Chapter nineteen
Along comes a devil
Elizabeth spread her wide, majestic wings, and as if by magic, she soared and swooped overhead.
Penelope, Percy, and Victoria were clapping and running below, their eyes shiny.
She saw Datura standing near Morris, threatening him with something by slicing his forearm using a bloody dagger, and using exsanguination to interrogate him.
A slight thought that maybe, somehow, it was Datura who was behind all of this, and Morris was simply a pawn that had already lost its worth, yet it didn’t matter to her anymore.
Flapping her wings gently, Elizabeth dived toward Morris at such an incredible speed that it almost knocked Morris down.
Elizabeth landed beside him, quickly followed by her friends, all of whom drew their weapons and glared at Morris with causticity.
Morris sneered softly, twirling his sword casually, and a gloating smile emerged on his face.
"Revenge, eh? Idiots." He muttered.
"Why do you kill her? She is your friend, she is your fiancée!" exclaimed Elizabeth, her face burning in fury.
"Chill out." Said Morris nonchalantly, "Veronica de Angelo's the real traitor, leading you guys, all too young to spill blood, to a battlefield; she's betting your lives upon her own glory."
Elizabeth withdrew her dagger and advanced aggressively, determined to protect Veronica, at least from Morris’s words. Her stomach tightened with the feeling—a knotted twist surging through her inside. Elizabeth's dagger slashed across Morris, scattering loose grass throughout the clearing. Morris snarled, leaping from a rock, his sword slicing through the air, sparks emanating from its polished blade.
Elizabeth instinctively evaded, her dagger colliding with the mist-enshrouded blade with an earsplitting clatter. The impact reverberated through her arm—the cursed blade was colder and heavier than any she had previously encountered.
Elizabeth felt her arms vibrating violently over her, as if her arms were split open, raw in half. Her nerves were on fire, as the excruciating feeling overwhelmed her. Simultaneously, the Cursed Blade clutched in Morris's hands radiated a violet glow as a beam of greenish light seeped uncontrollably from Elizabeth’s palms and shifted gradually toward Morris’s hilt.
Elizabeth felt an exhaustion stretch over her; her brain was buzzing so madly that she couldn't concentrate.
Without further warning, Morris, snarling in delight, lunged toward Elizabeth with his sword.
Ignoring the searing pain in her arms, Elizabeth ducked, narrowly avoiding the sharp tip of his weapon. She retaliated with a hard punch to Morris's injured leg, making him gasp in pain.
Nevertheless, Morris pressed the attack, his silvery hair flowing behind him, his expression menacing. He struck his sword against a rock, shattering it into pieces. Elizabeth drew her dagger, preparing to charge. Just then, Morris, with a wicked grin, summoned a gust of wind that knocked her flat to the ground. Struggling to her feet, Elizabeth found, horror-struck, Morris standing right in front of her, his sword pointed right at her throat. She rolled away desperately, the sword slicing into the ground mere inches from her.
Enraged, Morris roared, his speed and ruthlessness far beyond what Elizabeth remembered; he was no longer the kind-hearted man Elizabeth knew anymore. His silvery hair whipped violently as he lunged, mercilessly clashing his sword against Elizabeth's chest. She had to dodge again to avoid being pierced. She brandished her dagger to drive Morris back, gasping for breath.
Then, out of the blue, right at the crucial moments, Elizabeth's vision blurred with reddish glows. She could feel her energy slipping away from her fingers; her strength drained from her, parts of her fading away. Flames rose and quietly evaporated from her palms. The world around her twirled and swirled madly; her insides were coiling and twisting frantically as blood heaved to her head, blinding her sight as she collapsed to the ground, her jaw clenched tight.
Yet Morris, now her biggest opponent, didn't give her a chance to catch her breath.
He laughed coldly, sending chills down her spine. The tip of the blade was cold, and her breath hitched—she could feel the metal digging into her skin—just enough to draw a tiny trickle of blood.
No, this was no ordinary weapon—it was the cursed blade, and anyone wounded by it would lose their magical power, energy, and even the will to live.
Before Morris could inflict further harm, which he probably would have if he hadn’t tripped over that rock in his way, Elizabeth struck again, piercing his wounded forearm with the sharp blade of the frost dagger.
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And Penelope, who was scribbling poison on her arrows, seized the chance. She drew her bow and released a poisonous arrow, aiming for Morris's shoulder. Morris ducked; the arrow flew right on and eventually embedded itself in a rock beside him. Morris hurled around, snarling in rage, and he swung his sword toward Penelope. She flinched as the blade cut through her clothes. Morris then seized Penelope by the collar, yanked her head over, and dragged her backward.
For a moment, a chilling thought struck Elizabeth: this was exactly how Veronica de Angelo had been killed. She couldn’t let Morris do the same to another friend. No, she could not allow this to happen; she could not afford for it to occur.
Elizabeth had prepared to die—for her friends, her allies, her faith, and Veronica—who had sacrificed her life for Elizabeth's survival.
Elizabeth won't let Veronica die for nothing; she won't let her down, she won't let anyone down.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, and suddenly, immense power washed over her body. Her vision cleared, and her palms were filled with energy.
