrian stared at him for a bit longer, then sighed and tore his gaze away.

“They might go right here…” He continued on to the Hunters who were gathered around the table. The rest of his sentence was cut off as Lewis exited the tent.

His heart was heavy, and his brain was weary. So many events had taken place in the last few hours, and they had all made him feel like he was being frozen inside. Such as, when he had put a dagger to his brother’s neck, or when Abel and Dominic had come to hunt him down. Also, the chilling glare that the brown nine-tailed fox -Li- had sent him, made him feel as if he had sold his own country. Lewis scowled. Why are there so many of them, anyway? Aren't most of them supposed to be, like, dead?

The campsite was now being taken down, despite the fact that it was nearing midnight. Obviously, the Hunters were not going to stay in one place for too long; it would mean danger, being vulnerable to attacks, and exposing themselves. The Hunters were careful, cunning, and strong. They always knew where to attack, when to strike, who to kill. This time, after a thousand years, it seemed like they were determined to wipe out the many-tailed foxes once and for all; caught between it, Lewis didn’t know which side to cheer on.

He never felt like he belonged anywhere. It had been proven that the foxes didn’t want him anywhere around them by his short stay in the forest; Abel and Dominic had made the point stronger, especially. Amongst the Hunters, Lewis felt a little better, but it was only a little. He was still half fox. He would never belong anywhere.

Even as he pondered about his perfectly depressing situation, a couple of Hunters glanced at him and whispered under their breaths. Lewis could hear them; it was a part of the reason why the Hunters never liked him. They were saying; “…don’t know why he’s still here…”, and it was all Lewis heard before they paused, gave him another cold look, and jogged off.

I don’t know why I’m still here, either. Lewis sighed, looked at the sky, then the ground, and decided to go out by himself for a while.

There was nothing to see in the pitch black night except for the pale moon and the vague shapes of rustling grass. Not bothering to glance back at the campsite, Lewis continued his journey out, until he couldn’t hear anything but himself.

He slumped down onto the ground and pulled at his black, Hunter clothes in disgust. Why do I have to be in this clothes here? He questioned himself. The foxes always wore very simple, comfortable-for-battle clothes. A shirt, a trouser, a pair of jeans. Lewis wore a black shirt, a black pants and a black jacket that helped him blend in with the night -not that his hair helped- and it set him out of the crowd embarrassingly. The foxes often spent their time as a fox, their true forms. Lewis didn’t have a true form. He was stuck somewhere in between. True, he had been able to shift into a great white fox sometime in the past, but in the present time, he couldn’t remember how it had felt; and therefore he stayed a human with fox tails.

Lewis wanted to run, feel hard soil beneath his paws, not shoes, and shout a fox’s shout into the night. He longed to run his tongue over sharp teeth once more, and bound through forests and mountains. The foxes seemed to do just that, other than the times when they were out in the human cities, hunting down preys and ultimately, human livers full of love. If the human didn’t love the fox, the liver would be useless. A very different concept about love, certainly. Lewis knew it; he had experienced it; and the remembrance of joy, not guilt or regret, that had run through his veins over his first kill made him shudder in reverie.

He could never go back now, not with what he had done, not with where he was in-between three worlds. But you could still try, he told himself. Closing his eyes, he concentrated; and a heartbeat later, he gently held a shivering tail in his hands. Blinking, he looked down. Right, I have only one tail now.

The truth hurt.

Back in the forest, he had been allowed five tails again; which had felt amazing, made him feel like he belonged in there, and brought unimaginable power to his mind which was used to being just a halfbreed, one tail, half human. Now, he was just a halfbreed again.

He still couldn’t figure out what had happened. Why couldn’t he summon the four other tails now? What was so different about it that a couple hours had passed? Was it even possible? Was he just hallucinating?

Lewis focused again. Please, give me back my tails, give me back my powers, give me back the fox, he prayed. Then what am I going to do? He had to wonder, eyes still shut. Run away? Hide it and go back to the campsite? Risk the tails being erased again?

