Shadow Guardians: The Key

There was no reason why Uriah had to go down to the training facility. Absolutely no reason at all. He had all his theory upstairs in the library, which he was nearly done working through anyway. He didn’t really need the shooting range or the combat arena anymore.

But... he was feeling a bit like a wolf amongst sheep, ready to sow destruction and chaos. Only metaphorically, of course. He grinned mischievously. He was dressed in his new leathers and sunglasses, just for effect. The white lights didn’t bother him anymore. He wasn’t armed, he didn’t need to be.

A couple of nosferi students passed him by on their way to history class. He didn’t need the lesson, it was downloaded right into his head basically. They gave him weary looks, some gaped in awe. The few who were huddled together in the hallway started whispering as he passed, probably talking smack about him. He didn’t care for their reactions, or what they thought of him. He didn’t want to be the center of attention, he just wanted to scare a very specific trio of nosferi.

Yeah, he was a freakazoid among them now, alright. Still, he carried himself with authority, because that’s the way vampires were supposed to be around what were essentially half breeds. He felt no need to fit in with them whatsoever anymore. That, the induction ritual had taken away from him. He fit in with his brothers. He was no longer the lost orphan whose parents had been brutally slaughtered, disconnected from the world, forever feeling like the wanderer. No. He had a past, a history spanning back centuries, actual roots.

When he entered Zachiel’s class, he didn’t stop the teaching and he didn’t acknowledge him. That was agreed on beforehand. There was a collective inhale amongst the students when they saw him. Uriah’s eyes went right to the back, to land on Strix & Goon, who sat agape, staring at him with saucered eyes and a raging brain scramble. He flashed teeth and fang at them, then went to sit down in one of the empty chairs to the left of the class, pulling up a chair, and crossing heavy booted feet at the ankles on it. His shoulders dropped with a sigh, and he laced his fingers on his abdomen, watching Strix.

Ah, the sweet smell of fear. Well, actually it smelled more like sweaty armpits, funky and sour. With something of aged cheese mixed in there. Alright, he had to stop thinking in that route otherwise he was going to ruin pizza forever…

Strix shifted the stack of books in front of him, creating a rather pathetic barrier between him and Uriah. Ruse nervously pulled tiny pieces off the eraser of his pencil, Uriah could see the rapid pulsing of the vein in his neck. Loki kind of slouched against the wall, probably wishing he could melt right into it. It occurred to Uriah that this change in behavior might actually have occurred when he was in the alley with them, but it was impossible to know now.

Man, he wished Rip was here.

“Over the centuries, our tactics and strategies have evolved. We have learned to track demons in a variety of ways, our weapons continued to improve with them. We have also had to contend with other threats, such as humanity. They may seem frail, but never underestimate the chaos that could ensue if you make our presence known. Any of you rat us out, I’ll tie you up on the roof of a skyscraper to think about what you’ve done in broad daylight…”

The students shifted around uncomfortably. Uriah inspected his cuticles. Strix & Co appeared to have an arctic tan. And probably weren’t hearing a word Zachiel was saying.

“…But despite these challenges,” Z continued, “we remain dedicated to our cause. We fight to the death, ladies. If you can’t accept that, you don’t belong here. As for our demonology, it is a complex field of study that helps us understand the ways in which demons operate. We have learned much about their weaknesses and vulnerabilities, some can be applied to more than one enemy…”

Uriah sat through the whole class, not taking a single note, only staring at his former bullies. When class was over and everyone peeled out of the classroom, Uriah didn’t expect Strix would come up to him, much less talk to him. But he did, surprisingly, with his goons backing him up in case Uriah punched the snot out of him, which was a hugely enticing idea.

“Hey ah, so, ah…” Strix started, shuffling around uncomfortably. Pitiful, that he couldn’t even man up to apologize. He clicked his tongue then just said the word, like it pained him to do so. “Sorry.”

Uriah supposed he didn’t really have a lot of experience owning up to his own bullshit. So he cut him some slack. “Whatever,” but then he leaned in toward him, having to bent down, “You make one wrong move Strix, just one, and I’ll show you that death isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you…” Uriah rose, then turned around and made his way back upstairs, his long leather trench coat flapping behind his boots. He heard them hastily run off in the other direction.

