Black Blood

-B2- Chapter 33

'Do you really not want me to walk with you?' I shake my head for the umpteenth time. I wish I could say that I know what I'm agreeing to, but I truly have no idea. Reality is far away and it feels great.

'It's not far,' I mutter as I step out into the cold night. As soon as I turn around, I see Micca nodding hesitantly but he says nothing.

'Stay away from other people. They will take you without hesitation.' Slowly, I shrug my shoulders, too hazy to really grasp what he's saying. The boy's green eyes slowly glide over my body as I pull my cloak tighter around me to keep the cold out.

'Bye Micca,' is the last thing I say before I turn around. I hear him mutter something faintly before the door slams shut.

The black hood lies over my head. The night is dark, cold and quiet. At least that's how it seems at first.

I walk through several streets without seeing any signs of life. My eyes are fixed on the bright starry sky as my feet effortlessly glide over the stones. For the first time in a year, my body feels light. The black dress on my body flows like floating fabric behind me.

Unfortunately, life is not as beautiful as it sometimes seems.

'Stop!' shouts a male voice along the closed houses.

Even in broad daylight, the number of blue crosses on the doors has increased. My father has done his job excellently again.

Without thinking, I turn to the man across the street. Slowly, I begin to doubt the amount of narcotics in my body.

'What?' I say without thinking. The angry man comes running towards me with another by his side.

My sober self has long since walked away or said nothing at all. The drugged version stands still and watches as two men come stomping towards her.

Before I realize what's happening, my hands are grabbed, tied behind my back, and I'm hit on the head. Immediately, the beautiful soft world turns dark. The stars that were once in the sky now dance in front of my eyes like nymphs on a full moon night.

The hit wasn't quite hard enough to knock me unconscious.

I am dragged through the streets, my feet dragging on the cold stones. Vaguely in the distance, I feel my hands being tied and my knees hitting the cold ground.

'Send a...pigeon...now.'

'What...do...now?'

'Can...torture.' As soon as my ears register the word "torture," my brain begins to understand the reality I have fallen into. The amount of weed in my system is halved with the blow of reality.

With a pounding headache, I open my eyes as quickly as I can. It takes a few seconds for me to realize what position I'm in. My hands are tied behind my back with a thick rope. As I look around, I see that the thick rope leads to a tree, in front of which I am kneeling.

The two men have sat down in front of me. Both not older than forty with dirty clothes full of brown stains. Their brown eyes are not clear. What can you expect at four in the morning?

'Let me go,' is the first thing my hazy brain can come up with as I tug on the rope with my arms. There's movement, but in this position, it's impossible to get loose. The rough rope burns against my skin.

The grinning men start laughing as the older of the two kneels down.

'What do you think princess? Have any idea how much money is on that little head of yours?' he laughs. With my teeth clenched and my eyes staring into those of the drunken man, I tug at the rope. They start laughing at my futile attempt. The man slaps his hand hard against the back of my head before standing up. My head tilts forward as new stars briefly appear.

'Can we make her pay for all the killing?' asks the younger man with brown hair. The older man sitting just in front of me sighs and shakes his head.

'They want her alive.' With one ear cocked, I listen to the man as I tug at the rope again. The two men think I'm trying to pull the rope loose, but I'm smarter than that. What the men don't know is that by tugging on the rope, I've managed to twist my hands outward. It's not the first time I've been tied up and I've learned from previous times.

Before the older man knows what's happening, his blood is flowing in the wrong direction through his veins. His legs give out immediately, causing him to collapse like a young deer learning to walk. With a small grin on my lips, I watch as the younger man looks bewilderedly at the older groaning.

'What are you doing?' the idiot asks as his companion pushes his fingers into the wet cold grass, groaning in pain as the first drops of blood leave his nose.

'G-get...get her,' he shouts through the trees. The younger man's eyes dart from me to the older man. The first drops of red slide down the man's skin onto the wet grass.

'N-now...' The younger man pulls a pocketknife out of his pocket and holds it against my throat. I smell the sweat of fear running down his back as he presses the knife against my skin. But it doesn't help the older man. His hands give out and the blood runs from his mouth into the grass.

'Kill...kill,' the man moans. I see in my peripheral vision how the uncertain slave looks at the dying man.

'But she can't die, you just said that yourself.' The older man gags on the amount of blood in his trachea as the dull knife is held closer to my throat.

'N-now.' I feel the boy next to me tense up further. His brown eyes slide one last time from the man to me. I expect him to release the knife, but he has more courage than I thought. He pushes the knife so hard against my skin that it splits under the pressure. The first black blood slides down my skin over the black dress.

Without hesitation, I let the older man's blood flow harder against its direction. The feeling of power that this action brings me is addictive. Euphoria in my brain and veins. I want to see the man choke on his blood, I want to see his soul leave his body. My eyes are focused on nothing else and neither is my magic.

'Ki...now,' is the last thing the man says before he starts to vomit his blood. His hands clenched together, his face deathly pale and his body covered in blood.

The moment I feel the boy next to me lift the knife slightly, move it, and close his eyes is the moment I want to shift my magic. Just as the older man is about to choke and the boy is about to slit my throat, something happens that I didn't expect.

Before I can blink, the younger boy falls dead next to me in the grass. The knife leaves my throat.

Totally confused, I look without hesitation at the black-clad person who slits the throat of the older man. The black cloak with a narrow white stripe down the back does not reveal who is standing in front of me. The black pants and wide black shoes also reveal no physical characteristics.

My heart starts beating unconsciously faster than in previous events. Something is not right. I expected to see Micca or Novak, but this is neither of them.

I remain still on my knees as the person slowly lowers the dead man into the grass. I recognize his movements, but I can't place them.

I watch the person with interest as he wipes the knife on his cloak. Slowly, the person turns around. At first, I can't see who it is because of the large black hood, but as soon as I realize who is standing in front of me, my heart sinks to the ground.