His eyelids fluttered in discomfort. What am I? Am I a fox, or am I a Hunter? He imagined that looking back upon his present days would do him some good, so that was what he did; but he paused when he realized that he himself felt like a stranger as he studied him. Now I can’t even rely upon myself, can I? He mused bitterly.

There was still just one tail in his hands when he opened his eyes. Miracle is just in fairytales.

Lewis struggled to his feet with a grunt, his muscles having cramped and complaining after being stuck in one, not very comfortable, position for a long time. The moon was still there, unresponsive, bright, uncaring; just there.

“Do you care?” He asked out loud. So absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t notice it as a figure moved to his side, and jumped when Kim touched his arm lightly.

She looked at him with passive, unwavering eyes. “Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity.”

Lewis sighed in contained relief, thankful that it wasn’t some other Hunter who had noticed his absence. Kim was one of the nicer ones. She always acted like she actually cared; although Lewis wondered how someone could care for anything other than herself, especially when all of her family members were slaughtered, making her live the life of a Hunter at the age fifteen.

“I was talking to the moon.” He replied truthfully. Kim frowned at him.

“That comes second. Anyway, what is it?” She gestured at the single tail Lewis had out in obvious disdain.

“I was thinking.” Lewis turned his head to gaze at Kim, and she flinched, moving her eyes away. Oh, right. The eyes. His would never be nearly as bright as the proper, full-blooded foxes, but he still had the bright, disturbing golden-yellow gaze.

Shaking his head lightly, he tried to comfort himself with the fact that Mason had much more unsettling yet similarly colored eyes.

“Then can you put that away?” Kim requested silently. Lewis sighed, willing the tail to disappear.

“Sorry.” He told her. She shrugged absently, looking up at the moon, unmoving.

“Don’t be. It’s my problem, not yours.”

“A lot of people don’t say that.”

“They have a reason for doing that.” Kim reasoned calmly, removing her eyes from the sky. “Families killed by the foxes, children killed by the foxes, friends killed by the foxes. You’re half fox. That’s all they need.”

Sometimes, it was hard to determine which side she was on, if she was on one at all.

“You’re right.” Lewis forced out. “It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I saw what happened today.” Kim replied instead, ignoring the previous part of their conversation. “You and the silver fox and the red one and the gold one.”

“Mason, Dominic and Abel.” He automatically corrected, then lowered his head in shame; the shame of being on a first name basis with three foxes.

“Mason…he’s your brother.” Kim stated.

“How did you…?” He started, but snorted to himself, realizing how stupid he must sound if Kim already knew it all. Smirking hollowly, he said, “Was it so obvious?”

“Well, for starters, he looks like you.” Kim told him, crossing her hands in front of her chest in an attempt to keep out the cold. Nevertheless, she shivered. “He has your eyes, too, and he looked betrayed when you put that dagger to his neck.”

Lewis was silent for a minute, recalling the moment, shivering in disgust for himself. “Half brother.” Kim nodded in agreement, sharing his silence, before she apparently came up with another question to ask him.

“So,” she began, “why were those two nine-tails threatening to kill you if you killed this… Mason?”

“They…” Lewis paused. “I don’t know, actually. Guilt, maybe?”

“Why guilt? What about it?”

Sighing in distress, he muttered, “Personal stuff.” Kim obviously wasn’t satisfied and rolled her eyes, but let the matter go.

His time out was up. Wearily, he turned around and started to make his way back to the campsite, to see if he could help with anything if the tents weren’t all taken down.

“So soon?” Kim hollered, jogging after him.

“I’ve been out here for too long.” He called back. Throwing his head back slowly, Lewis took a deep whiff of the cool, untainted night air, and dug his fingernails into his palms in shatteringly miserable regret.

☪

Abel was not used to sleeping, then waking up to a blinding pain in his foot. The foot that had been slightly cooked last night, when he had kicked the fire, was quickly relieved of the weight that had been crushing it, accompanied by a panicked shout.

“Oh, god! Will, I swear, I didn’t mean to do that!” A blurry form of a man yelled, rushing to Abel’s side. Abel took a long second to comprehend where he was. Right, I was running, then I blacked out, then I ended up here… Richard, the vet, wiped a light amount of sweat from his brows and shook Abel. “You alright?”