As he walked back, a strange phrase came into his mind. The blood of the innocent shall usher forth the downfall of the false deity. A black mass of dread lodged itself in his chest.

On the night of the full moon, the brothers were down in the tomb, gathered around the pieces of the demon relic. The atmosphere had a strange eeriness to it that wasn’t there the last time that they were here. Intrinsically, the brothers knew that it was the relic creating the sense of trepidation. And Uriah, his arms were crossed around himself. He was worried, wracked with nerves, like he was about to jump off a cliff, blindfolded. He couldn’t see where the edge was.

Even though they’d consecrated the space, and prepared themselves for the binding of this thing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

“What is it with you, Uriah?” Draven asked.

Gods, was he that transparent now? He glanced between the three of them. “I don’t like this. Something feels off to me.”

“Might it have something to do with that weird phrase you said you heard?” Magnus inquired, sprinkling holy water around the altar.

Uriah nodded slowly. The blood of the innocent. There were so many people who that could be referring to. They might be getting something useful out of this, the identity of the demon, but they might be sacrificing something too. Someone out there who had nothing to do with any of this. But they were out of time, and Zachiel had to give voice to the incantation now, before the period of power was over.

He started reciting the incantation. The first time, nothing happened. He repeated it. The second time, the pieces started vibrating, like there was a small earthquake shaking the cavern. The third time, they latched onto each other in the way of magnets, a glowing trail of magenta sealing them. The relic was circular, with intricate knots and demonic symbols engraved into the edges. In the centre was the horned face of a demon that might as well have been Satan himself.

Suddenly Zachiel weaved forward and had to steady himself by placing his hand on the altar. He was suddenly white as chalk, and brought a hand to his heart.

Magnus came to his side and placed a hand on his back, concerned. “Z? You alright?” That had never happened before.

A piercing scream echoed through the cavern that chilled their blood. An expression of horror was on Zachiel’s face, and he was the first to dematerialize to the source of the wail, the house. The other brothers followed seconds later.

On the upper floor in the sitting area he found her. Ophelia, on her knees, on the floor, holding the lifeless body of his daughter to her chest and sobbing furiously.

“Oh, Jesus…” Draven mouthed.

“The blood of the innocent…” Uriah whispered, shocked into a statue.

Katherine was wide-eyed and panicked, suggesting that everything was fine up until a few moments ago. Magnus went over to her, he needed the support as much as she did.

Zachiel had stopped breathing. His daughter’s body had turned black, like a plague had invaded her veins. This was his doing. His failure… A tide of anger so fierce rolled through him, the scream that tore from his mouth was a wildfire consuming everything in its wake. Windows cracked, ceiling lights blew, and the ground shuddered. Then he fell down on his knees and pressed palms to his eyes.

Zachiel had never cried. When he was a youngling, his father sent him alone to a tribe of vampires in Romany, where he was forced to live under the most abysmal of conditions to earn his respect. His father never knew what really went on there, and he was cut off from his family until the day he had the strength to return. He was supposed to face off against other warriors in a respectable setting, a house owned by a vampire called Roxin. It was supposed to be like a tournament. Instead, Roxin sent him off to some camp where he was treated like an animal with other younglings, all for his entertainment.

He was beaten there, whipped and forced to starve and fight for the little food that was offered with the other pre-transition males. Losing a fight, and the promise of meat with it, during the last days before his transition, meant he was banished to the forest to survive on his own or die. He went through his transition, alone, in woods full of wild creatures just aching to have at his flesh, as much as he wanted to have at theirs. He had lost his brother to the Abyss for a century. He had lost two unborn children.

And still he didn’t cry.

Now he did.

His wails were guttural moans, raw and deeply pained. He sensed everyone closing in on him. But he didn’t want them near him, especially not Ophelia. He was the cause of this, the killer of his own child. That fucking bastard had made him a killer. How could he bear to even look into Ophelia’s eyes. She must be disgusted with him. He was no longer a worthy male, he couldn’t even protect his own kin.

He dematerialized before anyone could touch him. Where to, was anyone’s guess.