Angel of my Dark Heart [Last Days 1.5]

Chapter 11-b

Dagger glinting in the light of the full moon, the blade was plunged into the man’s chest despite his screams and pleads for his life. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut inwardly, trying to drown out the scene. It wasn’t much different from what he, Vergil or any of the other boys had done countless times as part of their illicit businesses, but there was something about sacrificing a man over an altar in the middle of nowhere that tugged at his heart.

It couldn’t be the gruesomeness, he had seen worst, and yet…

He sighed. I’m a fucking hypocrite.

Opening his eyes once again, he witnessed as the landscape behind the altar rippled and a glowing, white tear began forming. The wind picked up speed and lightning flashed between the treetops, illuminating the gory ritual below. The forest around them darkened, animals silencing, and the trees appeared to howl as they sway with the wind.

The tear expanded, barely letting a hand reach out, clawing at the glowing edges. Long, black clawed fingers with scarlet scales adorning them pushed at the tear, widening the gap.

“Papa,” his host murmured. Excitement coated the sweetly alluring familiar voice, confirming his previous thought that he was tagging along inside Tara’s body.

He felt her heartbeat accelerate as her body filled with giddiness at seeing her father. However, she didn’t move from her spot, afraid of disturbing the ritual.

Maybe the redhead witch was Tara’s mother?

Marcus entertained the idea of fully connecting with Tara’s mind, but the activity inside her mindscape gave him pause. Literal trains of thoughts raced past him in all directions while colorful light beams swirled and danced, finally exploding in firework-style. After every explosion, Marcus could briefly feel the emotions contained in the light beams.

I better wait until they talk and fish out my answers from their conversation.

Returning his attention to the happenings in the forest, Marcus witnessed as a tall demon came out of what was now a wide glowing gap in the landscape. A door from another world, or even another reality, spilling light into his.

He recognized the demon from their recent meeting in the real world, Baphomet. Though the version Marcus was seeing appeared wilder, more in touch with the savage side of nature than the refined, scary monster he met.

The snap of a twig sounded behind them, and Tara’s heart jumped into her throat. Her lips moved without sound, and the redhead turned toward them, her intense emerald eyes glowing in the night.

“Momma, please hurry. We are running out of time.”

Tara’s anguished whisper broke Marcus’ heart. His dearest was desperate for something, but he didn’t know what had returned her anxiety so fiercely. Was she simply eager to be with her dad or she feared someone would catch them? Either way, trying to find the source was useless since he had zero control over the body.

Back at the ritual, the redhead—who Marcus now knew was Tara’s mom—was offering one of the hearts to the demon crown prince. Baphomet smiled at her, dipped the heart in the wooden bowl she offered with her other hand, and took a bite out of the organ.

Marcus’ stomach heaved. He didn’t have a clue how such a thing was possible since only his consciousness was inside Tara’s memories—or whatever illusion she created. However, his mind insisted on experiencing disgust at the sight of a heart being dipped on semen and eaten as a caramel apple.

Tara’s parents shared a kiss before her mother went to grab another heart. She didn’t make it back. The war cry of a musket shattered the silence gripping the forest. Although she remained standing, the offering slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the ground as Baphomet roared.

Chills erupted all over Tara’s body and her feet refused to move toward her parents. The frightening power of her dad’s anger was even rooting her to the spot.

Marcus shivered. How could someone defy such a creature, much less hurt one of his loved ones?

An old priest answered the challenge by stepping out of the forest and into the clearing. A pair followed him, a woman with glowing sapphire eyes and a man holding a golden cutlass. The pair made a protective wall around the priest who stopped right before the pentagram. The group glanced at Tara, who stood before the pentagram’s western point, but quickly ignored her.

A bad feeling washed over Marcus. Why ignore an enemy unless…?

“In the name of Christ, return to the pit whence you came, foul beast. I compel you!” the priest shouted as the woman beside him summoned watery icicles that sped toward Tara’s mother.

“They enlisted a gaekmar?”

The whisper hadn’t grown cold on Tara’s lips when something hit her nape hard, and darkness swallowed her world.

Marcus stood surrounded by darkness. Waiting.

One.

Two.

Three breaths later, light pierced the darkness. The clearing and the altar slowly came into focus. Dread sliced Marcus’ heart when his girlfriend’s anguished howl drilled his ears.

Outside of the bone pentagram, Tara’s mom laid in a pool of hot magma, which oozed from various wounds all over her body. Their enemies watched her bleed with smiles etched on their faces as the shrinking, otherworldly tear near the stone altar produced a sizzling sound and vanished.

Tara’s wails dug its claws into his heart. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His girl clawed at the earth as her heart shattered and fright gripped it.

“Momma,” she called, not staring away from the crumpled form of her mother, but unable to crawl closer.

Then, a woman’s voice, weak and broken, pushed into Tara’s mindscape.

“You’re a woman now, r’graití, there’s no need for my guidance anymore. Promise me. Whatever happens to me, don’t let them see your magic. Don’t ever let them see what you truly are.”

Tara wailed again and the temperature started to change around Marcus. He began sweating as the heat rose in a steady, but quick pace. However, before he could start to feel anxious, invisible hands pushed him. The force knocked out his breath and shoved him through a heavy veil.

Once he regained his breath, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the real world. Tara stood watching him from a few paces away as the fog from the Irish forest coiled around them. Her amber irises were darker, almost dark brown, as tears misted them.

“Babe,” his own tears choke him, “I’m so sorry.”

She sobbed and rushed into his arms, wailing as she clung to his vest.

“They killed your mother?”

His witch clung harder to him. “Someday. Someday I’ll tell you all they did to her, but, please, not today. Don’t make me relive anymore today.”