Abel shook him off sleepily, rolling onto his side, then cradled his head as a splitting headache struck it. “Shit… Why was I asleep?” Richard gave him a confused noise in reply.

“I don’t know, don’t human body require sleep? Anyway, I’m sorry about stepping on your foot.”

Nodding at the worried vet, Abel sat up with a wince. I’m not supposed to sleep, I don’t need sleep, I only sleep when I want to. Last night, he certainly hadn’t meant to sleep. Sometime after he had gained nine tails, he suddenly didn’t need to sleep unless he required it; he had shaken it off as a strange ability that came with being a nine-tailed fox. The last time he had checked, he was still a nine-tailed fox.

Something was terribly off.

Richard was still fussing over the foot he had stepped on. “I’m okay.” Abel tried again, and stood up with a light stumble. His foot gave a sharp protest. I’m okay. He told himself. Maybe his father had known that he wasn’t okay after all. Bao-Zhi always knew everything, always bragged about it subtly, and always, always used the knowledge cunningly so that he would always be more advantaged over others. It didn’t matter if the subject was about family or not, used against his wife or not — he never hesitated.

Abel’s whole body ached painfully for a dozen heartbeats. He felt sick, like he was seconds away from throwing up, and he gritted his teeth. Faintly -even more so- he could practically see himself turn pale.

“Wow. That’s it.” Richard said, frowning, and took Abel by the arm. Abel stumbled forward when Richard tugged him lightly. “I’m canceling the camping, and taking you to a hospital, alright? You need some help.”

“Don’t need any help…” Abel groaned and fell to his knees, the vet’s helping hands failing to keep him up. In a tense voice, Richard warned him to not throw up in his tent, not again, and left to make a phone call.

Even on the ground and shaking as his stomach seemed to melt and churn up to his throat, Abel could still hear bits of the conversation; “…homeless…sick…mental? No, seemed fine…don’t bother, I’ll deliver him…”

In a normal condition, Abel should have been able to growl, spring after the man, and tear the phone from his hands and also the head on the way. But the only thing he was able to do was barely keep himself from rolling onto his side on the ground. What’s going on, what’s wrong with me?

Richard hurried back into the tent. “Okay,” he rambled, “I’m going to take you to Walkerville, there are some hospitals there. But it’s going to be a long ride, and I really want you to try and not throw up in my truck, I’ve been with it for years-“ He cut himself off when Abel groaned, curling into himself, face a sickly shade of green.

“Just hang on!” Richard sounded much more panicked now. “I have to pack this thing up- oh, damn it. We’re just gonna have to go, man, you look like you’re about to die.” Abel coughed into his hand in response, and slowly looked at it, horrified realization dawning as he took in black blood, some red in there but still—black. Father… As much as I hate to admit, you were right for once.

“Shit! I don’t even know what this is!” Horrified, Richard screamed, and scooped Abel up with a strength that Abel hadn’t noticed in the rather plump man. Before he knew it, he was being dumped in the back seat of a truck, and the car door slammed shut on him. No, trap… he thought, but he was too weak to protest. He hated it. He hated being so weak.

The car engine roared to life, and just as Richard had said, it sounded old. Abel briefly wondered how the vet had even managed to come so far into the wilderness. The truck sputtered once, twice, then started forward, faster than the speed it probably should have been going.

Abel bounced on his seat far more than once, earning a pained groan from himself each time. It was as if there were severe burns covering his body. His blood was boiling, his eyes were burning, and his mouth was drying quickly, filling with the taste of blood. Abel had to part his lips to let the blood flow out.

I can’t go to a mortal hospital. He couldn’t move an inch. It wasn’t more painful than when he was hit by the arrow, the cow blood going directly into his veins, but it fell in second closely. This is bad. “Will? You alive back there?”

Gingerly, Abel gave an affirmative grunt, finding that even that brought a fresh wave of excruciating pain and nausea that wrecked through his body like an inferno. So this is what happens. Those foxes had screamed so much as they died. He once had been a bystander, simply watching, sharing tiny bits of forced sympathy; but now he was the one who had the cow blood, the one who was going to die. Did Richard plan to give him some forced sympathy?

