Flames of the Damned

Chapter 2

CONCEALED WITHIN THE SILHOUETTE OF THE buildings, I remained untouched by the milky glow of the moon. Kissed by the sudden warmth from the soft breeze, copper no longer tainted the air with its metallic scent.

                Analysing the c*****e below, I inhale deeply for a second before releasing it smoothly. I couldn't begin to fathom the grief that'll be bestowed on the family once this bloodbath becomes public.

                Having to spend time within such an odd realm, the way humans portray tragedy—usually death or betrayal—is often over-dramatic or simulated in films. Forced to endure such vivid displays of cannibalism tonight, this victim's unanswered pleas for help were truly...bone-chilling.

                No amount of acting could ever deliver such authenticity compared to the real deal. You simply can't replicate the fear that's reflected in the eyes of the beholder when forced to accept their unholy fate.

                Law enforcers will take control over the issue once daylight breaks. The warm glow from the sun contrasting with the crimson splatter sprawled along the cemented wall will soon be the highlight of this poor establishment.

                News Reporters will naturally swarm the scene and the world will soon catch another glimpse of the reality within the supernatural world they so adore.

                If only they knew the truth, what a shock to the system that would be, I mused, the thought making me crack a small smile.

                But, as quickly as the smile came, it was gone within a second.

                Guilt settled it's way in and started to eat away at my subconscious. Embracing the stinging sensation that set my nerves aflame, my nails branded the palms of my hands with crescent moons. Subtle amounts of blood seeped through the self-inflicted wounds.

                Such flawed beings. It's quite embarrassing to be associated amongst the weak. They possess no endurance or sense of intuition that it's truly astonishing, knowing that they're capable of sustaining life with such poor genetics.

                Freeing my nails that were once embedded in my skin, I gently rubbed my fingers over my palms to help the blood flow return. Seeing thin layers of skin under my nails, you could easily mistake them for French Tips courtesy of the red stains.

                Rising tall, blood rushed through my legs as pressure was released. Tingles no longer plagued the lower half of my body, vanquishing the numbness that was once there. A real blessing in disguise and one I'll no longer take for granted.

                My joints remained stiff and sore, but there was no time to acknowledge such minor inconveniences.

                How else am I suppose to achieve peace-of-mind if I prioritise trivial concerns? I won't.

                Running my fingers through the dark tangles of my matted hair, the silence of the once lively city finally dawned on me. It was eerie and the setting felt rather sinister.

                Unsettled, a cool shiver rolled swiftly down my spine; sending a parade of goosebumps to consume my exposed skin.

                Glancing towards the scene of the crime, the culprit was gone.

                "Fuck...where'd he go?" I cursed, jumping down from my secured hiding spot and exposing myself. Seeing the mist of my hot breath in front of me, it seemed to have dropped in temperature.

                Nothing but shadows and the sound of my heels scraping against the cement obscured the overwhelming silence. Turning around constantly, I could see nothing but my hot breath and locks of hair whipping around.

                Behind me? No.

                Beside me? No.

                Below me? No.

                There was only one possible place he could come from if he still lingered around.

                Don't be above!

                Dreading the obvious, something slick and wet slowly dripped onto my arm as if on cue. Biting my lip, I used all my will-power to fight against all logic and instinct to flee towards safety.

                When it came to luck in life, I just never had it.

                Staring into the abyss of the bleached black sky, it's within this moment that I know I don't stand a f*****g chance against this Rogue high on adrenaline and dark magic.

                "f**k m—."

                Swept off my feet and head smashed into the ally floor, I could feel the cement split in such intricate detail that I was almost positive it could be my skull shattering.

                Compressed between pure muscle and jagged concrete, the grip of this beast tightened around my throat. Fracturing my windpipe and depriving me of oxygen, I was left hearing nothing but white noise and seeing disrupted images.

                Sadistic f**k! That really f*****g hurt!

                Tearing at the hand that's currently wrapped around me, I focused my sights on the Rogue that is crushing me. With my head reeling, I felt my stomach sink as my blood ran cold.

                Acknowledging the ghoulish white of their iris and the murky black of their sclera, my eyes widened at such ferocity.

                Seeing the way bloodlust clouded their eyes, and hearing the sinister growl that accompanied finely serrated rows of teeth confirmed that it was indeed not a Werewolf.

                Only one specific race of fae could sport those signature eyes.

                Shapeshifter.

"So, you're a Shapeshifter?" I choke out.

Watching the rows of teeth multiple, they were shortly on display in a twisted grin. Coughing, I groan while my throat becomes hoarse and dry. At this point, my lungs are practically crying for oxygen; but with such a firm grip it restricted such a privilege.

                "You're a lot prettier than the last one, I'll give you that." He complimented.

                Alarmed by the flattery, his tone contradicted the mischievous gleam in his eyes, all ill intentions revealed. Unamused, the vile taste of acid rose in the back of my throat at the sight of him transitioning from beast to mortal.

                This is the one, the one thing I loathe more than anything in this God-forsaken world: bones cracking, breaking or shifting. It's the only thing I will never, ever be able to stomach without wanting to vomit.

                Amused by my discomfort, he released a dark chuckle that caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand tall.

                Regrettably, I have never been given the opportunity to study and examine Shapeshifters shedding. Transforming into a completely new being, they possessed the power to inhabit anyone or anything.

                Grateful for my banishment, I never thought I'd endure such a disturbing sight, but now, I was being forced to watch my worst nightmare play out as he replicated the identity of his last meal to the very last detail.

                Hit by waves of chills and nausea, I was left momentarily speechless.

                I was intrigued by the way his misshapen body morphed, layers of skin being torn and replaced simultaneously. It was both admirable and repulsive.

                "Well. She's not as close to the beauty standards you uphold, but she was quite the looker. Wouldn't you agree?" He, or rather, she asked me.

                Face to face with the soulless eyes of the deceased, I couldn't answer. I was just...mute.

                Once an underclassman, now a Rogue who embraces cannibalism. Great!

                The circumstances right now weren't great. Ideally, I didn't want to acknowledge the possibilities of Shifters evolving; however, if this is the case then this would be an entirely new subcategory of Shapeshifters for the Book of Fae.

                Since giving in to their darker nature, this Rogue Shifter pursues the path of cannibalism. No Guardian or Assaiter has ever mentioned or encountered a cannibal Shapeshifter, which means that something seriously messed up is happening back in Phanto.

                Change is part of the natural order of the world, but evolving into a new species of higher classification is unheard of. Going Rogue is just a fancy term for enhancement courtesy of black magic and wicked intentions.

                Nothing to do with man-eating.

                Yanked up abruptly, I yelped at the harsh jolt.

                "It's considered rude to ignore someone who's talking to you."

                My feet and body just dangled mid-air whilst my head continued throbbing. At this point, my tolerance for this intimidation bullshit grew thin.

                "Bite me." I spat out, literally.

                Their jaw became slack, shock displayed in a not-so-subtle way. I could vaguely see specks of my saliva glisten in the light of the moon. Smug, I just smirked—even if darkness was beginning to obscure my vision.

                "Tsk, you're a feisty one, aren't you?"

                Although the question was rhetorical, the sickly sweet voice contradicted the killer glare on their face. It was a clear warning that I was about to get my arse handed to me.