The Most Powerful (The Wrath)

Chapter 5 (Betrayal Is Not A Friend)

Candice Floamboatia

"Sit," Carrie sat me across from Parker like this was some kind of therapy session. "Now, I'm leaving the two of you to talk. There is no killing allowed," she shamed mostly me. I sighed and looked over at the boyish figure. As soon as she left, I got to business.

"I don't want to get involved with you anymore than you want to get involved with me. If I can't kill you, then how about we just go our separate ways?" I offered as kindly as I could. "If not, then we'll have to result to something much more violent."

He nodded as I watched with suspicion. I could tell he was a sociopathic liar, but so was I. I could also tell he wanted his revenge. He landed his gray eyes on me once again, only to start chanting witchcraft. Yet, I was far too prepared. He let out a choke when I gripped him by his throat tight enough to let little air pass through.

"Sweetie," I frowned in fake sympathy to strike a nerve. "You thought you could hurt me? I'm much too ready for anybody that comes my way." I quickly spun out of the way when I felt Carrie's presence behind me. She latched onto Parker's neck with her hand, then threw him aside angrily when she missed her target.

"You're not the most powerful being around here, Candice. You are in fact number ten on the Suggestion of Life spectrum, which makes you last."

"That doesn't matter," I couldn't help but to laugh. "I'm still more powerful than every demon and angel, even number one," I teased Carrie by stepping forward. "And don't think for a second you're off the hook. I know you were in the Black Hole, tormenting Angela and I." Her eyes widened at my come back with information. "And you're first."

She transported when I took a step towards her. I busted into a chuckle when she ran like a coward. Parker chanted yet again from behind me. I was officially fed up with him. And so, I ripped his tongue from his throat and watched as he died a painful death. And I would kill him ten times over again, until he reached his last of eternal lives, and I'd meet him in Hell below where he truly belonged.

Carmine

Micheal said nothing of his breakdowns, but he didn't have to. I knew they were to occur at some point out of the blue. I mean, he obviously has many mental health issues, including post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, and possibly schizophrenia.

I came back to the apartment after leaving him alone when I went to a job interview to try to fit in with this society. It's no wonder people around here are insane; they don't even know what a normal life looks like. And I left him for literally an hour and a half.

When I walked in, our stuff was thrown all over the room. The dresser with a large mirror still in place yet bare with objects, the mirror smashed to bits. I found Micheal rocking back and forth in a fetal position in the corner of the room, hidden behind the bed.

I tried to comfort him, carefully placing my hands on his head to lift it. He let me as tears rolled down his cheeks, staring numbly in a daze. I tried to kiss him, to hopefully heal him of mental pain. But that was never said to be the case of the True Love's kiss.

His eyes focused on me, his blue flames staying at the same level. I watched his reaction towards me, appreciating the beauty to him, the flames considered deadly yet obviously so fragile that it could take only a second to break them.

"I can't do this," he finally whispered. "I can't risk it." His voice quivered to an unfathomable level to where anyone would feel pity, even if he did them wrong.

"What do you mean?" I questioned him calmly, stroking his hair and face.

"I'm not a good person, Carmine," his voice rose. "Do you even know what I've done?" I took my hands away from him, watching as he struggled to scare me off. "I've not only killed people, I've tormented them. And not all of my killings were justified."