*trigger warnings: child abuse, misgendering, transphobia
"I am not a creature that was born. I am a fire that was set."
—Moss Angel
The walls weren't thick enough to contain the screams as Lin got to work. Faint gunshots punctuated Hadrian's steps as he hurried back to the boat. Already, people were starting to pool in the dark streets of the island, their fear pushed down by curiosity.
He kept his head down and walked faster.
Behind him, Cortez and Razo did their best to appear inconspicuous as they went against the tide of people. They were both too big to slide between bodies without being suspicious. Cortez looked vaguely ill, walking slower than Razo.
Hadrian waited until the other mens' eyes caught his before extricating himself from the crowd and slotting himself in an empty alley. His bag wasn't as heavy as it had been before, but it still pushed down into his shoulder enough to ache. He shifted the weight before putting it down at his feet. The wall's cool dampness seeped through the back of his shirt and against his skin.
This far, he couldn't hear Lin or the screams. It was almost easy to forget what was happening.
He swallowed and crossed his arms.
A moment later, Cortez appeared and stepped into the alley, followed closely by Razo. Cortez breathed out like his bag weighed a thousand pounds and sank to the ground with it. Hadrian pushed off the wall and lifted his eyebrows. He glanced between Razo and Cortez. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin's bloody wrong." Razo rounded Cortez to approach Hadrian. Frustration wafted off the bearded man. Hadrian forced himself to stay relaxed. "He's getting all worked up about the morality of it all."
Hadrian pursed his lips. "Yeah, he told me about that earlier."
Razo's nostrils flared as he huffed out a breath. "Criminy, if he didn't want to come along, he coulda just said no, we'd have left him."
"I'm sorry," Cortez spoke up. "I just -- I wanted to help."
"And ya did. Good job." Razo shouldered his bag and turned to Cortez, leaning over to help him up. "Now let's get out before we get chased out."
Hadrian took that as his cue to go get his bag.
Cortez nodded and gulped hard. He took Razo's hand.
He hauled himself forward, using the momentum to punch Razo in the throat.
Razo gave an aborted cough and reeled back. Cortez followed until he had him against the wall by his jaw. His other hand went to his belt, pulling out a needle. Cortez shoved the needle into Razo's leg right before Razo punched him in the ear.
They stumbled apart.
Razo lunged for Cortez, only to get caught mid-punch. Cortez twisted until the cartilage broke, sending Razo to his knees with a wheezing groan. He pulled back and round kicked Razo in the head.
When Razo went down, he stayed down. He blinked hard and kept trying to choke air in through his swelling windpipe. Blood darkened his hair and beard where his head hit the ground. Razo's eyes slid listlessly for a moment before focusing on Hadrian.
Hadrian, who had leaned against the wall to watch the fight unfold.
Razo's brows furrowed as his concussed and likely drugged mind tried to piece together what had just happened.
Since Razo was obviously down for the count, Hadrian looked up to Cortez. The bigger man was panting hard, but there was none of his earlier unease. He looked focused. He had a mission. Hadrian could respect that.
He cocked an eyebrow. "What now?"
Cortez, still breathing hard, looked over his shoulder to the mouth of the alley. Nobody even stopped to look inside. He turned back to Hadrian. He didn't say anything, but his body language filled up the space. There was going to be a fight.
If Hadrian wanted to win, he'd have attacked while Cortez was busy with Razo. Or even now, with him tired from the scuffle.
He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall again. He'd trained with Cortez before. Both of them had held back. This time, there was no magic for Hadrian to fall back on, no Lin to stop it from going too far, and Cortez definitely wanted to go too far. He'd never win this fight.
"You're good," Hadrian said. "Almost had me fooled."
"Thanks." Cortez's lip quirked. "You're better. Had me wondering if I had the right guy."
So he was being targeted. He hadn't been sure. He shrugged. "Maybe you don't."
Cortez tilted his head slowly. "No. I'm pretty sure."
Hadrian made no move to attack or flee. Neither of them did. They just watched each other like two chess players, mentally scrambling to decipher their enemy's endgame.
"So," Hadrian said. "Who's your boss?"
"Who's yours?"
He smiled and nodded. He didn't know what he was expecting. "Dead or alive?"
As a response, Cortez reached into his belt and pulled out a cloth. It looked heavy and damp, and Hadrian could smell it from where he stood. He nodded again, this time resigned.
He turned on his heel and ran.
He ran hard.
Somewhere behind him, Cortez cursed. Boots pounded against the concrete and echoed down the hard stone walls.
Hadrian turned corners so sharply that his palms scraped open against the brick. Already, blood tainted the air at the back of his throat and his legs burned. He ground his teeth and kept his speed level.
His mental map of the island had gone hazy with adrenaline, and he struggled to remember which turns led where. All he needed was to get back to Lin. In front of her, at least. Cortez was hot on his heels, so as soon as Hadrian slowed, he'd be right on him.
