Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

XXIII - Head

 

We headed back to the mansion on foot.

Despite my newfound inhuman speed and strength owing to being a half-familiar, my calves were starting to burn as I tried to keep up with him. Plus he made me keep my Cataclyst out to bust the Swarth’s head off whenever it tried to mend itself.

Turns out, the Reapers’ ability to create familiars could be both a drawback and an advantage.

The master will temporary weaken as a result of the transfer of part of his life-force to the familiar. The worst case; he could be absolutely powerless for months.

We were lucky Vincent was such a beast that he only suffered some minor setbacks including the inability to wield his scythe. Rest assured, he was confident to recover it in a few weeks.

“Crap!” I bashed the Swarth’s head as it lolled on Vincent’s back, the filthy repugnant liquid creating a spattered trail of black behind us. “We forgot to tidy up Carter’s room!”

Vincent held back a smirk. Something told me he had a great time trashing my friend’s room.

“No worries. He’ll make up something once he’s sober. Mortal minds can be very creative.”

“What now? They’ll suddenly believe that a tree got struck by lightning and the huge branch flew into his room by accident?”

“Could be anything. But that’s a good one, actually. You should be a writer,” he chided as we veered off the empty dark road and into the woods toward the mansion where Archie waited for us from the doorstep.

As we reached the yard, he dropped the undead corpse to the ground.

The silver-haired familiar nodded to Vincent with some private understanding before touching the number twelve marking on the left side of his neck with his right index and middle fingers.

The marking blazed crimson red.

When Archie opened his right hand, it was suddenly engulfed in black flames that grew about three feet tall before it died altogether, leaving a gleaming slender rapier in his hand—probably his scythe. Both hilt and blade were made of silver very much like the color of his hair.

The Swarth convulsed twitchily at the sight of the weapon. Its crooked limp limbs clawed on the ground in a hysterical attempt to get away as Archie approached.

For a moment, the creature’s remaining big green eye fixed on me, pleading for help.

I had to look away when Archie chopped its head off.

The creature’s body thrashed as its head rolled away like a bowling ball with a face.

Soon, the thrashing had stopped. The Swarth’s body parts didn’t reassemble.

Finally, Archie gingerly gathered the corpse and tossed it into the giant hole just under the shade of the lush branches of the ancient willow tree.

Before, I thought that watching my murderer killed would make me feel better. I couldn’t be more wrong.

Lightheadedness took over me. My Cataclyst faltered, my left hand smoking with a searing pain. Staggering my way into the mansion, I just about reached the kitchen sink before I threw up.

“Could’ve been a lot worse,” Vincent commented, awkwardly placing a hand on my back.

I washed the grit off my face, drank straight from the faucet and forced in a few lungfuls of air. My mouth tasted of bile and acid, the nasty smell lingering on my clothes making me queasy.

I managed to keep on my feet and put my game face on.

“I’m okay,” I replied too defensively.

He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s late anyway. I can send Archie to Vlad. You can’t just charge into battle in the middle of thousands of wraiths while getting sick like that.”

“I can manage. Besides, your brother might need us! If something really bad happens to—“

“Shut. Up. Please. Just for a minute,” he muttered through his teeth, uneasiness evident in his gun-metallic eyes. He leaned on the counter, his hands shaking. “You think I’m not worried about them? My brother’s in there! He’s weaker than me but he just won’t admit that he needs my help because he hates it when I worry about him! I want to go to him more than you could ever imagine. But right now… I choose to be here.”

I bit my lip, not knowing what to say, feeling guilty that Vincent was risking not fighting alongside Vladimir just to look after me. All the happiness his approval brought me was immediately dampened by the screaming truth—I had been nothing but a burden.

Clearing the swelling in my throat, I stammered, “I… I’m—“

The kitchen door swung in with Archie shifting his impassive gaze alternately to us.

“Master Vincent,” he began. “Master Vladimir, Amyr and Mei are now in the northern part of Centralia where wraith buildup is highest. No Swarths detected at this point but I must take my leave now to aid them.”

After receiving a wary nod from Vincent, the familiar draughted and disappeared through the hallway.

“Let’s take a bath—I mean… you first,” he said without looking at me. “The get some rest.”

With a hesitant nod, I headed to Vincent’s room and stripped away my soiled clothing before stepping into the shower. The dead Swarth’s face flashed before my eyes making me gasp for air.

Could I really live this life?

Oddly, I found myself thinking of ways to be of use to Vincent instead of trying to give him a taste of hell like what I did for the past few days. Then there was my strange urge to train and the little efforts I made to please him. Honestly, I wasn’t really sure why I did them.

Was it to prove him wrong? Was it to prove that I was better than Adrianna?

It was all so confusing so I didn’t dwell much on the predicament. Instead, I solidified my resolve, planning to train harder. I had less than twenty-five days to live. Somehow, the thought of dying didn’t faze me anymore.