Then, without hesitation, Elizabeth lunged, anger burning inside her chest. Grabbing a loose rock on the ground, she hurled it at Morris's back, hitting him square between the shoulders. Morris grunted, spinning around. He tossed Penelope onto the ground in a crunch and advanced on Elizabeth, his blade glinting with malicious glows.
Percy Harrison, who was watching the fight worryingly in the vicinity, saw his chance. He looked at Victoria unsurely, and she smiled, "Go, Perce, go save her, leave me here, I can manage my way out."
Percy grabbed the sword, which was tilted behind him, and charged toward the battlefield. His sword aimed at the hilt of the cursed blade just before it slashed into Elizabeth. He slammed into Morris with all his might; the thunderous vibration sent them both crashing to the ground. The Cursed Blade slipped out from Morris's fingers, skittering across the ground. Elizabeth reached for it at once, while Percy retaliated with a fist to Morris's stomach to stop him from going after the blade.
Then, when Elizabeth got the blade, Percy rolled over and stood up, shoving Morris off.
Just when Morris got the balance, Elizabeth charged, piercing Morris's shoulder with the Cursed Blade.
Morris screamed, and the blood running out from the deep cut had soaked his shirt. He stumbled back, staring at the wound in disbelief.
But instead of whimpering, he smirked.
Before anyone could react, he took off.
"Coward!" shrieked Elizabeth, despite all her friends calling her to stop and rest, Elizabeth took off right after him.
He had killed so many, and Elizabeth won't let him run away like this. He had to pay for his cruelty.
Morris didn't outrun the fury any further before coming to a stop. Energy was fading away from his wound, blood soaking his shirt and running down his legs, staining the earth below.
Exhausted, he collapsed under the foot of a hill.
It was precisely midnight.
The crimson moon was hanging right above them, watching them with curiosity.
Elizabeth bent down and glared at him.
"Elizabeth, do it, kill me.” Said Morris matter-of-factly, but Elizabeth could feel his voice was quivering.
“Why?” She asked, etching the blade to his throat.
“If you don’t, the crack of dawn won’t welcome me anyway. I’ve lost my use to them. And they won’t keep me around anymore in case I change my mind and turn against them. Please, kill me—and tell Veronica I’m terribly sorry.”
Though suspiciously, Elizabeth could feel tears welling in her eyelids. She kicked the Cursed Blade away from him and straightened up.
Finally, it was time to take revenge.
And it was the time for a devil to rise.
The moon turned scarlet red, a blood-stain shining across the starry night, staining the entire world with its reddish glows.
The crescent swayed amid the clouds, casting long, pale crimson streaks that stretched across the ground—like a patch of mottled stain of blood embroidered on the night sky. Red and black whirled in stark contrast above vividly, pouring down a wash of scarlet.
Spilling creaks of scarlet over the flicking blade clutched in the fury’s hand.
Elizabeth raised her frost dagger high above her head. The sharp blade flickered with dangerous, blood-red lights under the red moon.
Her bloody lips formed a sneer, cold-blooded; her casual sweetness and benevolence vanished.
Instead, vengeance had taken place.
They had tried to rip the courage and bravery out of her by causing incurable tragedy to her deliberately.
Yet Elizabeth knew fairly well that her life, her story, wasn't over; she had resurrected from all the pain and trauma.
She's got a new chapter—a daring, resilient, courageous chapter.
Elizabeth was never the docile, tamed, laughed-at girl—the one who’d always been left in shadows, endured endless mockery and constant neglect.
And this felt much better; as if she was being herself for the first time in her life.
"Go to hell." She whispered viciously beside Morris, her long hair scratched over Morris’s face, leaving scarlet.
“Please—they forced me—you’re not cruel—” Morris whispered faintly, his knees sank to the dirt, his silvery hair spilled over the ground. “They don’t understand me—no one ever did.”
The blade raised high, pierced through the air, and stabbed down, one by one, blood spilled on her shirt, blood splashed on her face. Elizabeth laughed coldly; her laughter echoed through the bushes.
She looked scary, almost insane.
"You should've thought before you slit her throat." She mouthed as she kicked Morris's motionless body into the bushes. "Decay there, my dear."
"Elizabeth?" came a quivering voice.
Elizabeth whirled around on her heels and found her friends heading toward her.
"Yeah?" Elizabeth asked, dragging her sleeves over her face and wiping the blood from her cheeks.
"You remember what Lady Athena said, when your hands were dripping with an enemy's blood, you unsealed the last door to Grekheim." Said Penelope incredulously.
Suddenly, the air ahead of them shook.
As if an invisible knife had cut it open, a large crack appeared in midair ahead of them.
Elizabeth walked forward, standing in the moonlight.
Messiness clung to her hair—half loosened, matted with sweat and anger. And half of the black eagle feathers on her enormous wings were sticking out all awry, jostled out of place by the fight.
But her eyes were filled with energy and spirit.
Hesitantly, she headed forward, touching the glamorous lights shooting out from the crack with her fingertips.
"Elizabeth, let me show you your past, your hidden past. You know who you are." A voice rang from inside the crack.
All of a sudden, Elizabeth saw what she meant.
It's time to reveal her true identity, which she had tried to hide after having her dream ages ago, a secret she had never dared to share with her friends.
Her fingers crept toward her pockets; inside lay a golden watch.
The one she got from her dream.