Death Nine

Lord Jerrath watches Desolation pat herself, touching her head, her body, and finally staring at her hands. He's curious to see her reaction. During the four long nights, he pondered on how to explain why she lay in his bed. He couldn't exactly say, "Oh hey, I murdered you, again, and by the way, did you know you have a split personality?" He decided to tell the truth, well, as much as he could without exposing his involvement and her other side. That secret is not for him to expose.

Lord Jerrath expected Desolation to grow angry, shout, cry, scream and all together act very female about finding herself in such a compromising position. Furthermore, he's aware of how Desolation perceived herself. No, she didn't do any of those things, the wail that issued from her mouth turned into a witch's cackle; a howl like the baying of luppina's, it is a laugh of a woman who has lost her grip on reality.

The air becomes thick with power. Desolation's hair lifts from her shoulders making her veil slither down her back. At the same moment, the stool he sits on grows alarmingly hot and he jumps. The stool explodes. His litheness does nothing to save him from the large pieces of flyaway wood. Thank the Dyu's most of the pieces embedded themselves in the bedposts and walls. The rest is embedded in him.

Desolation turns toward him and in a sing-song voice says, "Tisk, tisk, tisk, I told you not to make her angry."

Lord Jerrath stumbles backward and hits the wall facing opposite Destruction, noticing all the wooden splinters going around her body making a perfect replica of her shadow on the wall behind her. Of course, she wouldn't be harmed by her power.

Exquisite pain blossoms up the Immortal Lord's arm when a piece of wood pins his hand to the wall. Slicked with blood his right-hand attempts to pull the stake free, but to no avail, even the strength of Ur'kull would be hard-pressed to remove the implement.

"You lied. You said you only appear when Desolation dies."

Destruction swipes her right hand across her face, pulling hair away from her eyes. In a demonstration of feminity, begins to braid it.

"I did not lie Lord Jerrath, you simply bring out the best in us and I simply couldn't wait to see you again. I must admit this is the first time I've come forth in anger. Oh, you've made her very mad."

All the while, her fingers slowly entwine her hair in hypnotic tangles.

Destruction spits his name like poison and acid that would corrode bone and flesh in a blink of an eye. It mattered not how she said his name, he relished in it, it reminds him of how he is, a part of himself he nearly forgets. To others, he has always been The Immoral Lord, The Dea'mond Lord to his staff is always my Lord. To hear his true name is refreshing.

The stand near his left leg heats and sears his skin. He clenches his teeth knowing what is to come. The stand explodes. The largest pieces stake his left leg to the wall, one through the thigh and two strikes through both feet, grounding him to the forest green carpet. His unnatural quickness with marque casting did not save him from all pieces of flyaway wood. Though, many burned to ash as he cast Ku with his free hand. His head and right hand remained free.

"Now that you have my attention."

Destruction continued braiding. He noticed it is not a simple, three-strand Lycaine braid, it is a very complicated, six-strand Ma'mu'dairu braid.

"You have until I finish braiding my hair to tell me why you've made her so angry or I will act on Desolation's whim and attempt to kill you. Though I know it will be futile, you still feel pain as mortals do."

"I thought you and I had an understanding. You said what you feel affects the way Desolation feels and what Desolation feels you feel. Can you not turn her? I meant her no harm this time. Could you not temper her a bit?"

It's the wrong supplication.

The crimson-stained Feyan dresser burst into sharp stakes resembling ones used for gardening. In an act of futile defense, Lord Jerrath raises his free arm to shield his face. Instead of striking, they hover near his vital points.

"Straighten up!"

He obeys. The stakes rearrange themselves, poised to kill.

"My Dyu's, you honestly think I can stop her? Let us make some things clear," Destruction pulls herself to her full height and saunters towards him, "As I have told you, this is the first time I have appeared when we have not died. Next, Desolation is the dominant personality and you have angered her in a way I cannot begin to describe. When we last met, you killed us. I sought revenge and tried to kill you. You are immortal and Desolation had no interest in killing you, so I gave up and went back to sleep."

Destruction strokes his right cheek and says, "Oh, but now Desolation wants to kill you so badly and her Will is my command. I can do nothing to stop her. She wants you to feel pain, and what pain you shall feel."

"Can you do one thing for me before Desolation's feelings impale me?"

"I might. Make it quick."

"Call me Lord Jerrath without the malice."

Destruction smiles wrapping her decorative arms around his neck and tilts her head slightly so he may gaze into her ever-changing eyes. She presses her lithe body against his and whispers against his lips, "Lord Jerrath." She steals the breath from his lungs and his mind starts to numb as if she sucked all cognitive thinking. "Your body may feel pain but your mind will not, this at least I can give you, it's much more than you deserve for poisoning us."

