In The Sky- Chapter 3 - The Ruby Red Blade of Inhuman Blood

Chapter 3-The Ruby Red Blade of Inhuman Blood
*A third chapter to the 'In The Sky' branch competition for the second story starting with the second chapter by 'Genny Lawerence' called 'Blood'.*
*This is back in Izalla's position back on the train and I have made it so that this story will take on a slightly more inhuman direction now!!! I don't know whether you'll like it but, here it is anyway! And I hope you can comment and tell me what you make of it please! I should warn you that it is now taking a completely different approach, but hey, its supposed to take on different approaches as it goes on right? Thank you for reading!*

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1. The Blood Red Blade of Inhuman Blood

 

Izalla's position

The sliding doors of the rickety train slammed together after the ash blond haired man ran out onto the rain-splattered platform.

Tilting her head back into the soft leather of her seat, she thought back to the mysterious occurrence that had just taken place outside and also the strange hieroglyphics.

Could it really be possible that she’d done that?

After all these hundreds years of waiting, she’d finally inherited it? Her family’s great power?

She let the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, release itself from the insides of her mouth as she leant onto the tacky plastic of the table before her and leant her head onto the insides of her palms.

Patience.

That word had haunted her for centuries.

Patience, that’s what they’d said. Have patience Izalla, have patience.  

And her reply had been to yell back into their faces abuse and stomp out of there.

She laughed into her hands, 432 years old, but with the outer appearance of a lone 16year old and somehow still after all she’s been through, still capable of a temper tantrum.

What would her father think about that, huh? Probably would had told her to stop make a fool of herself and listen to what the elders had had to say upon the subject.

But what if she hadn’t wanted to listen? What if she didn’t like to be different? The only one not to have inherited the gift in the whole of her 1000year old family?

She didn’t think she had a single solitary memory of her dad actually proud of anything she’d done in the whole of her life. And that hurt her down to her core.

Sighing, she turned her head to view the rest of the carriage.

Squinting, she narrowed her eyes back at the fogged up window nearby to examine the unusual hieroglyph. Peering at the unusual pattern, she frowned. No, that definitely wasn’t your average hieroglyph. She’d been to Egypt and studied their ancient ancestry for nearly thirty years and now prided herself in the knowledge that she knew pretty much everything when it came to ancient Egyptian tombs and their weird prophesies and so forth, and that twisted fading pattern of a supposed flower with the lines wobbling around the edges of the petals and the stalk all crooked and deformed, was no hieroglyph.

It was Dardanosian. The realization dawned upon her and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

Dardanosian for the word death. Or just a curse if you like. A curse on everyone who’s eyes fell upon it. Great. Just when she’d thought she’d got enough curses.

Fantabulous. Now she’d have to get her dad involved, and whenever her dad got involved his relentless voice would yell out at her telling her how stupid she’d been to actually let anything like this happen. He’d turn it around to make it look like it’d been her fault.

Not that she couldn’t blame him.

It had been her fault all those years ago and perhaps at one point she may have admitted to herself that she did feel guilty, but not anymore. No, not anymore. That one day of guilt was too much so she’d taken liberty of shutting it all out so she wouldn’t have to cope with those useless emotions ever again.

Because that’s what they were essentially. Useless. What was done is done. The past cannot be changed.

 So they must be here in London. Izalla thought quietly in her head to herself. Somewhere close, somewhere near. A little voice echoed in the back of her head making her fidget in her seat.

 It wouldn’t of surprised her if that suspicious looking woman who’d come back on earlier to get her phone had been Dardanosian herself and come to check up on her. Well, come to check up on what’s left of her anyway.

 Sighing, Izalla decided she needed to keep calm so instead of letting her emotions catch up on her she focused in on the Dardanos flower and smiled uncertainly for a minute, remembering back a few hundred years to the meadow she’d grown up by.

 Closing her eyes, she pictured a memory. A memory clouded by the distance between herself and her true home, hundreds of realities apart. Picturing the memory, she remembered how the death flowers there used to hide amongst the tall gangly grass of the meadow that used to sway in the light breeze that blew through the valley in the summertime when she was out playing with her friends. How the sweet smell of dusk penetrated the air even at noon and how the days stretched out longer than in the reality she was in currently. Stretched out so days became months, and months became years.

