Elysium Nights (WIP)

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE REBIRTH OF THE FAE

In the dimly lit back room of O'Brian's Antiquities, situated in the heart of the moonlit genteel Limewood District, Lazarus orchestrated a final, ominous meeting. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, creating an atmosphere incongruent with the usual refined ambiance.

"Lazarus, your persistence is commendable, but it borders on insolence. How many times must I staunchly reject your propositions?" James's voice cut through the air like a blade, his stern gaze fixed on his nephew.

Lazarus, his figure cloaked in shadows that seemed darker than ever, let out a low, humourless chuckle. "Zio, your commitment to an honest life is admirable, but it blinds you to the opportunities that lie with us, in the shadows. This isn't just an offer; it's a lifeline, a chance for prosperity, power and protection."

The tension in the room escalated, each word a potential spark for the impending explosion. James leaned forward, his rejection a tangible force. "Lazarus, your world is not mine. I wont compromise my principles for your criminal empire. This is the last time you hear my refusal."

Lazarus retracted, anger raging through his veins. "So...I can't convince you otherwise?"

"I think we've reached an understanding" James's words cut the room like a knife, ultimately sealing his fate. Undeterred, Lazarus produced a pair of solid silver dice, devoid of any lavish embellishments except for the foreboding promise of a decision by fate. "Very well, James. Let fate speak where words have failed." With a flick of his wrist, the dice rolled across the table, both landing on the number one – the snake eyes of the criminal underworld.

The room seemed to pulse with a dark energy. James, unyielding in his principles, and Lazarus, now an embodiment of shadows and impending violence, stood locked in a silent struggle. The ill-fated roll of the dice hung over them like a curse, casting an undeniable aura of foreboding. As the shadows deepened, a sinister certainty settled in the air – this meeting would mark a turning point, and the repercussions would be felt in blood.

Without a whisper of warning, the shadows seemed to constrict, a malevolent force closing in as Lazarus yielded to the perceived command from beyond the grave. In a violent and abrupt twist of fate, a golden dagger, an extension of Lazarus's merciless will, gleamed ominously in the dim light. In a single, savage motion, the blade sliced through the throat of James's wife, her gasp choked to silence, the blood staining Lazarus's gloved hand as he held the weapon.

The room echoed with the horrifying gasp of James and the sickening thud of his wife's lifeless form hitting the floor, their blood intertwining with the stark shadows. Lazarus, cold and unyielding, dragged the golden blade across the table, the metallic scrape against wood underscoring the brutality.

With an unholy calm, Lazarus turned his gaze upon the paralysed James. The metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air, blending with the acrid scent of betrayal. As the golden dagger remained posed in his hand, still wet with the crimson testament to his ruthlessness, Lazarus delivered a chilling remark, "You should have said yes, Zio." The words, tainted with a sinister satisfaction, hung in the air like a foreboding omen before he proceeded to extinguish the last vestiges of hope in James with a merciless stroke of the golden dagger. The tragedy, unexpected and brutal, left an indelible mark, marking a profound and irreversible descent into the heart of the ruthless underworld for Lazarus.

"Bethany..." Lazarus whispered to himself whilst looking around the room.

In the aftermath of the tragedy that unfolded within the back room, as shadows clung to the air, Lazarus moved through the wreckage, the weight of choices pressing on him like a heavy cloak. The echoes of violence still reverberating in the dimly lit room as he searched for any sign of Bethany amidst the shattered lives.