She steps away. The loss of her warmth makes his heart ache. Destruction snaps her fingers and like lightning, the wooding stakes flash piercing his heart, his stomach, liver, and gut. Instinct makes him cry but in actuality the pain was distant and he is an outside observer. It is a pinprick sensation like an appendage that has fallen asleep.

Destruction granted his wish and guarded him against the pain that would otherwise make him faint.

"I can protect you momentarily from pain but not from her Will. Her is is to cause you the most harm possible and her Will is my command. This is only temporary, sensation will return soon enough."

Destruction smiles up at him and once again throws her arms around his neck placing a gentle kiss against his lips, "I'm sorry," she says. Lord Jerrath knows she's sincere.

She moves away and Lord Jerrath notices the last two stakes. Oh no. The last two stake streak, one towards his heart and the other to the center of his forehead.

"Please. . ." he chokes.

Desolation turns away from him and leaves the room, never looking back.

Sticky rivulets of blood stream down his face, arms, legs, and every other part of his epidermis. Blood makes a steady drip, drip, drop on the carpet in time with the faltering beat of his heart.

He hears the door to Desolation/Destructions apartments snap closed and he loses consciousness with the sound.

***

"M-My Lord, My Lord, M-My Lord," a raspy, high-pitched voice cries. The sound grates on his ears like broken glass.

Lord Jerrath wants to tell whoever is making that Dyu damned screeching to take it to their mother, he has not the patience to listen. He is unable to express his thoughts. His body is turned to lead, his eyes clay, and his tongue has slithered to some other part of the castle.

As the cries continue, he realizes it's a voice he recognized but through the haze, he can't name or put a face to the speaker. His concentration is monopolized by pain.

Pain! Ryun's fire blossoms along every nerve and pore. Screaming is impossible and his lungs gasped as the realization hit.

Pain!

With the realization, Ryun's fire tripled his onslaught. Relief came when his fingertips registers the softness beneath them. The softness gives him Will to force his eyes open.

A blob of midnight and grey hovers over him. With strenuous blinking, the blob solidifies to the form of Gregoire gazing down at him with a tear-stained face.

"Uggg," he groans. The simple sound causes his body to seize.

Gregoire's lips continue to move but roaring pain makes it impossible to hear.

". . . we have been so worried My Lord. I found you bleeding on the floor with your room in shatters. You were covered with pieces of wood. Great wounds you have suffered from head to toe, as though you have been stabbed repeatedly."

His manservant's rapid worried speech is too much for Lord Jerrath to follow, thus he closed his eyes and groans again.

It works and Gregoire's mouth snaps closed with a sharp click. Lord Jerrath focuses on his breathing and the unsteady beat of his heart, it stumbles like Desolations stutters. He pulls up on his Lois'rife and uses his Will to heal some of the damage done to his throat. The wound stitches together, tissue and muscle knitting closed.

What happened?

The severe wounds would have killed any mortal, but Lord Jerrath isn't a regular mortal. It takes a being of such incredible power to display such hurt. It could only be Destruction.

Memories flood through his mind and bombard him like blood flies. He remembers Desolation waking and being consumed by her anger.

Next, he remembers Destruction waking and causing various wooden objects to explode. Lastly, he remembers being impaled with said objects to the wall, yet, Destruction shields him from the worst. He can't remember the pain, he doesn't remember the spell she put upon him.

The Immortal Lord focuses on his breathing, the unsteady beating of his heart, and using his Will he pulls up on his Lous'rief he heals much of the damage done to his throat. The wounds close, tissue and muscle regrow.

"Water," he whispers," his throat is raspy like glass.

"Of course, my Lord, how rude of me."

He feels Gregoire leave his side followed by the shuffling of feet as he hurries about the room for water. The sound of liquid hitting a cup is so loud that the Immortal Lord could move, he'd clap his hands over his ears.

Gregoire places his large, warm hands beneath his head and puts the cup to his lips. When the cool water touches his lips, he drinks greedily producing wet, sucking sounds like a babe at his mother's teat. He turns his head and Gregorie removes the cup.

"What happened?" he asks, voice sounding like he spent a candle screaming.

"Well, my Lord. I saw Desolation wandering the halls and unveiled might I add. She gave the maids quite a shock. They had all accepted that Desolation would die and is usual for the New Moon's Bride. When I tried to ask her what's the matter, she didn't respond. I figured you had fallen asleep and she slept walked her way out of the rooms by accident. I sent the maids to kindly escort her back and came to check on you. I found you on the floor with blood splattered everywhere and your room in tatters. It gave me quite a shock to find you riddled with holes. I managed to feed you some of my blood before I succumbed to fainting. I was not out for long, mayhaps an eighth of a candle."

"You found me on the floor? The last thing I remember is being impaled to a wall, you didn't take me down? What about the wood embedded in me were they still in my body?"