Essentially she, Izalla was indeed a 16years old. Her body was that of a 16year old and her face showed the naivety of indeed a 16year old. But in mind and soul she was her real age.

432 years old.

Young in her world. Old in this one. Her body was still programed to age according to the days in her real home, even though she was so far away from it. 

Dardanos.

Her heart ached just thinking about it.

Would she ever be able to go back? Would the curse ever lift?

The middle aged hulk of a woman that had sat opposite her on the other side of the plastic table suddenly stood upright at a tremendous (well tremendous for a woman of her size) speed, almost making the table topple over onto Izalla and if it hadn’t been for the man who was currently sat beside Izalla clinging onto the plastic table for dear life as the woman scuffled over to the now empty aisle running down the center of the long train, Izalla would have been crushed.

For even though Izalla may pretty much have eternal youth,  it didn’t mean she could out stand being crushed, battered or squished to death. She was not immortal. Unfortunately, and didn't the rest of the world know it.

 The train let out a high pitched buzzing noise over the crackling intercom before announcing the coming stop. Hageman’s road.

“You’re welcome.” The man sitting next to her smiled flashing her a set of pearly white teeth, his baggy, untailored grey suit contrasting to the battered leather of the purple crisscrossed seat below them.

“Welcome for what?” Izalla frowned, the flesh around her violet eyes creasing around the edges as her eyebrows lowered over them.

The man smiling cockily to himself just kept grinning at her lopsidedly. “For saving your pretty little life from being crushed by that toppling table.”

Izalla threw her head back and laughed half-heartedly at the man, who turned his head around to try to see what was making her laugh so much.

“What makes you think I’m the one who needs saving huh?” Izalla grinned wickedly at the ridculously looking cocky man she had just met.

His smile froze on his face as he saw the suddenly depth of darkness flood into the emptiness of Izalla’s eyes. “Cos you’re the-the damsel in distress…?” The man answered in reply, his palms beginning to sweat under the rough material of his suit sleeves and his hands reaching up towards his neck to pull on the collar of his tight-necked shirt as to relieve his neck of some kind of newfound stress. 

“Oh, believe me sir I’m no damsel.” Izalla said, her slightly more animalistic side coming out as she stretched out her small but strong limbs under the table and started clicking her knuckles on her lap.

“What a pr-pretty thing-ig like you?” The man flirted uneasily, the sweat now rolling down from his forehead and his light brown hair now darkening with beading sweat.

“Oh, believe me you wouldn’t believe the kind of things I could do.” Izalla laughed at the man but at the same time her heart ached as she’d soon enough rather cry than laugh at her own disturbing joke.

 Taking one more look at the man's sweaty face, a sigh flew out of her mouth as she soon realised she’d already grown bored of conversing with this dull man so instead of continuing with this tedious conversation that really wasn’t going anywhere, she turned her attention back to the symbol etched on the window, deciding to ignore the man and focus on more important things at hand.       

 Annoyed at her lack of attention, the man suddenly (and rather uncharacteristically of himself) found himself rather irritated by the lack of attention he was getting from this scary but enchanting young red haired woman, so he turned his face to the deranged flower she was now giving all her attention to and he leaning across with one flick of his hand, wiped the water vapor away, scratching the surface of the window as he was doing so and letting all the traces of the symbol vanish from sight.

Izalla’s reaction was instant.

She bared her teeth at the man, her violet eyes turning into inky black pools of hate as she glared at him growling under her breath.

 And that my friend, was when the tall dark bond haired woman whom must have been around nineteen years old, decided to finally make an appearance as she filed down the aisle of the train and choose to sit across from the rather disturbing sight of Izalla holding the dear man up in strangle hold with her tiny gloved hands on that moving train.

“Wow. I leave you for five minutes and you’ve already made a new friend! How lovely!” The dark blond haired woman with a pair of silver blue eyes smiled sweetly but fakely at Izalla, unbothered by the violent position her and her ‘new friend’ were in currently.

“Five minutes my ass.” Izalla growled under her breath, turning her attention to the dark blond haired woman and casually flicking a red frizzy curl behind her ear with her one free hand and narrowing her violet eyes the woman.

“Well we do have eternity Izalla.” The blond raised her eyebrows at Izalla and turned her eyes to glance down at her immaculate nails examining them.

