Author’s Note: I had planned on continuing this series on here, as well as The Slaughterhouse, Grisly, and Oz and then finally finishing my last and final series Detective. Unfortunately, with new rules about not being able to depict violence in detail, among a few others, understandably so, some of my stories will be removed as I was notified. With that being said, this is my last story I’ll be submitting on here. Thank you to everyone who took time to read my stories and leave me such kind words. Thank you to those who made me feel like I was a good writer when I doubted myself and wanted to quit more than once. I wish you well and thank you for all the amazing support.
Kayra droops down delicately letting go of Drakor. He lands on his feet near a wore down warehouse. It had wear and tear; layers of grime and dirt built up around the edges of the building. Through the entrance he inhales the humid air and coughs a little, following close by is Kayra, her wings lowering down at angles retracting into two narrow slits in her slender back. She wore a plain white shirt with blue jeans, dressed like a typical kid. Stepping in she takes a glance around and notices a wall with a hole burrowed through, the fractures edges of the metal tell a story that something was forced through.
“Ugh, it smells awful in here.” Kayra says. Sliding her sneaker across the dirt ground she uncovers a bullet casing. Crouching down she paws it out of the ground and takes a closer look at it. “What happened here?”
“Nothing good from what I can tell. This is supposed to be the place, or at least it’s what she spoke of.” He says.
“Why doesn’t she ever wear clothes?” She asks, one hand sliding through her hair removing bits of rubble from their previous endeavors. Sighing he replies, “Sometimes it’s hard to explain adult things to a child. Have you found anything of interest?” Running his palm over a serated edge of the hole, he ducks underneath and walks over towards a wide hole in the ground.
“Found a bullet shell, nothing else of interest. Old blood stains on the floor, but this used to be a slaughterhouse, so what’s new?” She looks around at loose rusted chains left behind dangling in random areas, one in the center of the room next to a turned over bucket with dents in it. She curiously kicks the bucket and watches it twirl in a half circle, dried up muck rests inside the can.
Drakor crouches down and scoops up a handful of dirt. The smell of sulfur gently caresses his nose as he twist the grains around in his hand. “Something was here, but long ago. I can barely smell the trace left behind in the soil.”
Kayra sighs and leans her head back. “You gotta go see her again, don’t you?”
“Have to, we’re on to something. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Stepping outside the building through a side door she responds, “I’ll be out here waiting.”
Drakor sits down with his legs crossed and reaches into his pocket. Digging around he pulls out a glass vial, bringing it up to his eye level. Inside contained a liquid mixture, what looked like drops of the galaxy, floating around. Pinching his eyes closed he pops thd top and flings a droplet onto his tongue. He grits his teeth and shakes his head before sliding it back into his jeans.
His conscience begins to deteriorate while the world around him dissolves into heavy slabs of disoriented colors and pixels. For a minute it feels as if he’s floating into midair, drifting into a brighter world. His back slams onto solid marble and everything is rushed back into place causing his mind to feel like someone drove a railroad nail into his skull. Pounding and pulsating, his thoughts try to scramble into various slots to make sense of what was beyond him. A widespread hallway shot out to a open door frame. The floors were marble with transparen maroon curtains fluttering cautiously, momentarily blocking part of the pathway. Darkness shrouded the room, leaving only a dimly lit path.
Groggily he shambles to his feet and pops his back upon standing. No sword; no gun; just the clothes on his back and his wits to keep him safe. Gazing out towards the entrance, he begins to make his way in a slow steady pace. Turning his head left to right, he listens to the slow rustling of chains somewhere behind the curtains. He continues on, alert, and brushes away a drifting curtain caressing his face.
Rotting teeth snap and snarl at him, straining to reach his throat from behind the curtain. Two extended arms outstretch towards him, grody fingernails prick the lining of his shirt, they then begin to pull and tug on the solid collar embraced around the throat. The decaying corpse makes eye contact with him while groaning. Another loud snap comes from behind, coming to a sudden halt as the end of its chain reaches its limit. A second corpse scrapes against his back, hungry for flesh it salivates heavily. Drakor continues down the hall while others come rushing, all barely out of reaching distance. Guardians of Leviah. If any stranger or fool summoned here were to walk the hallway without an invitation from the owner, a terrible fate awaited them once they tried ro navigate down the dark hallway.
Shuffling his feet he slowly makes his way through the guards, each one barely making contact with him. Reaching a set of stairs he climbs up to an open doorway. The room smells of lilac shrubs, a mask to cover the stench of death still lingering among the second wind.
Complete darkness fills the room, all except for a small bit of light aimed in the center. He makes his way to the beam and kneels down. “Leviah, I come to beg of your assistance.”
A voice as sweet as milk and honey responds seductively, “Drakor, you handsome devil. What brings you to these parts of the underworld. Do you crave a night of passion?” Giggling at the end of her sentence her voice echoes in the chamber.
“I seek answers, the demons have begun to come out more. They’re becoming braver, stronger, I’ve never seen this type of behavior. I searched the warehouse, but the clues only confused us more, you said we would find answers.”
“Why must everything be strictly business with you?” She replies somewhere in the dark. “I mentioned a possible answer, not a definite one. I hear stirrings among others, but they don’t keep me informed. I think I might scare most of them away.”
“I couldn’t imagine why.”
Looking up he sees a face that was blessed with the beauty of Aphrodite, lips voluptuous and full, her eye color the formation of an imploded star; a galaxy of black and gold, her face pale and soft as silk. Her blonde hair slides down over her shoulders covering her bare breasts. “Lay with me, and I’ll tell you all that I know.”
“A wise man knows better than to sleep with a demon of lust.” He says.
Scrunching her face she yells, “Do not compare me to those heathens! I am the epitome of what a sinner like you lusts for deep in his secret compartment of perversions. Come, lay with me, and I’ll spill my secrets into your mind.” She strokes his face and stands up exposing her full body to him. Entwining her fingers around his, she steps back into the dark. With her first step into the shadows her face transitions into a mask of horror, skin bubbles profusely into a canvas of leather skin, deteriorated and raw. One eye swells up and splits like a spoiled grape, teeth begin to dangle and loosen, some falling out. The remaining ones shade into a darker color, black grout lining her bleeding gums. Her rose fragranced hair withers into wiry strands. “Lay with me,” she whispers, her breath reeking of spoiled meat. Drakor unbuttons his shirt with a free hand and steps into the shadows with her.
Jolting awake on the warehouse floor he sits up in a panic, scanning the room he whispers one word. “Delkatov.”