Two Worlds: Clash of the Guardians (Completed)

XII - A Loyal Vampist - Part II

Vadiraj

October 4, in the year of 8845, Reminis Calendar (RC) 

Thousands of metres apart from Elli, Vadiraj ground his fangs and hammered his fists on his bed. His enemies had found the way of defeating him -- by luck. He thought the chain-mail was a perfect shield. Darn it! The blacksmith had fooled him. His wrath towered. He banged his fists again; at least he saved three of his men and their staffs in time. The staffs had the precious blood stored in them and were an important asset to him.

Vadiraj closed his eyes, calming himself. He wasn't the only one being down. He could feel Elli's anguish. He could literally see the iceberg in her heart crumble, drowning her body with hatred and guilt. She had accused herself for tonight's tragedy as he could read her mind. She thought she was the one who had revealed their position. Does the injury of the blond wizard hurt you so much that you're willing to call yourself a traitor? he asked to the empty air in his mind.

Had he been wrong all this time? You don't know anything about hurt! You killed my father! You hurt me! Elli's voice blared in his mind. It hurt him, too. No. I am a strong man. A strong man doesn't get controlled by his emotions. He steeled his nerve. I will fight that wizard to own my love. Nodding, he got up from the corpse of a Black-Born witch his goons had brought home, and ascended again to earth. There were some ones he needed to see to clear his doubts away. 

He could hear the clanking sound of ladles knocking against cauldron as he rose from the grey tiles. Those old hags never stopped cooking. Sitting on their séance table, he covered his nose with his scarf, and crossed his arms over his chest. The witches didn't see him. Their backs faced him; their bodies submerged in a whirlpool of emerald and magenta smoke, cooking god-know-what. The air, apart from the odour of hawthorn flower, smelled like all kinds of animals' poo.

"Have you put in the mice? It still doesn't taste sweet," said a plump witch.

"I've put in a dozen of them. Can't you see the broth is turning black?" replied a thin witch.

Another witch with a normal body weight scolded, "You're ruining it. Put in the garlic and—"

"Eh-hem-hem," Vadiraj cleared his throat. The witches dropped a piglet's head in shock into the broth, spilling dark purplish liquid out of the cauldron.

"Oh blimey, can't you show up properly, or at least knock?" The eldest witch with the normal body weight and her sisters walked towards Vadiraj. A fanged basilisk staff appeared in the eldest's hand. Bringing it forward, she swept Vadiraj away from her seance table. "You are late."

"I am a busy man, Agatha," Vadiraj said with a covered mouth and took the seat in front of her.

"Busy with your silly infatuation with that human girl, you mean."

"Thanks to the prophecy of your dead mother. You said she left something for me?"

Agatha fished out a yellowish parchment out of her sapphire robes and passed it to Vadiraj. "She said she was sorry. She said one could change his prophecy, if he looks at the matters differently. She said apparently you had taken the wrong path."

"I know how to read." Vadiraj tsked and unfurled the parchment. The content was similar to what Agatha had said. He skipped the lines and halted at the four-line riddle.

"The world will he crush, the boy with the demon eyes.

Through pride he be thrashed, but he who will never cry.

From afar she dwells, the girl with the brown eyes.

Seek and serve her well, and she'll make him rise."