Midnight Mistakes [Sanguine]

Crickets chirped softly in the darkness, their song echoing around in the silent streets. It was nearly midnight in Era, the stars raining their twinkling light down on the city. Barely a soul was out in the streets. Street lamps illuminated empty sidewalks, one of which a tall white-haired man ambled down.

Beaux had just finished up at the library in Era and was heading back to the Rune Knight barracks. Oftentimes when he had a free evening he would visit the majestic library. It was truly a fantastic collection of knowledge, one of the best in Fiore. Floor after floor was filled with books on all sorts of subjects. The Knight would just pick a random topic and spend the evening reading up on it until the library’s closing hours. Lately he had been researching the history of Fiore. Back in his homeland, they didn’t teach much about other nations. Beaux knew so little about the place that he currently lived and had to quench his curiosity. So far he head read through several hundred years of history, sidetracking to read more closely on major events. It was truly fascinating.

Beaux had been in the middle of a dense book on Fioran agriculture when he had been notified by the librarian that it was closing time. With a sigh he returned the book to its shelf and descended the many staircases down from the floor he was on. A friendly wave was sent to the librarian as he left, and the old lady waved and smiled back. He was a frequent enough visitor to the place that she was starting to recognize him.

So here he was, slowly approaching the Rune Knight headquarters. It was a beautiful night, so the angel was taking his time. His mind was stuck on the subject he had been studying and he barely registered where he was or anything around him. Distracted steps led him up to a shortcut that would lead very close to his barracks. The murky street was not a pleasant one to walk on, but it was the easiest way to get home. Beaux began to make his way down the street when he heard an odd noise. The sound continued and snapped him out of his thinking daze. Peering around cautiously, he called into the darkness.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Anxiety began to build in the angel’s stomach. He wasn’t usually afraid of things in the night but he was unable to make out the source of the sound. Beaux’s stance tensed as he prepared himself for the worst.

Beaux peered into the darkness, his eyes narrowing as if it would help his human eyesight somehow. A moment passed before a figure appeared out of the shadows. It was a woman with white hair. She was dressed in an outfit that looked like one meant for a night out on the town. The clothes were mostly dark colored, but the pinkish laces of her tall boots stood out. The woman looked innocent enough. Beaux let out a relieved sigh.

“Madame, you scared me,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle. “What on earth are you doing out here at this time of night?” It was then that he noticed some very odd things. From the shadows whence she came an arm lay limp on the ground. No signs of life came from it. Her laced boot had crushed the limb to the ground as if it was nothing. Then he heard an unknown language escape her lips, the words foreign even to him. The angel was about to ask what she meant when his blue eyes caught her amber ones. Within her eyes glowed a light and a terrifying wildness. They were the eyes of a predator - and they were fixed on their prey.

With all these odd things, Beaux didn’t realize he was in danger until the stranger was pointing her fingers like a gun right as his face. A gasp left his lips as he leaned to the side, just barely dodging whatever kind of bullet she had shot. The black glob whizzed behind him and hit a nearby brick wall. The man just stared dumbly for a moment, bewildered to what was going on. Why was this strange lady shooting at him?

Shaking his daze off, Beaux crouched and leapt into the air. Two white wings burst from beneath his clothing, tearing the material to extend his full wingspan. The new limbs worked furiously to lift the man into the air and out of physical reach of the woman. He tensed in preparation in case another bullet had to be dodged. The angel was secretly wishing he could call for backup somehow, but he had lost his iLac earlier in the day. It was bound to show up somewhere obvious eventually. The damned device was hard enough for him to use, let alone keep track of at all times!

“My name is Private Phacelia of the Rune Knights!” he called down to her, voice ringing off the alley walls. “If you do not cease your attack I’ll have no choice but to arrest you!”