Still looking at her nails she uttered, “Izalla, if you wish not to draw attention to yourself, I would recommend you letting that poor gentleman go.”

 “He is a bothersome brat, Cyri, and he needs taking care of.” Izalla growled, tightening her leather encased fingers around the prim man’s throat and watching his eyes dilate and his face turn an unearthly purple not unlike the purple of Izalla's own eyes.

 “Even so, he’s just a human and we’re in a public place.” Cyri said dragging her eyes up from her nails and ushering around them at the carriage of unsuspecting people around them.

“Yeah, but they can’t see us.” Izalla smiled sadly looking around them.

“No you’re wrong.” She frowned at Izalla’s pained smile for she had thought Izalla incapable of any emotion, but perhaps she was wrong for the look on Izalla’s face seemed to support quite the opposite theory, “They can see us but they choose not to. We are supernatural beings are we not? Only those who choose to see us can, and if you wish to be more inconspicuous I think you should probably let the poor man go and stop choking him so we don’t have a dead body on our hands. Because I can assure you that even if we are ‘unseen’ like you said, his dead body will definitely not been ‘unseen’ by the police, and then through them our own people. Yeah and they most defiantly won’t take nicely to you ruining their system with the humans huh? Especially after all the trouble you’ve caused to get us all here in the first place huh?”

 Confusion crossed Izalla’s face as she blinked thinking it through, before suddenly releasing her tight grip around the man’s neck and letting him drop back down into his seat with a loud thump.

“Fine. Just do your weird voo-doo thing on the dude and then once we get to the next stop we can finally get a move on down to my dad’s house.” Izalla replied callously, rubbing her gloved hands on her jacket.

 Cyri made sure the darkness had faded out of Izalla's eyes before turning her head to make eye contact with the purple faced man who was currently slumped in his seat still looking dazed at what had just happened to him.

Time for some Cyri magic. Cyri thought eagerly to herself, for it had been a while since she’d been able to use her ‘gifts’ on mortals.

 Batting her eyelashes at the man, she watched him as he began his new hormone entranced state at her appearance where his eyes began to visibly dilate and his mouth suddenly dropped wide open and his jaw went slack as he stared at the now astonishingly beautiful blond from across the table.

Cyri didn’t think she’d ever get bored of the response she got from these mortal men from her appearance.

Inhumanly beautiful. That’s what they saw her as.

That was the affect Dardanos’ women had on the male humans.

“Hey handsome! You’ve just had a bit of a nightmare haven’t you? Yeah, you simply just dreamed up that this girl,” she pointed one pastel pink pointed nail at Izalla, “did what she just did, right? I mean no girl could possibly hold that kind of strength, right? Plus look at her, she’s just too nice and naive to have possibly even of thought of doing something that horrible to a nice man like you huh?” She said batting her eyelashes again, knowing that what she was saying was far from the truth and the only one who could save her friend was the other also linked within her curse. The man Izalla had been running from for more than three hundred years.

The man now sat dumbfounded against his chair, nodding at all Cyri had just said, completely awestruck by the beautiful blond before him and had already forgotten about the mysterious but crazy red head that had had him in strangle hold only minutes ago.

 Izalla cocked her head to the side in slight wonder to Cyri’s newest magic trick.

Human manipulation.

A very powerful thing in this world.

God, Izalla longed for the day she’d finally be able to inherit her family’s grand list of ‘party-tricks’ and ancient powers instead of having to cope with her curse.

 Her curse that stopped her from inheriting her family’s legacy.

And what should have been her legacy too.

 Cyri continued to bat her eyelashes and Izalla began to feel annoyance and her companion’s antics.

“Cyri, we have much more important things to be handling right now rather than you using your hormones to entice unsuspecting young human men.” Izalla hissed under her breath irritably.

“You’re no fun.” Cyri pouted and turned to speak to the man again, “So what’s your name honey?” She said twisting a strand of blond hair around her nails and pretending to actually be interested in what the man had to say.

“J-J-Jason…” The man said wide-eyed.

“Cyri….” Izalla’s agitation grew as she leant forwards on her seat, pulling off one glove and reaching one her hand out towards Cyri.

