«And now we have three corpses here.»
«Two,» he corrected her and pointed to the crippled guy. «You will make the third corpse.
«No,» she was suddenly frightened. Not that. Its one thing to fight, even to break somebodys bones and disfigure their faces, but its quite another to kill. Until now, she has only watched him kill, but she has not yet taken the life of anyone herself. Even the thought of doing it with her own hands was unpleasant to her.»
But Damian will not help her forever. Someday you will have to do everything yourself. But its too early. After all, these guys, no matter how mean and unpleasant they were, were not the ones who were her target.
«You have to practice on someone,» her personal demon whispered to her, and his eyes flashed dangerously. «Otherwise, when you reach the decisive moment, your hand will tremble too.»
He caught her fingers in the darkness and squeezed them reassuringly.
«Prove that youre not lying to yourself when you think youre capable of killing out of hatred.»
He left, whispering that he himself would get rid of the corpses. As far as Blaise knew him, he was probably hiding somewhere to watch her. For a moment Blaise didnt know what to do, and then she noticed a short iron bar on the floor and picked it up. Probably, one of the three hooligans brought it with him, in order to use it in case of something like a weapon. This means that she can fully use it against one of them. Blaise glanced at the blond back of his head without any regret, threw away all sentimental feelings and dealt one strong blow.
Fight me
Damian didnt lie, the bodies really disappeared pretty quickly somewhere. How did he deal with three at once? Does he really possess such superhuman powers? She did not torment herself with such questions.
Blaise laid out newspaper clippings and summed up statistics.
«My enemies. Three of them are leading in the ring, two are heads of powerful and influential organizations, one became the head of the mafia. Yes, even the holy spirit could not cope here.
«But I could.»
«Yeah,» she drawled with a sneer, but he was not offended. He didnt even get upset. He just pushed the papers aside and gently touched her chin.
«You underestimate me,» he looked into her eyes. «And yourself.»
Since then, a devilish force has opened up in her. Since she met him
Damian caught her eye and squeezed her fingers lightly, as if a single current passed between their touching hands, charging the whole world with a stream of energy.
He taught her, but the power comes by itself. Will this power be enough? Blaise turned her gaze back to the neatly arranged newspaper clippings. Her last night of normal life flashed through her flashbacks and Blaise winced. There was a crime that night, but everything that appeared after that in the press and news was at odds with the real events. The journalists faked everything like an accident. Or someone arranged it for them. Whatever was there, but everything went wrong, as it should have.
Justice was silent, and she is going to take revenge by force.
«I want to learn how to fight better than anyone, so that they fear me.»
«It is possible,» he has already grown up behind her back, like a ghost, «it is not at all in strength, in rage, that is why I chose you, your desire to take revenge will be enough for the whole world and you are right, evil cannot be left without retribution, otherwise our the world will turn into God knows what.
«Our world? Youre not one of him.»
«But I am a guest here and I see that the house is not hospitable, what can I do, leave or change everything?»
«Teach me.»
«What if for this I demand your soul?»
«What is my soul, I want to live, but you cannot live in defeat. I want revenge, I want to kill them all.»
«Okay, Ill teach you, Blaise, you deserve it, and before I take your soul, Ill give the whole world to your power.»
With one hand he grabbed her around the waist, and it seemed to burn her, with the other he squeezed her thin fingers into a fist.
«To kill, you must hate,» his whisper rang out over her ear, like the fiery breath of a dragon. He seemed to open the gates of hell in front of her. And she had already seen fire, blood and pain. The pain of her enemies. With his first touch, she suddenly felt ready for battle. A miracle happened. Weakness and fragility disappeared. She felt strength.
But what if he disappears? He seemed to breathe this iron power into her, along with the breath of fire. Being with him, she felt as if she was standing next to a fire-breathing dragon and he could burn her in an instant, but instead, on some whim, he was having fun with her. Teach her your techniques. Isnt it all a joke. Is it the influence of drugs. Not a mental breakdown that paints these pictures in front of her. What if she wakes up and he is gone. The demon who demanded her soul.
He admonished her, spurred her on, awakened skill and rage at the same time.
«Hit harder! Forget youre a girl.» He showed her how to make a fist and where to hit. She started to go out, but she was still a little shy. After all, he is not her opponent, but a mentor. However, he only laughed at her timidity.
«Come on, stronger, it quickly heals on me until you hate me, you cannot kill me.»
