Bloody Angel Book 1

An Unnatural Occurrence

The night's silence was broken by soft chimes that sounded the third quarter hour.

Stars and planets sparkled in the otherwise pitch-black canvas of darkness that loomed behind the full moon that shined unobstructed in the cloudless heavens.

As the chimes faded in their echoes, other night time sounds whispered along a faint breeze that rustled through empty tree limbs and crisp blades of grass across the vast picturesque grounds of the Ministry. Truly a peaceful night in which one could rest uninterrupted, a calm that many enjoyed after hours of indulgences of carnal delights. Few within the stone walls slept alone, choosing instead to seek comfort in each other in early celebration of the equinox.

 
A piercing screech of an owl calls out suddenly from deep within the sparsely forested terrain, breaking the quiet. With its call, the steady breeze gives one final caress before fading. Everything becomes still. Nothing could be heard aside from steady breathing from the members of the Ministry within the walls, locked in their rooms, and even that soft noise of steady breathing seemed amplified in the deafening silence that slowly wrapped around their prone forms. With that blanket of restrained calm came a growing feeling of pressure. Slight at first — almost feather soft — it steadily grows.

Deep within the halls, laying in his silken bed, a man sleeps soundly much like the many in the dorms around him. Yet even he is not spared from that blanket of pressure, and with its growing presence, a slow flowing wind. It brings no warmth or chill with it as it circles the grounds and in his room. No other area is touched by this ominous breeze. It glides through the chambers, caressing his form, tumbling stands of his dark hair into his face, barely illuminated by the dying embers from the fireplace opposite his large bed.

He stirs slightly and reaches his sleep muddled hand to his face to brush the tickling hair away before shifting to a comfier position, pulling the covers up to his chest as he settles once more with a slight shiver, otherwise oblivious to the growing wind and pressure that surrounds him. As he settles, the constraining oppression intensifies, pressing on him firmly to where he begins to softly pant in exertion, each shallow breath hard to take. His brow dampens and furrows in his distress, eyes darting to and fro behind his dark closed lids.

Out in the grounds, the trees stand victim to the ever growing wind, so strong now that, although bare, the heavy and lanky limbs sway violently as though their arms bear the full burden of summer leaves, twisting and groaning. At least, normally, one would perceive the sound of the limbs cries as they're nearly splintered in the gale, yet nothing is heard. Until softly, a whisper of sound. So slight that even in the deafening silence ears would strain to hear it. The single sound grows in strength. A mournful steady scream that brings with it more pressure and gale. As it rises, so do the feelings of unease as it fills all minds with fear.

The man rouses once more, yet he cannot crawl past the ledge of slumber. His body begins to tremble in the mute hurricane like squall that tears through his room. The roaring scream pierces through his ears and he gasps weakly as he struggles to draw in breath, his head rolling back and forth as he wrestles with sleeps deep hold on him.

As quickly as it began, everything stills to an abrupt end. The pressure gone, wind nonexistent. Even the wailing scream vanishes as though it was never there.

Once again, all is still.

He takes a deep steady breath and his brow relaxed, easing the lines on his drenched forehead. Nothing moves in this tranquil calm. Dust doesn't even dare dance, the trees standing tall and still.

Bells in the tower are the first to break through this serenity, striking the hour.

One toll.

A second.

With the third toll, the wind and pressure crashes over the Ministry in crushing force, followed by an ear piercing screech laced with misery and anguish so deep it curdles blood and sets ice deep within bones. Thunder slams through the cry with a single vibrant crash of lightning, its power equalling that of a bomb going off, the pressure it brings causing many an ear to pop. Windows rattle in their sills, threatening to shatter. The man wakes fully with a violent start, along with everyone else. Many voices call out in terror in the wake of that thunderous wave that permeated within the grounds.
The fireplace that softly illuminated the man sputters out leaving behind soft wisps of smoke; the only evidence a fire had even been lit.

Trees and grass rustle softly in the casual wind that resumes its caress as though nothing had happened. The consuming pressure is gone, as is the scream. Once again a normal quiet night surrounds the Ministry.

Everything is as it was before.

Yet within the confines of his chambers,  the man still trembles, panting as though he'd run a long distance. Sweat drips lazily from his brow and nose, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs as he gasps in air. His room is black as pitch without the embers glow. Not a light to be seen. For him anyway, for if you were to be with him you would see his left eye emitted a soft, ethereal glow that was slowly fading. His weak hands rise to his face to brush away sweat and stray hairs as he finds his breath.

With one last deep inhale, he lays back on his soaked sheets, wincing lightly at the unpleasant feel of them against his clammy skin, eyes gazing up at the dark ceiling as he forces his racing mind to ease but it's futile. He is utterly awake, as is everyone else tucked in their dorms. Sleep would not grace them with his presence again this night, even though they feel unrested as though they had been up for days. No, even with this deep set weariness, sleep would not come to them, nor would it again this night.