'This is where I leave you,' Shan says, her voice coming from somewhere behind me.
I can't tell from where. The darkness that has enveloped us once the lift opened isn't mere absence of light. There's a dense moisture upon the air and a tang of metallic that whispers of a more sinister nature to these sewers. The breath that pours in through my nostrils stings my lungs, and I hold back from coughing it all out again.
I peer out into the blackness. It's an odd feeling, being able to only see a few metres in front of you; it's as if the world fades out before you, a half-finished landscape that the artist left in black despair.
The light from the lift is the only glow that lets me see my scuffed boots, the slabs of slimy stone and moss that greet them. Once the lift leaves, I'm like a rat left in darkness.
Except rats have much better perception than I do.
Shan gives a cough that's nothing to do with the stale air. 'I hope you're not having second thoughts.'
'Wouldn't you love it if I were?' My voice is lazy, hiding the fear beneath. But I am royally screwed without a light-
There's a pressure at my head, and a clicking noise that startles me. Then I realise Shan's hand is pressing on my temples, catching a switch on the band that circles my forehead in a manner that I'd laughed at earlier. But as the band clicks, and a narrow beam of light shoots from the torch bulb on my forehead, I'd like to kiss Shan's feet.
'Don't thank me,' she mutters; the gratitude on my face must have been enough to make her feel nauseated. 'That light only lasts for a couple of hours, if left on. Use it sparingly.'
'Sparingly?' I repeat, glancing back at the oncoming darkness. How am I supposed to use a light, required to navigate dark tunnels, sparingly? I would have learn quickly, or hope Shan tells me.
She doesn't. 'Yes. Normally we work in teams. There's more heads to guide the way, so to speak. You're on your own, so you've just got the one.'
I have to try. 'Can I have the one on your head?'
'No. Be grateful I even gave you that one.'
So she's still an ass. I don't feel quite as grateful as I'm supposed to. I turn away, and her sigh is a soft echo against the still quiet as she closes the lift doors with a sharp tug. I hear the levers whirring once more, and the clanking and groaning that brought us down here begins once more, only this time, slower and in the opposite direction.
'See you around...' I hear her say as the lift rolls upwards. '...maybe.'
One last time, I peer at the disappearing lift out of the corner of my eye, despite knowing the caging feeling it would give me seeing the empty lift shaft, with only squarely sloping walls for company. Without Shan, the eerie silence has set in, and the lift clanking is becoming quieter with every moment that passes.
So I turn back around to face my destiny and glare out at the darkness, beyond the edge of the light. There's only a small, narrow path that runs along the side an empty bed, where water may once have ran but now sits, an empty trough of slime and filth. Only a few hardy moulds and mosses survive down here, in the cold, dark climate, but it's enough to coat the rock on the floor to make it slippery. My feet catch at first, sliding underneath me, but I soon learn to tread with a heavy and careful foot, an arm trailing the wall, with its stones and grooves, for support.
And as soon as I've worked out how to navigate through the sewers, I reach up and switch off the light at my temple.
The beam shutters and fades away. The blackness returns, only this time, I'm ready for it. I will not be intimidated by the dark; not when I can be methodical. Tapping the stones in front of me signals me towards any corners, and I move in slow, precise movements. Every so often I whistle with my fingers, letting the echo alert me to how long the next part of the tunnel is. When that doesn't work, I flick on the light, and allow a few seconds to take stock of my surroundings.
After some time, I begin to hear flowing water. I'm glad. If I can follow the water, I can find the centre of Elysium, because I can bet that Chronus doesn't go without his sewerage intact. So, in the same deliberate way, I move towards the noise, keeping hold of the wall to guide me and listening to the echoing water as a target.
The slabs beneath my feet get noticeably wetter the closer to the water I go; from an inconsistent damp to an audible trickle of water in the slimy beds beside the walkway, I know I'm reaching one of the main tunnels. Deciding to tackle this prepared, I flick on my torch headdress, only to slam it out again in terror.