Hatred! She had this beyond measure. She struck with all her might, but her fist sliced through the void. Damian moved elusively.
«Concentrate,» he advised. «Dont forget about accuracy. The one you are fighting with is also moving. And he can be behind you. Hurry up to warn his movements. Watch the enemy as if it were in your hands. Be more calculating, aim and strike.»
Blaise turned, but it was already empty behind her. Damian stood in front of her.
«Put all your strength into the first blow, because it can be the last for you. And be faster.»
She tensed, although he moved around her very quickly, calculated the speed of his movements, clenched her hand into a fist and hit. She managed to hit him hard.
«Well done!» he seemed not to feel pain at all. There was something insane in his grin. If one angel from the crypt, revived, completely lost his mind, he would look like Damian. Mad Angel! In his appearance there was a lot of heavenly and at the same time he seemed absolutely earthly and completely abnormal. If not for his crushing inexplicable strength, she would have considered him just a nutcase. Probably, for the most part, she considered him so. But now she was beginning to get used to it.
He would have been very sweet if it werent for that crazy fire in his eyes and an obsessive grin that almost never left his seductive lips. Damian could seduce anyone with almost no effort. But inside her, for some reason, the cold prevailed. She wanted neither intimacy nor seduction. Although their fights in themselves did not resemble battles, because in these moments such a strange closeness was established between them that no one would understand. They became like one being. He wanted to transfer his power to her when he taught her.
Blaise was struck in the head by this feeling of surprising closeness, not confrontation, every time they went against each other, preparing to fight. Fight me, he repeated aloud and with a glance, he called her, but he also wanted something else. His gaze called for more than just hand-to-hand fighting. He wished for another encounter. Another closeness. But he didnt talk about it. Although it was easy to understand him without words.
He was so complex and yet so open. He seemed to want to receive not only the soul, but also her. The body is a pledge, and the soul for later. Why would he? Blaise didnt quite understand.
He was so complex and yet so open. He seemed to want to receive not only the soul, but also her. The body is a pledge, and the soul for later. Why would he? Blaise didnt quite understand.
Live with grandiose plans for revenge and with a demon behind your back. Blaise chuckled. She never dreamed of that.
«Thats enough for today,» Damian noticed that she was tired, although Blaise didnt want to show it, but he somehow immediately noticed it and stopped classes.
«Wait!» She objected weakly.
«We can continue tomorrow, as well as on any other day.»
«Are you saying we have plenty of time?» she ironically raised her eyebrows. «What if tomorrow I already decide to strike someone? At least to test their own strength.»
«Well, then I want to show you something,» he found himself nearby so quickly, as if there was no space separating them in the semi-darkness. More often than not, he preferred to stand behind her, as he is now. A comfortable position to hit, but that wasnt what he was going to do. There was something in his hand. He squeezed it neatly, like a bouquet of flowers about to present to her.
«What is it?» She unclenched his hand and looked. «Some kind of grass?»
«Clover,» he corrected. «Or rather, a green sprout of clover. Take a closer look at him.»
«So what?» instead of the usual three, she counted four leaves, but this did not almost surprise her.
«Four-leaf clover,» Damian told her. «Many people say that four leaves is a mistake of nature, which is simply too rare, but those who are far from botany believe that the plant is magical. That it will fulfill any of your wishes, if you found it or accepted it as a gift.»
Yielding to persuasive speeches, Blaise almost closed her fingers on the tiny sprout, even though it did not seem so wonderful to her.
«Is our garden full of that?» she found the audacity to argue, and it was true. «In the garden of the estate de Rosier. And it all belongs to me.»
«Maybe because no one can find a way into it,» Damian obligingly prompted.
«Just do not hint that you tried it. This has been the case for centuries. No one can find their way into the estate unless someone from Rosier points it out.»
«Then why oh why, you can invite me to visit?» He chuckled, seemingly really asking for it.
«I do not know. The estate is pretty neglected.»
«If you remember, I lived in landfills.|
Now she was grinning.
«Not really.» Blaise remembered something flying off the high rooftops of the nearby buildings, and only then he appeared. Just grew up behind her. But he was not an angel from the crypt, however, she did not dare to call him just a man. Although at first he seemed to her like a hooligan or a criminal who was about to kill her. Then she was ready to defend herself, now, it seems, she was not averse to making friends with him, but life taught her that you can not trust anyone.