The sight of Beaux’s wings seemed to have an effect on the woman and her attack was halted. Her eyes had opened wide and she spoke to herself - so quiet that he couldn’t hear - and looked stunned. The angel’s brow furrowed in confusion. Something about his appearance had struck her, but he was unsure why. The words he had called out seemed to go in one ear and out the other, as there was no reaction to the threat.

Suddenly her demeanor changed. The lost look on the woman’s face was replaced by a grin so sinister it gave Beaux chills. Taunting words were thrown his way, then she began to transform. Dark scales grew from beneath her skin to cover hands and forearms. Behind the stranger Beaux could detect movement, but it wasn’t until she shot into the air that he realized she had grown wings too. The new appendages were so dark that even the moonlight barely gave them shape.

The angel had let down his guard at her earlier confusion. Sharp dragon claws scored down his chest, breaking through his fashionable clothes and digging into the muscle beneath. Beaux hissed in pain and attempted to kick her away. Once he was free of the claws he resumed hovering, beginning to circle the enemy. The angel’s mind raced, trying to think of how he could get out of this situation. It was impossible to tell if the other was a stronger mage than him. Should he risk it and fight? Should he flee?

Her words tempted and taunted him. It was hard to resist the instinct to attack with everything he had just to prove to her that he couldn’t be toyed with. Beaux grew more worried when he realized she had no qualms with killing him at the end. Fear began to grow inside of him. He was alone with no backup fighting a mage of unknown power who wanted to kill him. The disadvantage was his.

Beaux decided to test the woman and determine from there what to do. His wings quickly transformed into a larger gray pair, the downward strokes that kept him aloft not missing a beat. The angel could feel strength burning through his muscles, fueling his attack. He launched himself towards the woman and struck out with his fists, attempting to land a solid blow. Whether he did or not, he backed off and continued circling.

“Who are you?” he called to her.

Beaux watched in horrified confusion as the woman sniffed her claws that were coated in his blood. The intake of scent seemed almost… hungry? The angel didn’t even want to entertain the thought. Surely vampiric beings were just fairy tales, right? It only got worse when she licked up every drop of blood. Words of the same foreign language she had spoken before floated through the air. Beaux understood “dragon” but the rest was obscure.

As he began to withdraw from his attack, the angel was stopped in his place. Long gray hair roped around his punching arm as if it were alive, tightening and locking it into place. Before he could react, Beaux felt other strands of hair swiftly winding around his other limbs. He was immobilized! Muscles strained as he tried to struggle in the grip of her hair, but nothing worked. The next thing he knew, the plane of his back had collided with a nearby wall with a resounding CRACK. Fiery hot pain shot up and down the battered spine. Beaux gasped to regain his breath.

The binding hair did not lose its grip around his arms and legs, lifting him back up into the air as crumbling bricks fell from clothing. The two were now face to face, and Beaux could only look into the blue eyes with slitted pupils of his attacker. There was no spark of empathy or mercy in those cold blues. The weakened Knight knew all at once that he had no chance. This woman-dragon-thing would find pleasure in his pain and play with him as much as she pleased. He was but a doll at her claw tips, a toy which could be beaten and tossed until nothing remained.

Beaux’s head snapped back with the flick after her gentle caress. It took a second for her words to register in his brain. Had she spoken Napedian to him? The next thing he knew his hair-restrained hand had been grabbed by a scaly one. Some sort of liquid could be felt dripping, he couldn’t see.

The next thing he knew was pain. Explosive, unforgettable, blinding pain. The angel could feel as each rib in his chest bent and then snapped, some even shattering as the impact of the punch blew into him. It was some sort of explosive physical attack that had felt like someone setting off a stick of dynamite in his torso. Beaux opened his mouth in a scream, but no sound came out. Instead, he could only double over halfway and cough up a stream of crimson blood. The hair held the angel in place in the air as his wings had relented holding him up and now hung limply behind him. It was a pitiful sight, the once regal-looking man now hung like a limp ragdoll.

