To Be Obscure

| CH.37

As if the cannon was blown, the battle cries cracked the cool wind before it blew. Gunshots fired, and bullets ricocheted off the stone seats. The Garden of Eden had become a Garden of Death, filling with the revenge of those who wanted to be free, and the unbreakable attachment to a lie those wished true.

And I fed off it.

I ran forward, catching Abigail's swinging hand before she could land a hit on my face. We stared at each other, our faces contorted the same, before we both swung again. I caught her neck. She hit my chest in retaliation. The bones of my ribs cracked at the blow and I wheezed painfully.

"I know every part of man—" She removed a dagger from a hilt on her hip. "—I know every bone, every muscle. I know what hurts and what kills."

The taste of copper rimmed my lips as blood flooded my mouth, but I couldn't hide my grin. She hit hard, yes, but not hard enough to stop me. I caught the dagger before it hit my chest.

"You forget, Abby, so do I," I spat, "and I have the screams of men haunting my dreams, reminding me that I did it very well."

She pushed away from me, dagger still in hand, and pushed her back against a tree. "And women," she added, "how could you forget all of those women?"

"I didn't." I observed her before I rushed forward, my fist meeting the bark of the tree. "They haunt me, too, but those are different screams, so unlike the one's I'll having you making tonight."

"Incest," she cackled, "how disgraceful you are."

"Oh, you only wish I'd fuck you. That's what devil's do!"

My right arm swung out to the side and I caught the length of her hair as she tried to run. I pulled her body back against me, cupping her neck. I forced her to look up at me. "You've lied to so many people." I pinned her arms behind her back. "Sure, it's okay to believe it at first; I forgive you for that."

She hissed in pain as I pushed her wrists into her spine, forcing her to bend farther than she could; her eyes never left mine. "Am I forgiven?"

"No," I growled my words, "you made people believe, but you are not holy, you are not a saint—you're a murderer."

"So are—"

I squeezed her neck. "We're all murderers, by default! And I have prayed for many years to be forgiven for something out of my control, but you—you forced it upon these people. You stole their money. You killed so many to only appease yourself!"

With a twist, I snapped both of her wrists. Her cry stirred the feet of those in battle. They attempted to run for her, but their advances were stopped by gunshots and daggers. "Abby!" A man cried out, but one of Victor's men sliced his neck, nearly severing his head; his blood pooled with the others.

"You're sick, Abigail," I whispered in her ear as she cried in pain. "Physically, you're dying—slowly. So slow, you outlive the others on this Earth. One day, the disease will catch up to you and you'll fall where you stand, your heart will cease its beats. Then, you'll burn as you walk through the gates of Hell with Him, just as you wished."

She choked, her eyes flickering with light. Her chest heaved as she struggled to find words. Her feet shifted as she tried to kick me. Each time she moved, I tightened my grip until she was red in the face. Blood filled her eyes.

"Too bad you'll never see that day. I'll kill you here, now. This—" I tugged her body down as I dropped to my knees, "—is for my mother."

I forced her head back as I cracked the bones in her arms. I pinched the muscles in her neck so tight, not a breath nor sound left her, but her face was etched in pain. "And this—" I drove my knee into her spine, "—is for my brother. For Victor."

Her heart struggled to beat. My ears barely picked up its sound. I turned her weak body, making her face me. With my finger, I traced her chin, sliding the blood that coated her face along her skin. She sputtered, a gurgling laugh, but I neither laughed or smiled.

"This is for Charlotte." I pushed her body against a tree, pinning her still as her fearful eyes searched mine. The fold of her dress was free and open at the sides. I ripped it. With her belly exposed, I felt for the tender spot of organs and tissue—the easiest place to rip through. "For the years you slaved her against her will, for using Rosie as a tool over her head. For desecrating her body, letting men defile her, for your own selfish greed. This—this is her revenge."

I forced my hand into her stomach until the skin split and blood spilled onto my shoes. Her blood curdling scream slapped against my ears, and I relished in it. Her organs, intestines—all were warm in my hands as I squeezed and pulled. I ripped her body apart from the inside, and eagerly watched the life bleed out from her eyes.

"This—" As her heart beat one last time, I brought her ear up to my lips. I whispered what I should've said hundreds of years ago. "—is what you deserve."