A Darker Prometheus I: Ariel
folder
Angel the Series › FemmeSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
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1,944
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Category:
Angel the Series › FemmeSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,944
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Angelus
Part Five: Angelus.
Liam’s funeral was small, just half-dozen or so mourners, all relatives. Long after the others had gone his father stood alone by the grave thinking about the harsh words that had passed between them in their last hours together and the things left unspoken.
The simple headstone said ‘Beloved son’. He wished now he had said the words.
*****
Evening fell. The cemetery caretakers left, pulling a barrow of tools away to be stored for the night, as Darla arrived at the gravesite. Her dark blue cloak and dress of palest blue echoed the pallid moonlight shining down from the deeper indigo of the night sky.
Presently the soil piled atop the freshly filled grave stirred. A hand emerged, then a lace cuff followed by the black sleeve of his funeral suit, as Liam struggled from the grave. Darla did not attempt to help. He must do this himself, she thought. Finally, his clothes and hair matted with dirt, Liam stood before her, swaying slightly.
‘Welcome to my world.‘ Darla smiled. ‘It hurts, I know, but not for long. Birth is always painful.’
Liam tried to gather his wits. He was disoriented and a little woozy as though he had drunk too much good Irish whisky. ‘I could feel them above me as I slept in the earth,’ he said at last, marvelling at his new sharpened senses, ‘their heartbeats, their blood coursing through their veins.’
‘Yes!’ Darla was pleased. This stage was critical. Sometimes a Childe could not cope with the change, the ‘Becoming’, and it was necessary to end it immediately. Liam seemed to be adapting beautifully.
‘Was it a dream?’ he asked.
‘A dream for you; soon, their nightmare.’ Darla turned as someone approached in the darkness.
One of the gravediggers had returned, cutting back across the cemetery on his way home to tea. It was the man Liam had spoken with on the day of Ariel’s funeral but he did not seem to recognise Liam now.
‘What have you done!’ the man cried, catching sight of the disturbed ground. ‘Grave robbers!’
Darla looked at Liam. ‘You know what to do.’
Advancing towards the older man Liam felt a sudden, subtle change. His senses, already heightened, seemed to expand to take in every nuance of the night around him, every sound, breeze and scent, including the hot, coppery smell of the blood pumping through the caretaker’s rapidly beating heart. Staring fearfully into Liam’s transformed countenance the old man started to mumble the Lord’s Prayer, the only result being to anger Liam who rushed forward, biting him hard on the neck. The old man offered almost no resistance as the blood was quickly drained, aided by the force of his panicked heartbeat. Liam looked back at Darla who smiled gentle, wordless encouragement. Liam continued to feed until the man’s body fell, lifeless, to the ground.
‘It all makes sense now, does it not?’ Darla observed.
‘Perfect sense.’
Darla was well pleased. Liam had showed no hesitation at all. He was a natural. ‘You can do anything, have anyone in the village. Who will it be?’ She hoped he would guess what was required of him now.
‘Any one?’ he replied, smiling wolfishly. ‘I thought I would take the village!’
Darla sighed, content, and thought, ‘He is going to be better than I had hoped!’
*****
Several nights later found the little village living in fear of the darkness. Almost every household had experienced sudden deaths in tightight. No family had been left untouched. Wild rumours circulated and unexpected eruptions of violence broke out among the villagers as ancient, primitive fears surfaced in the face of an epidemic of unexplained fatalities.
Liam’s father had finally given in to the influence of the superstitious fears infecting the rest of the village and all the doors and windows had been hung with flowering garlic and wolfsbane. He was boarding up the last of the windows when he heard a shockingly familiar voice behind him.
‘You are no different to the rest of them, are you father?’
The old man turned, stunned by the vision of his dead son standing once again in the room where those last unforgiving words, now so utterly regretted, had been spoken. The cruel image of his son continued to address him.
‘Cowering in their houses, boarding up the windows, smearing that foul herb in the doorways.’ As his father began to back away, Liam circled around him, touching small, once familiar items. ‘You would think something evil and vile and,’ he seemed to search for an appropriate term, ‘monstrous had taken to terrorising the village and everyone in it.’
Pointing angrily, the old man shouted, ‘Begone, unclean thing! A demon cannot enter a home where it is not welcome! He must be invited!’
Liam grinned. ‘That is true, but I was invited.’ His eyes flickered briefly towards the hall, beyond which the front door now swung open.
His father turned, uttering a small gasp as he saw Cathie, crumpled like a broken doll, lying by the unbolted door.
‘She thought I returned to her,’ Liam grinned evilly, ‘– an angel.’ I like the sound of that, he thought.
‘Murderer!’ The older man lunged at Liam with the hammer but was easily turned aside. Feeling Liam’s unnatural strength, he began to feel real fear at last. Backing up against the wall, he silently prayed that his wife would remain all night with the nei neighbour she was visiting. He had forbidden her to attempt to return home after night fell but she had argued with him that God would protect her as she was going about His work.
‘Strange.’ Liam continued. ‘Somehow you seemed taller when I was alive.’
‘Lord, bind this demon now!’
‘To think I ever let such a tiny, trembling thing make me feel the way you did.’ Even under these dreadful circumstances, knowing the thing which spoke to him was no longer his son, the words pierced the old man’s heart. If only he had tried harder to reconcile with Liam while he was alive, he might now not be facing this demon which possessed the likeness and memories of his own child.
Crossing himself, he cried, ‘Deliver me through thy protection, Father!’
‘You told me I was not a man,’ Liam continued menacingly.u tou told me I was nothing and I believed you! You said I would never amount to anything. Well, you were wrong.’ Standing now just inches from his father Liam’s face changed, assuming the form of the demon within. ‘You see, father, I have made something of myself after all.’