As she spoke, each word rang clearly in Beaux’s mind despite the awful agony he was in. If he did anything, screamed anything, he would die and some of his fellow Knights would likely perish as well. The thought sent despair swirling through his broken body. All he could do was suffer at her hands. No other option presented itself. The angel steeled himself. If his life was worth something, it would be sparing any of his companions from the same fate he now suffered. He wouldn’t allow her to do anything to them. He couldn’t.

A claw prodded his broken chest, aggravating his already incredibly wrecked ribs. A hiss of pain left Beaux’s mouth and he glared at her behind the once-neat flop of hair. “Casse-toi!” he muttered. “Well, Sanguine,” he began weakly, raising his head to look her square in the eye. Though his body was broken, his spirit was not in the same condition. Defiance burned in his eyes. “Might I ask why you attacked me instead of leaving me alone?”

His torturer seemed to be enjoying this all too much. A smirk on Sanguine’s lips made Beaux feel sick, as much as one could feel in his position. It was hard to take in sensory stimuli when pain hazed over everything. The broken angel couldn’t even feel the hair binding his arms, the coolness of the night breeze, or smell the scent of his own blood. All he could feel was pain and all he could see was cruel blue eyes. Those eyes burned into his mind, creating a fearful image that would haunt him long into the future.

Beaux’s determined question seemed to shake the dragon woman. The smug expression faded swiftly, replaced with one of confusion. Those haunting eyes glazed over as she seemed lost in memory and thought. The hand against his injured chest retreated, leaving stinging shots throughout the muscle and bone with the movement. He could feel him limp body sinking down slightly as the hair strands relaxed. Sanguine was distracted and struck by his question, but Beaux despairingly was in no condition to attempt escape. A breath in caused him to cough up more blood and groan in agony as his abdominal muscles contracted.

Without answering, the dragon woman took off, angel in tow. Beaux’s vision became unfocused as the air pressure accosted his body, but not before he understood the direction in which they were heading: The Rune Knight headquarters. Dread filled the angel from head to toe. Just what did this torturess have planned? Was his determination futile at this point? It was growing harder to stay focused, awake, and alive. The angel’s consciousness was a miracle at this point. Sanguine threatened him once more with death if he called for help. Beaux wondered if the threat was even worth it. His third brush with death was nearly as bad as the former two, but he was convinced it would be the last chance he got.

“W-what are you planning?” the angel cried, a whimper of pain following his outburst. Though it seemed foolish to ask a villain their intentions, he could try at the least.

Beaux blinked slowly as they approached the Rune Knight headquarters. He was incredibly worried that his comrades were in danger. The angel was completely unaware of the turmoil brewing within his captor. Sanguine’s struggles with the morality of the situation and with her own self were completely untraceable to him. All he could see was the back of her head, covered in gray hair. The dragon woman was as mysterious as the first time he had laid eyes on her. Beaux found himself longing to know why. His question had never been answered, and the curiosity was burning just as much as the pain. The angel wanted to know why she had attacked in the first place, why she continued even after he spoke, and why his words had caused her to change somehow. Something he said changed her tune from attacking to where they were now, floating through the sky.

Beaux felt his wings dragging limply behind, back to their normal form. Wind caught the feathers here and there, moving his wings gently. Oh how he wished it was possible to soar away through the air, away from Sanguine, this pain, from everything. It seemed easier to die at this point than to continue on. A gasp of air was sucked in, causing another coughing fit. Beaux was suddenly struck with the memory of this feeling before. The feeling of giving up, the feeling that there was nothing left. Wishing for a swift death rather than to continue suffering until the end. This had happened once before, long ago: the second time Beaux had nearly died. Sickness had tore up his body, starting from his left leg and winding through his body until it overtook his heart. The boy had traveled long and far, seeking his sister and ignoring the darkness that was overtaking him from the inside. It was unknown to him how the sickness came about, he just knew it existed but chose not to acknowledge it. How could one accept that they were dying? Acceptance meant giving up on his sister, and that was not an option. Absolutely not.

