The Letter

He fell through the blackness that hugged and clung to him. He felt waves of cold wash over him as he hurtled towards the ground. Thoughts raced through his head, hopelessly scattering about as his heart heaved itself into his throat. I’m going to die! He thought. Death was upon him, and he could feel its glacial touch pouring through his body as he hurtled through the darkness to his demise. Please! Someone! Save me!

As he fell, he suddenly felt like he had slowed down. He felt a sharp pain in his back, and then it receded. His feet touched the ground lightly, and he looked around. The Wizard Light had faded away, and all around him was darkness. Using the trick that Whist had taught him, Blake was about to elicit power from somewhere when he saw movement in the shadows. He pulled his relium salvus out of his shirt and allowed some energy to flow into it. It began to give off a bright blue glow.

The room was made from old, damp, stone bricks that were gray and chipped. Spider webs crept along the walls and the damp floor. There was water that glimmered on the floor in a trail, and there was grime that coated the torches. Blake looked at the trail of water, and then looked more carefully. It wasn’t water. It was a golden, thick substance that seemed to sparkle in the blue light. He followed it hesitantly, and saw that it led under a wooden, cracked door. There was a note on the door that was written in a scrawl: STAY OUT.

Blake fumbled fearfully with the doorknob, and then twisted it and pushed the door open, which let out a loud creak. He stepped through the door slowly, and looked around, his hands ready for a defensive spell if he needed one. This room looked like someone had used it for experiments. There were shelves crammed with black leather-bound almanacs, dusty tomes, beakers of multi-coloured liquid and more. Blake followed the trail of gold past a dusty, cracked desk and through another door. When he stepped into the next room, he saw papers everywhere. He walked over to one paper that was taped to a wall, and read the note that was written in spidery handwriting, but Blake couldn’t understand it. It looked like it was backwards. He looked around and saw a cracked mirror by his feet. He knelt down and picked it up, and placed it at an angle so that he could read the note.

Angel blood is poisonous to the individual mortal, but when combined with the blood of a demon and mixed with asphodel powder and the tears of a phoenix, it is no longer poisonous, and it still has all the same effects. I have experimented on someone rather than myself, for that would be much too risky. I have tested the solution on Zephyr Dobbs, and it is slowly working. The ichor must have already seeped into his veins, and now he is my beautiful creation: an angelic demon. He does not even know what I have done to him—for he was a mere child when I did this. There will be no Nephilim that will be able to defeat him… not even that wretched secret child of the Mystery Angel, that Blarakeon. They will all regret when I Fell, for Falling was worse than any kind of fall imaginable.

Thousands of thoughts raced madly through his head. Who the hell is Blarakeon? What’s a Nephilim? What’s ichor? His head began to spin, and he turned around, and decided to continue to follow the sticky gold trail. It led over to what looked like a jail cell, only with runes marked on the bars and along the walls. There was movement near the shadows, and Blake felt startlingly afraid. But it didn’t feel like he was really afraid.

Nephilim? Are you… a voice seemed to sing in his head, but it was caught between a sound of harmony and bliss, and a melancholy, hurt voice. Help me...

The End

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