Grasping his father’s chin in one hand, he turned the old man’s head and bit deeply into the flesh.
*****
Liam’s funeral was small, just half-dozen or so mourners, all relatives. Long after the others had gone his father stood alone by the grave thinking about the harsh words that had passed between them in their last hours together and the things left unspoken.
The simple headstone said ‘Beloved son’. He wished now he had said the words.
*****
Evening fell. The cemetery caretakers left, pulling a barrow of tools away to be stored for the night, as Darla arrived at the gravesite. Her dark blue cloak and dress of palest blue echoed the pallid moonlight shining down from the deeper indigo of the night sky.
Presently the soil piled atop the freshly filled grave stirred. A hand emerged, then a lace cuff followed by the black sleeve of his funeral suit, as Liam struggled from the grave. Darla did not attempt to help. He must do this himself, she thought. Finally, his clothes and hair matted with dirt, Liam stood before her, swaying slightly.
‘Welcome to my world.‘ Darla smiled. ‘It hurts, I know, but not for long. Birth is always painful.’
Liam tried to gather his wits. He was disoriented and a little woozy as though he had drunk too much good Irish whisky. ‘I could feel them above me as I slept in the earth,’ he said at last, marvelling at his new sharpened senses, ‘their heartbeats, their blood coursing through their veins.’
‘Yes!’ Darla was pleased. This stage was critical. Sometimes a Childe could not cope with the change, the ‘Becoming’, and it was necessary to end it immediately. Liam seemed to be adapting beautifully.
‘Was it a dream?’ he asked.
‘A dream for you; soon, their nightmare.’ Darla turned as someone approached in the darkness.
One of the gravediggers had returned, cutting back across the cemetery on his way home to tea. It was the man Liam had spoken with on the day of Ariel’s funeral but he did not seem to recognise Liam now.
‘What have you done!’ the man cried, catching sight of the disturbed ground. ‘Grave robbers!’
Darla looked at Liam. ‘You know what to do.’
Advancing towards the older man Liam felt a sudden, subtle change. His senses, already heightened, seemed to expand to take in every nuance of the night around him, every sound, breeze and scent, including the hot, coppery smell of the blood pumping through the caretaker’s rapidly beating heart. Staring fearfully into Liam’s transformed countenance the old man started to mumble the Lord’s Prayer, the only result being to anger Liam who rushed forward, biting him hard on the neck. The old man offered almost no resistance as the blood was quickly drained, aided by the force of his panicked heartbeat. Liam looked back at Darla who smiled gentle, wordless encouragement. Liam continued to feed until the man’s body fell, lifeless, to the ground.
‘It all makes sense now, does it not?’ Darla observed.
‘Perfect sense.’
Darla was well pleased. Liam had showed no hesitation at all. He was a natural. ‘You can do anything, have anyone in the village. Who will it be?’ She hoped he would guess what was required of him now.
‘Any one?’ he replied, smiling wolfishly. ‘I thought I would take the village!’
Darla sighed, content, and thought, ‘He is going to be better than I had hoped!’
*****
Several nights later found the little village living in fear of the darkness. Almost every household had experienced sudden deaths in tightight. No family had been left untouched. Wild rumours circulated and unexpected eruptions of violence broke out among the villagers as ancient, primitive fears surfaced in the face of an epidemic of unexplained fatalities.
Liam’s father had finally given in to the influence of the superstitious fears infecting the rest of the village and all the doors and windows had been hung with flowering garlic and wolfsbane. He was boarding up the last of the windows when he heard a shockingly familiar voice behind him.
‘You are no different to the rest of them, are you father?’
The old man turned, stunned by the vision of his dead son standing once again in the room where those last unforgiving words, now so utterly regretted, had been spoken. The cruel image of his son continued to address him.
‘Cowering in their houses, boarding up the windows, smearing that foul herb in the doorways.’ As his father began to back away, Liam circled around him, touching small, once familiar items. ‘You would think something evil and vile and,’ he seemed to search for an appropriate term, ‘monstrous had taken to terrorising the village and everyone in it.’
Pointing angrily, the old man shouted, ‘Begone, unclean thing! A demon cannot enter a home where it is not welcome! He must be invited!’
Liam grinned. ‘That is true, but I was invited.’ His eyes flickered briefly towards the hall, beyond which the front door now swung open.
His father turned, uttering a small gasp as he saw Cathie, crumpled like a broken doll, lying by the unbolted door.
‘She thought I returned to her,’ Liam grinned evilly, ‘– an angel.’ I like the sound of that, he thought.
‘Murderer!’ The older man lunged at Liam with the hammer but was easily turned aside. Feeling Liam’s unnatural strength, he began to feel real fear at last. Backing up against the wall, he silently prayed that his wife would remain all night with the nei neighbour she was visiting. He had forbidden her to attempt to return home after night fell but she had argued with him that God would protect her as she was going about His work.
‘Strange.’ Liam continued. ‘Somehow you seemed taller when I was alive.’
‘Lord, bind this demon now!’
‘To think I ever let such a tiny, trembling thing make me feel the way you did.’ Even under these dreadful circumstances, knowing the thing which spoke to him was no longer his son, the words pierced the old man’s heart. If only he had tried harder to reconcile with Liam while he was alive, he might now not be facing this demon which possessed the likeness and memories of his own child.
Crossing himself, he cried, ‘Deliver me through thy protection, Father!’
‘You told me I was not a man,’ Liam continued menacingly.u tou told me I was nothing and I believed you! You said I would never amount to anything. Well, you were wrong.’ Standing now just inches from his father Liam’s face changed, assuming the form of the demon within. ‘You see, father, I have made something of myself after all.’
Grasping his father’s chin in one hand, he turned the old man’s head and bit deeply into the flesh.
*****