At last the sickness had weakened him to the point he could barely walk. The boy had collapsed in a meadow and was staring at the sky, waiting for death. He had finally accepted that he was dying and wished for it to end soon. The suffering of this world was too much. The memories of this feeling hit Beaux like a train, cutting off any rational thought and pulsing through his mind until it was all he could think about.

The broken man began to weep, tears trailing down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw only to dissipate into the air. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t accept death again, that living was worth fighting for. These demons of his past had been pushed away to be replaced by happiness, but now they burst through their cages like wild dogs. Beaux sobbed silently, lamenting his situation, his fear, his weakness, his hopelessness. How could he continue if he wasn’t even strong enough to evade near-death situations? If he survived this day, just how long was it until another glimpse of death came along?

Suddenly a strand of Sanguine’s hair wrapped around his neck, beginning to squeeze his air flow off. Beaux gasped in air and struggled a little, but there was nothing he could do. His limbs were still wrapped in gray locks, immobilized. “W-wait…” he began to say, but his words left in the breeze. The angel decided to just go limp, hoping Sanguine would stop if she thought he had fainted. Just as his vision started to blacken, the strand of hair was removed. It was all Beaux could do to stop himself from gasping in air and blowing his cover.

With a few quick breaths he recovered and continued to watch Sanguine from the corner of a half-closed eye. Beaux noticed that they had ended up by the front door, right next to Marshall Sinclair’s office. The dragoness gave off a whistle and two guards ran out the front entrance, ready to defend against the threat. They had no chance though. Sanguine cut them into pieces. The crack of bone and sound of flesh nearly made Beaux throw up, if that was possible with how scrambled his insides were. A fresh wave of tears started down his face, creating a stark path of pale skin through the blood and dirt on his face. Two lives had been lost from his weakness.

Beaux couldn’t help but let out a whimper as he saw Sanguine approaching with the bones of his comrades. How much more could she possibly torture him? The angel felt his wings being pressed against the wall of Marshall Sinclair’s office, sparking a wave of ache from his back. A second later he felt the sharp edges of the bones press into his wing, then they were jammed through the skin, muscle, and bone. Beaux gritted his teeth at the pain, trying his best to continue looking like he was passed out. If she knew he was awake it could mean death. The hair began to unwind from his limbs and Beaux felt himself hanging limply. His weight pulled against the bone pins that held his wings. The angel was crucified, hanging from his boss’ office for all the world to see his damaged body.

Sanguine then raised his chin and pressed her lips against his. If Beaux was in any situation but this, he would have recoiled in disgust. Women were lovely friends, but he was flamingly homosexual. To kiss a woman was beyond thought. Yet here he was, unable to do anything about it. She pulled away and… thanked him? Beaux was dumbfounded. All he had done was say a few words in his defense throughout his torturing. Had his words really struck her that much?

Beaux finally began to fade as Sanguine left him pinned to the wall. He felt bad, really bad. Breathing was becoming painful and the image of Sanguine’s striking blue eyes was burned into his mind. Ache, ache, ache, all he did was ache. It was all he could do. Beaux found himself thinking of Sonya, his parents, and his friends. He missed them all terribly as he felt so lonely in this moment. A memory of a specific person in his past came to mind. For some reason he hadn’t known this memory existed, it was stored away and misplaced. His long lost lover, Iris, had entered a room of sorts and held his hands. Beaux could almost feel the gentle touch. The angel could remember being excited, surprised, and happy. Happy. What he wouldn’t give to be back in that place with the violet-haired man he missed so dearly. Beaux wondered why this memory had surfaced now, and when it had happened. There was no recollection of a time, just the handsome face and soft hands. The Knight let out a sigh. Should he escape death once more, he vowed to seek out Iris.

He wasn’t sure how long he would hang there until someone found him, or if he would die before they did. Whoever it was would find the man bloodied and battered with tear streaks down his face, the dawn light beginning to light up the edge of his feathers.