Despite his dark, contorted thoughts, the truck rushed on for miles at least. Abel felt his eyes flash from bright to normal, fangs grow and retract, but couldn’t do anything about it. The control he had always maintained was slipping from him, again and again, just out of his hand’s reach.

He couldn’t sit himself up enough to look out the window, so the only way he noticed that he had arrived at his apparent destination, Walkerville, was Richard’s old truck skidding into a hard stop.

Almost effortlessly with panic and adrenaline, Richard bust open the car seat and practically dragged Abel out. “Here!” Richard yelled. “Gimme a hand here!” Footsteps rushed over to them and another pair of hands picked Abel up further, supporting his weak weight.

“Richard?” The unseen man grunted. “Pick up his feet. Gotta carry him to the hospital.”

Small town, no ambulances, Abel thought groggily while he was carried again gently. Small poison, no assurances. Fortunately, the hospital wasn’t far - if it could be called a hospital, even. It was just a small white building with a hospital sign above the glass front door. Abel choked again on his blood and coughed it out, earning a shocked gasp from someone. Hands fumbled on him, and each sound sharply penetrated his ears. He couldn’t care less. He didn’t wish much; he just wanted the pain gone. Or do you? He asked himself. Do you really want to live?

His vision went red, then black, then darker red. The color of blood, his blood, and the color of Dominic’s fur.Medical equipments were being strapped onto his body, needles poking into his arms, shirt being shed to examine what injuries he had, if any. It was miserable and strangely intriguing at the same time, the way the mortals were trying to save him, find out what was wrong, and Abel knew exactly what was twisting his body into grotesque postures yet couldn’t save himself. It was amusing; it was bitter; it was sinister and it was cruel.

Abel’s body arched, his spine creaking in protest, in rhythm with the poor excuse of a hospital bed he was slumped upon. From being placed on his back, he couldn’t breathe; the thick, dark, iron-tasting blood rushed into his lungs without restraint, blocking his airway. Get it out!

A pair of hands gently turned his head to the side and parted his lips and teeth, letting the blood flow freely out of his body. Even more gently, the hands pushed Abel’s hair out of his face and a voice told him to keep himself awake. Another voice jokingly -albeit tensely- said to not follow the light, or the white tunnel; but they were all buried beneath the white-hot, barbaric pain that caused violent spasms and drew shuddering gasps.

If he did fall asleep, just closed his eyes and let it all go, it would be the very last, everlasting slumber he would ever fall into; yet it was so tempting, like the forbidden fruit of God, like poking a bloody bruise just to see how much it would hurt; in this case it would be this - letting it go just to see what would happen once after step one : Death.

“Nothing’s wrong with him on the outside,” a woman reported in barely contained hysteria. Others hushed to see what she had to say, and Abel also managed enough focus to make out the female’s words. “It must be poison. A poison that was designed to kill slowly and painfully, and…” Four fingertips gently traced Abel’s neck, and he roared in pain.

The woman quickly retracted her fingers. “Causes veins to turn black, blood to boil, and many wounds on the inside of the body. We have to sedate him.”

No! Abel screamed silently, but it came out as a moan; this the woman presumably took as a moan of pain; or even a moan of desperate agreement. He couldn’t open his eyes, because once he did, he felt that it was going to cause him a great deal of pain; yet the eerie patterns red made on black on the insides of his eyelids made him shiver. Black overtook red.

“Sedative! Now!” The woman barked, and true enough to her words, Abel felt something other than his own blood enter his body and start to channel around in his veins. No… His brain let out a burst of accumulated torment, which was a far mightier wave than anything else before. What Abel could see went from black to red, to red and orange and yellow; his nerves screaming in pain like things possessed, alive and mad.

Again, Abel’s own blood began to choke him, and he knew that he could spit it out to the side, or let it flow out of his mouth just by opening it: but he didn’t, for he feared the stark possibility of the gathered crowd of mortals taking note of his teeth, now fangs, and perhaps the black blood, red now gone.