"No my Lord, I found you as I said."

It is connecting for Lord Jerrath. He remembers parting words but not words spoken. He remembers the click of a door and being empaled to a wall.

Destruction must have returned and released him from his bonds and removed the wood from his body. He remembers the way she breathed into him, like anesthesia. It numbed his physical, corporal self and put him to sleep. His head begins to throb and slowly raises his leaden arms to rub his fingers against his temples fully prepared to feel holes or dents in his head, but he feels none.

"Were there any in my stomach or liver?"

"Any?"

"Holes." Even speaking simple sentences is becoming too much.

"Yes my Lord, but I healed those with my blood."

"Any others?"

"Yes my Lord. There was a large one in the center of your chest. One in each hand and food and one in your throat."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes my Lord, I inspected your body myself."

Destruction must have returned and healed him somewhat. He attempts to sit up and survey the damage and is rewarded with glass severing nerves. He cannot help the cry of that that bursts from his lips.

"Careful my Lord. My blood may have healed the worst of the damage but you are weak and your blood loss is severe. Unless your Moons Turn bride feels inclined to give a donation, which most likely will not, it will take you many nights to recover." Gregoire's warm hands gently push him back against the pillows.

"I'm still in my room?"

"Pardon but yes my Lord. Due to the serious nature of your injuries, I found it prudent to not move you far; besides your bed is the one piece of furniture still intact. Will you tell me what occurred my Lord? If you are too tired, I can wait. Your well-being is the most important."

"It is fine. I'll discuss what occurred, but only what I feel is safe for you to know. It was Desolation."

"She did this! My Lord, assault on your royal person is a grave offense, she will surely need to be punished."

Lord Jerrath wearily raises his hand to silence his manservant saying, "No she will not. She is not even aware this event happened."

"What do you mean, 'not aware'? One that causes such destruction surely has to be aware of their actions."

Lord Jerrath wants to clap his hand over Greoire's mouth, lest saying destruction would somehow invoke her. In his present state, he couldn't swat a fly. From this reaction, he realizes Destruction managed to instill fear in his heart. She contained a detached cruelness governed by Desolation's desires. Despite Destruction's claim they were the same person, he cannot help to think of them as separate beings as their personalities differed from Ryun to Ira.

"I am the one who invoked her wrath. Desolation has been no stranger to voicing how she feels about people seeing her body in general. She was frantic when she woke to find herself in my bed and not dressed in her usual mountain of clothing. I fear I pushed her too far when I said that I had seen her unclothed and whatever she wished to hide could no longer be hidden from me."

"Mayhap not the wisest choice of words my Lord."

"Definitely not, Gregoire. She passes out from her anger and great energy and pressure filled the room. I was pushed off my stool and forced against the wall. Moments later my stool and dresser exploded and I was impaled. That is all I clearly remember."

"How did you move to the floor?"

"I am wondering that as well."

"Do you think Desolation freed you?"

"It's a possibility."

"Then how is it she freed you and did not come running to us or call for help?"

"You said you found her wandering the halls like a sleepwalker. She must have done it then. I mean she did alert you after a fashion. After you saw her, you came to my room."

"If you say she did this, then it makes her dangerous. My Lord, maybe we should reconsider. Send her away and wait until next Moons turn."

The Immortal Lord's ire rose at the suggestion. "That is out of the question. You would have me suffer, yet again, another Moons turn in agony?"

"Of course not my Lord, but she is a danger to everyone around her, you are proof. Think of your servants, what if she were to release her power against one of us? We may be immoral such as yourself, but when inflicted with injury or sickness, we still die. We would surely not survive if she turned on us."

"I understand your concern. I am sure she would never unleash her power unless properly provoked. In all cases, her power is only revealed when she's killed at the hands of another. This time it is because I made her unspeakably angry. If we avoid this in the future, we will be safe from her wrath."

"She has no control of her Lous'rife or Will."

"Then we must teach her. She has gone ignored, hated, and feared for far too long. No wonder her power lashes out."

Understanding dawns on Gregoire's mien, "I now remember you have killed her twice. I suspected this is the energy rendered as punishment when you take an innocent life. I had forgotten everything that transpired the past few nights being too shocked at finding you in such a state and concerned only for your well-being. You are immoral and will survive, thus I will say to you. You deserved this punishment."

"Yes I do, don't I. Now I grow tired. Leave me be for the moment. Check on Desolation and let me know when she wakes. I am going to need more blood soon. You know well, only my Bride's blood will suffice. As she doesn't remember, we may be able to convince her to relinquish some."

"As you wish my Lord," Gregorie says, bowing smoothly taking his leave.

The Immortal Lord ignores the pain wracking his body and sits. Once again, he has much to ponder. Mainly his mysterious bride and her split personality.