The light beam crashes around, illuminating the remainder of the path. The same curved arch of the tunnel, the same grim bed of mud and slosh beside it. But unlike the tunnel so far, it doesn't carry on. It leads to the running water beyond.
But, my memory can't shake the image the light had pulled into view: silhouetted against the beam and curled into the corner of the entrance from this path to the bigger tunnel, was a man.
A man scary enough to make me slam off the light out of pure reflex. A man who is bound in broken chains, hunched and thin, a face with no colour and eyes of deep, endless black. From his right eye, a bolt of metal protrudes, a bloody patchwork of steel and flesh that hasn't healed, still oozing decay and filth. He stands naked, but his skin is sapless and grey, bone more than fat and blood splattered down his abdomen. Where his manhood should be, another great bolt of steel hangs low, like a heavy, macabre piercing.
Wild hair, uncombed. Teeth that are sharp and defined. A tattoo, a branding, stapled across his chest in ink and metal, reads, SIN OF RAPE AND LECHERY.
All of that, I see within those seconds of the light catching him before shutting it off. I try not to let out a scream; there is something unearthly- truly unearthly- about the man's demeanour. What is he waiting for, down here? Or is he unable to free himself of torture, not even to form coherent thought?
But regardless, I can almost hear my own voice, saying, 'Nerissa. Why did you turn of the light? You can't bloody see well in the dark. How is that going to help?'
Damn, my imagined-conscious is far too good. My hand whips up to switch on the light again, but the beam of light seems viciously slow.
And I blink, confused. The man at the end of the corridor has gone, no longer propped like a doll against the wall. It crosses my mind whether I'd conjured him completely; maybe the darkness, and the paranoia, are getting to me. There's nothing but the open archway, the flat stones of moss and grime, and the running water ahead, bubbling quietly.
Yet, my senses still prickle. I tense my muscles, unable to rid myself of the image of the metal bolt through the man's eye-
And something grabs my shoulder.
I jump, jolting forwards and letting out an inane screech that becomes a battle cry as I turn my fists upon the assailant-
Except my assailant is yelling too, terrified by my reaction and what's more, I'm alerted by his bright yellow suit that he's not got a metal bolt anywhere upon his body. Instead, he's that kitted out with safety gear that there would be no way he's hiding an unsterile tattoo or piercing under there.
In fact, the two of us realise that we're not a threat to one another at the same time. Our eyes meet; me, a wild-haired girl with a dorky torch on her head, and this gorgeous, chocolate-haired Prince of Hell (with an equally dorky torch on his head, I might add), relaxing into one another. My attack halts in mid-air, and even Hadrian, who had put his arm out protectively to stop me, takes hold of my arm in a tender fashion, like he's bringing me into an embrace.
'What- what are you doing here?' My voice is raspy, like I have a heavy bout of Hadrian flu.
'Why are you attacking me? I'm here to help!'
'Help? Are you out of your mind, scaring me like that?'
'I tapped you on the shoulder! Tapped!'
'I was already in a hypersensitive mood...there's this thing lurking about!'
'Like an animal...?'
'No! A...a human, only, not!'
'A wraith? They're really rare...they don't escape much.'
'Well this one has!'
Hadrian glances around sceptically. My heart is still thudding wildly, but I can't tell now if that's from his arms being around me, or the shock of the situation. Head pounding, I remind myself that only a few seconds ago my main worry had been testicle-piercing-man; and I still haven't found him.
'Here,' Hadrian says, ruffling my hair with a gloved hand, 'I brought you a weapon. They allowed me.'
'You're not allowed to help me,' I say, my mouth open. The true, realisation that Hadrian is here-if Chronus finds out...'If you do, I'll be disqualified!'
Hadrian's face was grinning. 'I grew up with Chronus, you know. You can work around his deals. For example, I can't help you. But he never said anything about you helping yourself by following me around, or that I can't go and defeat all the wraiths before you get there...'
