Heart Of Iron: Praecordia Ferri [ON HOLD]

Two - Of Blood and Monsters

Word of warning: This chapter slightly bends towards horror themes. However, this is probably a very rare occurrence. I promise you that my next few chapters aren't as dark and scary, so you can skip this chapter - you're not missing much. :)

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Chapter two

"What?!" James looked a little dumbfounded.

"Doctor, I don't understand." Esme said, she too had not heard this titbit of news, "When you said we must protect them, I just assumed to give them a place to be, well, themselves."

"Well, yes," Niccolo replied, "that, and the bloodthirsty cult I just mentioned is out to capture them. Your uncle, blessed be, and I have been investigating this cult as well as searching for these adolescents for a while now."

"What does this so called 'cult' do, doctor?" James grimly spoke up.

"Glad you asked, good sir. Around half a year ago, I was looking into a peculiar case of a death of a young man in Russia. He was found dead on sacred ground, in an Orthodox Church no less. His body was bled to the bone, skin completely peeled off and branded with several demonic-like insignia. Have a look at the photograph in that envelope." He pointed to the one James had previously wrestled out of his sister's hands.

Esme gasped as she peered over her brothers shoulder at the image. The humanoid form of the boy was barely recognisable - limbs twisted at unnatural angles and neck snapped to the point where he was far better off decapitated. Even through the grainy black and white photograph there was no mistaking the grotesque sight of his broken jaw, open and silently screaming, oozing the blackest of blood. Several markings were clearly burnt into his flesh - the most prominent - a crucifix intertwined with what appeared to be letters.

By now the siblings had paled considerably, James was trembling. He looked at Esme and and a silent exchange passed between them.

"This is abominably awful, Doctor," Esme spoke for the both of them, "why would this...these... mongrels do such a thing to an innocent man?" She placed a comforting hand on her brothers shoulder - only she knew how squeamish James really was.

The doctor gravely took the photograph from James's shaking hand, "I happened to be searching for this very boy when I received news of an unusual death, and believe me when I say unusual." He pointed at two deep lacerations on the boy's back, which was facing the photographer. "If you look here, these cuts are dissimilar to the other engravings. When I arrived at the church, the first thing I noticed were feathers. Yes, feathers," he pointedly added at the Lord's perplexed expression.

"The whole prayer room was dusted in inky, black feathers. At first I assumed I had arrived at the wrong crime scene, that of a vandalism, but then I saw the boy. His corpse was strewn out on the alter, just like that image. Around him were even more feathers - all in different sizes - and upon looking further it seemed they were all of the same species, or maybe the same bird. I had thought to myself: how curious, this must have been a giant bird, prehistoric even. Then, as I inspected the boy, I saw those cuts. They weren't normal cuts I tell you, my Lord and Lady. You cannot see it in this picture, but it was definitely a sight to behold. It appeared as though the young man had extra bones growing out of his back. There was clearly a large joint inside each of those gashes, and upon further examination, they had been sawed at. The marks on the bones could only have been made by very sharp toothed knives. If anything, these ...extensions shall we say, reminded me of my cook when she was preparing the poultry. I had looked around and saw a collection of blood crusted bones neatly stacked on the floor behind the altar, placed together almost strategically in the shape of wings. Only then did it occur to me that this boy, had wings. If you were there, you both would have seen it. Imagine this large skeleton of a pair of wings, similar to that of an eagle's, covered in the most beautiful of black feathers on a fit young man. He would've looked like an angel - a dark angel. He couldn't have possibly been more than 18." Niccolo finished his description with a sad tone. The room was silent for a moment as they all studied the photograph.