First of the Fallen (Neophyte Series 1)

5. A Hell of a Backspin

                MICHAEL STARED IN AWE at the castle-like fortress, his feet bolted to the cobblestone out of sheer astonishment and intrigue. The sight of such opulence rendered him speechless, overwhelmed at its grand scale and style. Now, in the daylight, he was able to truly appreciate its unique beauty. The Sanctuary seemed built in an array of different styles, Victorian and rustic Edwardian in sections, but the structure itself seemed church-like in others, as though crafted by early masons—similar to those seen in Vatican City, hinting that it had been constructed over the span of several eras. Beyond the tiled roof were many towers and corbels that stretched to the heavens, visibility greying the taller sections the structure. His wanderlust gaze watched many flocks of various birds, soaring around each, some perched amongst the many gargoyles which kept their watchful eyes on the grounds below, the anointed guardians somewhat eerie, yet humbly standing firm.

      Amongst the stone and ivy covered walls were countless arched windows, hints of stained glass and meticulous stone work at every turn. Within walkways and balconies above burned torches and fire pits throughout, casting their frolicking light upon the greenery and gardens that seemed to flourish and dangle from every walkable surface.

    It was a scene out of time—a vision like a snapshot that spanned throughout the ages. Each section of the castle echoed a stylish reminder of the past, of mankind's preferences of various architectural trends over the centuries.

    A wide staircase led to the front doors, the landing housed by towering pillars, each a sculpted saintly guardian bracing a divine cement trim that matched the rest of the foundation, draping and flowing flags of indigo on either side. The familiar skeletal serpent, a stark white at their centre, serenely waved with the light summer's breeze, mysteriously amidst a dying winter.

    Behind him, in the center of the wrap-around drive stood a uniquely Gothic fountain, the base circular in form, a sittable stone rim encasing the rippling water within, but the calming sound of its light trickle provided no serene mask for the ghostly scene above. Four hooded figures faced one another, an empty platform of stone between them with enough space for a few to stand comfortably. Each were heavily cloaked, holding individual objects in their pale, stone hands, as water cascaded from the cuffs of their sleeves, and into the pool below. There was simply too much detail to not catch the eye, as Michael found his gaze roaming from one wondrous piece of artistry to another.

    'What the hell is that supposed to be?' he asked, genuinely intrigued.

    'In time, Michael . . . in time.' Samael gestured ahead, not having the patience to explain the specifics of the strange structure.

    Pulling his attention from the fountain, he stepped upward to the front entrance, taking note of the tiny carved lettering that covered almost every surface, and seemed the common theme of the Sanctuary.

    The heavy oak doors that stood before him were intricate works of art. Complexly carved by the hand of a master, the surface depicted bare men and women floating through a whirling abyss. Their eyes were empty, devoid of pupils or irises, each subject a ghostly reminder of the mysteries of the afterlife. It was a spooky display, and a chilling sight to behold.

    Carved around the brass door knocker, read, "Maldicao para aqueles que entrem por esta entrada com mal intencao." Michael attempted to read the words aloud, but Urielle cut him off with a slight chuckle, and ran her fingers across each word, reciting as though teaching a student.

    'It's in Portuguese: "Cursed—are—those—who—walk—through—this—entrance—with—evil—intent." Kinda gets you feeling all safe and cozy, doesn't it?' she smiled humbly through a curtain of wavy locks, her braid let out in the van, moments ago.