'Okay, okay,' I admit, sighing, 'that's very clever. But are you sure he won't punish me for it...?'
Face it, this Chronus guy isn't exactly a friendly welcome. If I don't play by his rules...
'Yeah,' Hadrian says, stepping around my stunned silence and taking the lead. Even in a yellow suit, he looks seriously, damnably, good. How can I even think that, at a time like this? I'm staring at his butt, for heaven's sake! I should be staring at...well, the way out of here!
Yet I'm still stood there when he glances back, a few metres away, and puzzled, asks, 'What?'
'Did you really come back to...accompany me?' My question comes from my mouth unchecked, but it sounds accusatory rather than romantic, thank the gods. Hadrian's handsomeness hasn't yet meddled my brain enough to know this behaviour, for him, seems far too selfless. And so far, Hadrian and I have only bickered and bickered, and never really gotten in touch with one another's feelings.
And yet, here he stands: in front of me, dressed with his yellow hazard suit, wellington boots, his brown hair tousled from the torch beaming into my eyes...
A very, very safety conscious devil come to torture me.
What is he up to?
But before Hadrian can tell me, I spot the shadow falling behind him, moving with predator stillness. A bony hand shoots out, ironically grabbing Hadrian's shoulder- and my feet start moving.
Three sharp, bony teeth hiss as Testicle-piercing smells Hadrian, pulling him closer with a grip of a boa constrictor. As if he can smell the King upon him, the wraith snarls and moves to snap those sharp teeth around Hadrian's neck.
Hadrian fights against the wraith's grip, exclaiming out loud as he turns and comes face to face with the protruding metal, the decaying flesh. His resistance goes slack for a second of shock, enough for Testicle-piercing to pull him closer, ready to break Hadrian's neck, or drain his blood- I don't look. I just let my muscles twitch as I leap towards them, fist flying.
Bang! My knuckles collide with the wraith's eye socket, right at the connection between metal and flesh, and meet with a satisfying squelch. Testicle-piercing screams, and my foot slams hard towards the pierced crotch, bellowing with adrenaline.
The wraith's other arm shoots out, knocking me sideways and within a moment, I'm being slammed against the wall with a hand of bone and sinew. Spluttering, my vision blurs as I feel air being squeezed by a grip that shouldn't physically be so strong with so little muscle on an emaciated body.
My legs swing again, connecting with a knee and coming off worse for wear. But then I hear a noise, sharp and dense, of something slicing into another. I'm dropped unceremoniously, coughing.
Hadrian stands with a hand at his hip, readying his second knife and watching the one that is now deep in the wraith's abdomen. No blood falls from Testicle-piercing. Instead, the wraith simply takes a hold of the knife's handle, and yanks it out, sending it clattering cleanly across the floor.
No blood.
Souls in Judgement were meant to live in eternity with the weight of their sins.
Suddenly, I have a feeling that Testicle-piercing can't be killed; he can't be freed from his sentence in the way a convict on Earth would. That would be too easy a way out.
This is Elysium, and these people live for hellish eternity, and they can't be gotten rid of. Only, perhaps, subdued. So as soon as he rounds back upon Hadrian, I race to grab the redundant knife.
Hadrian backs away from the wraith, brandishing the first knife before the dead man's eyes. They don't seem to see anything; nothing moves behind those shadowed black irises.
Hoping to incapacitate him long enough for us to run, I leap onto Testicle-piercing and ram the knife into his good eye.
The wraith lets out a shriek of unearthly origin, boned and skeletal fingers reaching up to the affected eye. I don't wait to see whether this works; I grab Hadrian's hand and scream, 'Run!'
A/N: Sorry about the long time to update! Hopefully more will come soon.
What do you think of the wraiths? Are they scary enough?
As ever feel free to point out grammar errors AND constructive feedback!
Larissa xxx