«You, too, were ready to settle there, just not to return to your estate,» he insinuated. «I wonder why. Are you afraid of something?»
He struck some painful string in her.
«Im not afraid of anything,» Blaise said immediately.
«Prove it.» He dropped the tiny clover into her palm. «Make a wish! The sprout is a symbol, it will embody for you what you ask for, as well as for everyone. It will become your personal sign. I know you have one black desire. So make a guess. Suddenly it will come true.»
This time he didnt grin.
Her desire was indeed black. Blaise thought that even the magic plant that fell into her hands should also turn black, because she would ask him to kill someone. Her desire is someone elses death.
She did not believe that clover was magic. Most likely, Damian ripped it off in the de Rosier estate, which had long been locked and abandoned, because it was almost unbearable to live there. They said it was built in a place where climatic conditions and an unusual type of land themselves give rise to various errors of nature. For example, in the garden there were enough thickets of clover with four leaves, but it still did not fulfill anyones wishes. Or she just didnt notice it.
If she could now choose her coat of arms, then it would be a four-leaf clover. Not because of the magic, according to legends, associated with it, but only because the first desire that came to her mind at the sight of it was revenge.
The flower of evil. Whoever wanted evil will receive it. She imagined a four-leaf clover sprouting on the corpses of her enemies, gradually devouring them, and for some reason she felt surprisingly calm. As if the wish had already come true.
Ghosts of war
Alistair himself did not remember falling asleep on the floor of the chapel. This had never happened to him before. He always maintained control of himself, even when taking a hefty dose of opium. No one should have noticed anything bad behind him. Reputation is the main thing. If it is flawless, then no one has noticed the vile deeds hiding behind it. Alistair long ago learned to fully exploit his fame, covering up everything that he did unseemly with it. It was thanks to these difficult drinking practices that he chose the church service. When you are considered a protege of God, then all the evil you have committed remains in the shadows. Nobody dares to blame you because you are who you are. You are beyond suspicion.
He always had the mind not to deny the existence of a God in which he does not believe, but to ardently condemn others for the lack of very strong faith and self-sacrifice. And now he is a cardinal. Who dares to accuse him of something, even if he did it? Even so, his word will be above all others.
However, tonight he dreamed of a judging angel. Living angel made of marble. It sat directly above him on a flat slab at the altar and looked with such a stern, condemning look that, it seemed, was capable of incinerating. But at the same time, the pose of the angel was something erotic. The half-naked marble body bore traces of wounds. Unusual wounds, no blood. If it were a male body, then Alistair would feel a fit of desire, usually leading to violence, but the body was female, young, not yet formed. And the face He remembered that face. The face of his victim. Blaise! Her eyes were bleeding profusely, and this made her look even more terrible. The gaze directed at him, as if from hell, where he directed her. Her and her brother, after using it, of course. But why was Blaise the only one to condemn him? He couldnt rape her. She was a girl. Others wanted it. It was they who dreamed of doing to her what he did to this cute boy, her brother. He didnt touch Blaise. So why is this eerie bleeding gaze directed specifically at him?
Empty and inexpressibly stern eyes of the angel looked into the soul, making it freeze. Framed by ruby tears, they looked especially cruel. They reminded of some ancient and crushing, nameless biblical evil. But Alistair believed neither in God nor in the Bible, even serving at the altar. For him, everything connected with higher powers is just a routine of promotion and, in general, an empty phrase. He cannot be afraid of what he does not believe in. So why is he so scared then?
He tried to get to his feet from the cold stone slabs, but he did not immediately succeed. The whole body ached, the limbs ached, as if recently they were trying to tear them off. It was as if he had been beaten at night, in a dream, in a locked church. The beautiful image of the holy princess Catherine on the fresco at the altar always seemed to him personally more like a witch. In his dreams, she took suitors from young maidens instead of giving them. Although lately, more often than not, young men have begun to come here to pray to her for good luck in love. Like brother of Blaise once did. He came here to pray for a meeting with a virgin who resembles his secret love, his sister. Alistair lured him here, promising to calm his mental anguish. Here he would gladly make his victim any other who liked him. Some drugs in wine for the sacrament and more persuasion. He always lured his victims to communion, so it was much easier to get them drunk. Communion is a terrible ceremony. It can be of great service to any of the most unrighteous suggestions.