The Dead of Night

Second Time's a Charm

Chapter Thirty: Second Time's a Charm

The darkness, the inky pitch that made my blood run ever colder, had engulfed me, and now I had slithered down it's great throat and landed in its vast, ebony stomach. The shape-shifter laughed, and I know it was the shape-shifter for its laughter took on a variety of voices and tones, each distinctly different than the last. However, I couldn't pinpoint the laughter! It came from all angles, it's vibrations bouncing off the rounded shape of the dome and making its way through my ears; that's what the dome was for! 

This was planned all along! 

It was a test! I knew it! 

Then, somewhere to the right of me, there came a deep, low grumble. Not quite comparable to a dog's, but more of the growl the werewolves made, more of the growl that the Vampire makes when he's too frustrated for words to form and escape the wrath of his gnashing teeth!

A burning, stabbing pain in my wrist yanked my attention away and a groan slithered from between my lips when I lifted my wrist to my face, for better inspection. It was the crown tattoo! It shown a bright white, and from it, it felt as if my wrist would catch fire! The pure igneous, searing agony that shot through my arm brought me to my knees, I didn't know what in the hell was going on, all I wanted it to do was to heel immediately! 

Before me, dimly, I could see the outline of a hand that was outstretched, but not in aid to me, it was to maim me! Every time the outstretched hand would close its fingers into a tightly-clenched fist, the throbbing  torment of my wrist would increase, and a shriek of suffering would be launched from my tongue and into the pitch belly of the beast. 

More than one time I would attempt, in vain, to stand, to only find myself, once again, upon my knees at the mercy of what I supposed to be the shape-shifter before me. "What's the matter, dear?" The Vampire's voice echoed about the dome. "Cat got your tongue?" The shape-shifter taunted, his voice changing into that of the werewolf woman I slaughtered. I could only glance up to see her mutilated corpse before me, and I screamed, but I had not time to scramble back, before a claw slashed across my face, and sent me flying backwards, smashing through the grey walls as a cannon ball flies through the bow of a ship. 

Gasping, I didn't move. How many times must the oxygen be stolen from my lungs by an invisible and unerring hand? I had lost count of how many partitions my back had passed through, crumbling them to the ground, when I heard the ominous clack of familiar shoes on the hard rock, coming to a crescendo before me. "Well wasn't this pitiful?" The shape-shifter asked, in the Vampire's voice. "You didn't even put up a fight! I believe you've been scarily underwhelming, darling." Said he, walking over to me, his eyes meeting mine. His hands were hard stuffed into his pockets and he gave several clicks of his tongue, as if to scold me for being so unwelcoming to violence. 

"I don't...want to fight...I want...to leave.." I wheezed, the bits of broken walls poking into my spine and ribs, causing me to roll over in discomfort and try to force myself up, on shaking, unsteady arms. 

"Yes, well, my dear, in this case fighting does equal your unequivocal freedom, so I suggest you get your fists on the ready." He mused with a smile. "Though, I doubt you'll fight this form of me, you are far too fond of him to, am I wrong?" He asked, posing to me a rhetorical question. I only groaned, taking up a rather large rock when his back was turned, he thought me too much in pain to do anything--he thought this would be a fair fight, but I had decided, in an oxygen deprived state of thinking, to play exceptionally dirty. I managed to pull myself to my feet, but I stumped and fell over again, landing on my back, which caused the shape-shifter to enter a state of interminable laughter, clutching his stomach, and bending over to attempt to stop this.