He chanced a look over his shoulder. Grim satisfaction ran through him as he spotted the flash of a knife in Cortez's grip.
A kidnap mission turned into a kill one. It happened to the best of them.
An arm grabbed him, pushing the breath out of his lungs and bruising into his middle. His head spun and he coughed as someone righted him with a hand on either shoulder. He registered a guard's uniform and brown eyes as his heart sank in his chest.
"Boy, what on --"
Hadrian closed his eyes as blood splashed down on him.
The guard fell to the ground with his throat slit wide open. Warring joy and fear surged in him as he wondered if Lin had arrived, crowing about her success and high off death.
A wet cloth covered his face and another arm wrapped around his middle, pulling him up and away from the dead guard.
✕
Hadrian's mouth was dry and itchy.
The floor shifted beneath him.
Normally, he'd be delighted. Rocking meant boat, boat meant deadwater, deadwater meant magic. A cursory stretch revealed that he was still cut off.
He couldn't smell the sea. That was what told him something was truly wrong.
He tested his limbs. His legs still burned from running and his middle ached. Aside from that, they seemed fine. His arms were not fine.
Cold metal dug into the nearly-numb scar tissue of his wrists, weighing him down. Chains scraped against the steel floor when he moved them slightly.
He knew what had happened. He knew where he was. He really didn't want to.
With the same dread that accompanied his darkest nightmares, he opened his eyes. A ship's brig greeted him. Plain metal walls, a hole for a toilet, no sink or cot. He squinted at a gap in the metal walls and sighed. It was a concrete-reinforced room with quartz lining. Specifically designed to contain witches, made by King Wilson.
Of all the times to find out about Hadrian's status, his father chose this one. The first time in Hadrian's life where he didn't have the power to crush every bone in his body.
The rattling of chains as he sat up raked into his brain. He eased himself up against the wall, pressing his back into the metal. He hissed and felt under his shirt. The impact of the guard's arm had torn open one of his gem implants. The sharp edge of an obsidian sliver poked at his fingertip.
He breathed in deep and pulled it out. He couldn't let the humans find out the exact technique he used to walk unseen past hunters.
Using the sliver, he cut open the rest. One by one, bits of activated crystals joined a bloody pile on the floor.
His fingers now coated in his own blood -- easily hidden by the guard's blood -- he gathered up the little gems and dropped them in the toilet. They clattered down the hole. There, gone. The little wounds all over him might betray it, but he'd already screwed up monumentally by getting caught. He didn't even have the power to escape.
A ripple of fear shook his core.
He couldn't escape.
He swallowed and closed his eyes. He wanted Lin. It was a shameful thought, but he did want her at his side. He wanted his mother, too. Or Ilse. Or anyone, really.
He'd forgotten how lonely it got, chained to the floor in a little stone box.
He'd forgotten how terrifying it was when the door finally swung open.
The screech of unoiled hinges shook his vision with pain. The light outside was much brighter than the single light bulb inside his cell, nearly blinding him. He blinked twice and simply withstood it.
His father brought a chair in.
Wilson sat down.
They watched each other. Not the evaluating of equals like it had been with Cortez, but a man watching a caged hound and the hound glaring back.
Wilson's white beard didn't have the same neat trim as it usually did, but his laughably antiquated wardrobe was the same as Hadrian remembered. Wilson was impassive as he finally took in a breath to speak. "You must think me a fool."
Yes, Hadrian thought. A fool. An idiot. A moron. Blinder than a dead dolphin. A colossal dumbass. And more. So many more. He said none of this, only widening his eyes.
"Don't do that, _____."
The name twisted in Hadrian's chest like a stuck snake. None of the other witches had ever called him that, not since he bled for the first time and they heard who he was. He straightened his back.
"Where's Cortez?" He'd like to have a word with that man. Or at least know where he was.
Wilson's brow furrowed. "Who?"
Hadrian faltered. His first thought was that Wilson was lying. Messing with him just to mess with him. It wouldn't have surprised Hadrian if his father ordered Cortez to seduce him. But no, there was only mildly interested confusion in Wilson's eyes. Then, a spark of understanding.
"The boy who brought you to me?" He asked. Hadrian's gut sank like a stone. "Up until a few days ago, I thought you were dead. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter saying they'd found you. I missed you, _____."
He hadn't even known.
Wilson hadn't known he was a witch.
Cortez told him.
White noise crackled in Hadrian's ears and blood rose up to his head. He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. "Don't call me that." He burned hotter when his voice came out barely more than a whisper.
Wilson hesitated. "I'm sorry. I know I hurt you, I know you hate being locked up like this."
"So stop locking me up," Hadrian spat out.
"But you've put everyone in danger by running around without control," Wilson continued, firm and sure. "
Hadrian couldn't look at him anymore. His eyes dropped to the ground, focusing on a little smear of blood that his face had left behind. His blood howled in his ears. It screamed. In the racing of his heart, he could almost hear Lin egging him on. Her laugh when he hit the ground hard. Keep going, kid.
"Quite ingenious to dress as a boy. I have so many more questions, but most importantly: why did you stay?"
He flinched. Lin was there again, all sharp and hard. I could kill your dad. I really want to kill your dad, actually.
"Look at me. Why did you stay? You could have been anyone, anywhere, and yet you chose to stay my child. Why?"
He almost didn't hear that one, with how hard his heart was pounding. It was like a drum in his ears, a constant scream. His blood roared so hot and loud that pieces of him came loose with it. He couldn't breathe. His throat had closed up and he didn't even notice. The smudge of blood on the floor blurred.
He gripped the chains that kept him tied to the ground in his sweaty hands.
Nobody can stop me from doing what I want, Lin had once told him. How nice that must be. The metal dug into his skin. It wasn't cold anymore.
Suddenly, fingers gripped his chin, forcing his face up. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He stared into his father's eyes.
"Why didn't you leave?"
Kill him, Hadrian begged. Lin's laugh echoed in his mind, finally cutting through the noise. Blessed silence reigned in Hadrian's mind. He blinked, clearing the fog like he was waking from a dream.
Wilson stood there expectantly, Hadrian's face gripped in his hand.
"Because I wanted to be the one to kill you," Hadrian said.
Magic surged up. He could almost track it streaming down the ship's halls and flowing through the door at his thought.
Wilson screamed at it plunged into his chest, releasing Hadrian in his fear.
Magic reached with a purpose and crumpled the king's ribs, parting the flesh and crushing everything in its path. Hadrian stood shakily and reached out.
"Let me," he whispered. "Please."
Wilson cried out. Magic wrapped around him and pulled him so he faced his son, even with a gaping hole in his chest. The old man's panicked wheezing replaced the din of magic.
Hadrian lifted his hands, chains scraping against the ground, and reached into Wilson's chest. His heart was exposed to air, frantically beating. Hadrian smiled as his fingers skimmed the slick muscle.
He wrapped his hand around it. Then pulled.
Hadrian had killed before. He'd killed people he hated. He'd killed people he liked. This was different. This was ecstatic.
He barely paid attention as Wilson's corpse fell to the ground, nor when a trio of guards rushed in.
The heart, leaking blood down his wrist and onto the floor, captivated his attention. Magic compensated. It lashed out around him without a command, twisting and crushing men and steel.
The ship groaned around him.
Screams bounced around the tin can of a ship as metal rent itself and deadly water spilled in. Hadrian could taste the humans drowning in his power. He sort of wanted more.
Water lapped at his ankles, a dark crimson. He finally looked away from the heart to his father's corpse. In it, he saw the years of fear and torment. The centuries of flight that other witches had endured.
With the heart in his hand, the fear was nothing more than a bag of bones and flesh. A pile of meat. Not an invincible threat or a monster.
He dropped the heart into the water.
Magic wheeled around him in glee. He frowned and grasped at it, throat tightening as it slid through his fingers, darting somewhere out of his control. He followed it, casting his mind beyond where his eyes could see, through the water.
The island.
Magic coiled around it, squeezing the stone and dirt, the metal beams. What are you doing? Hadrian asked.
Then, to his surprise, it answered. Don't you want revenge?
He startled and let go.
Like a bullet through bone, magic speared the heart of the island. The ground broke into pieces and collapsed. Buildings toppled and were eaten by the ever-hungry sea. And people fell. So many people fell. Hadrian felt each one of them scream as magic ate through their fragile human skin and poisoned their blood.
Hadrian returned to his body, stumbling back. The water was at his hips now. He didn't really care.
He gasped, gulping air in and shaking. Magic calmed and slithered up to him, concern and curiosity radiating from it.
Don't you want revenge? It asked again.
Beneath the affection, far beneath the protective nature of magic that Hadrian had always loved, there was darkness. A layer that the humans feared above all. Something his mother had always warned him against. A place that Hadrian often dipped into when he lost control.
Rage. Perfect and just.
He licked his lips and stared at the flowing energy that filled the air. It glowed brighter than he'd ever seen.
My king, don't you want revenge?
"Yes."
--
"Dies irae" (from Latin, lit. "Day of Wrath")
Dies irae is a Latin sequence attributed to either Thomas of Celano of the Franciscans (1200 – c. 1265) or to Latino Malabranca Orsini. The poem describes the Last Judgment, trumpet summoning souls before the throne of God, where the saved will be delivered and the unsaved cast into eternal flames.
"Death is struck, and nature quaking, All creation is awaking, To its Judge an answer making."