 Cyri flinched away from her hands, burying herself deeper into the leather of the seat to avoid contact with Izalla.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop, ok? I’ll stop! Just don’t touch me!” Cyri yelled, her breath coming out in pants as she struggled to back away from Izalla’s advancing hand.

A sudden rush of pain clouded Izalla’s face for a split second, her jaw tightened and her eyebrows slanted down. But as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared and a smug look ran cross her tight features at the sight of Cyri flinching at the thought of her touch. For at least there was one benefit to this stupid curse.

Her hand reached out further, skimming the material of Cyri’s soft lavender tailored Vogue coat.

Cyri closed her dark smoky eyes for a few seconds and as she slowly opened them, Jason’s head slumped to the side and the distant sound of snoring echoed in the back of their ears.

Smiling wickedly, for she had got what she had wanted Izalla retracted her hand and pulled away, pulling on her glove and sitting back on her seat.

A look of relief crossed Cyri’s features as she visibly relaxed into her seat.

She had knew not to cross Izalla, yet she’d taken the chance anyway and she knew how close she’d come to her death just then.

For she knew how Izalla’s touch was deadly.

Deadly to all but one. The one that was also in the curse. The one that was the answer to solving Izalla’s curse.

Izalla was rumored to be the most deadly of their kind ever, and even though she had not yet inherited her proper powers from her family due to her curse, she still had the power to crush many civilizations.

And she had done in the past.

 Rumored to be pure evil, Izalla had now been banished to earth alongside a few others that had been rumored to have helped her in the past with her deadly deeds.

Banished to an eternity of darkness because of what she had done.

 “Cat got your tongue, huh Cyri?” Izalla smiled baring her teeth at Cyri.

Cyri straightened up in her seat and turned to stare back into those dangerously dark violet eyes, because Cyri would not let Izalla’s dark ways intimidate her.

No. She was going to save her friend.

She didn’t know how yet, but she was going to save her best friend.

She was going to save the girl back in Dardanos who’d accidently set fire to her cat on her fifth birthday party and cried for her dead pet for the following sixty years.

The friend who’d shown remorse.

The friend who’d shown laughter, sadness, guilt, love and all the other emotions on the spectrum.

She missed her best friend. She missed everything about her.

 Which is why for the past three hundred years she’d pretended to go along with whatever Izalla’s evil schemes were at the time to get back in Dardanos.

Which was why when she was meant to be searching for ways to get around the curse she was secretly searching for ways to finish it, rather than end it.

For it was Izalla’s destiny to find herself within another.

Another that was just as lost as she.

And it was Cyri’s destiny to help her bestfriend by searching for the man who was going to save her.

 She didn’t much care for getting home. Well she did, but she at least had her priories straight, unlike her friend.

She was going to save her.

No matter what.

It was written in the stars.

 The train came to a stop, the wheels screeching against the hard metal of the tracks below.

Their destination.

Izalla suddenly stood up, squeezing past a drowsy looking Jason before yanking Cyri up with one strong hand and pulling her towards the door.

“Time to go.” Izalla said emotionlessly.

 But that’s when the air con turned on.

Their steady footsteps towards the door faltered as Izalla froze suddenly, turning her head around, her nose high in the air as she sniffed suspiciously. The deep dark pungent smell of man’s collogue mixed in with the faint but sweet smell of peppermint and limes, stunned her senses as she rotated herself 360 degrees around to stare at where the symbol had been on the fogged up window nearby.

“What the…?” Izalla frowned at the sight as she stared at something she had not noticed before.

Izalla never missed anything.

Not until now that is.

Her heart sped up as she began to panic.

She knew that smell. She didn’t know where from, but somehow she knew it.

And Izalla hadn’t not been sure on anything for more than three hundred years. And that scared her.

The tinged smell of dry blood coated the bottom of the window ledge and a few drops had splashed down below onto the floor below where a small metal blade lay on the ground unmoving.

Izalla dropped Cyri’s arm and walked towards the blade on the floor, ducking beneath the plastic table and swooping it up into her hands before standing up and turning it around in her hand to examine it.

The blood upon it was like nothing she’d ever seen before.

It wasn’t human and it definitely was not Dardanosian.

 The train suddenly bolted, the man named Jason nearby thrown violently forwards in his seat, his head hitting the table in front of him and causing a long trail of thick red liquid to start oozing out of a new gash on his sweaty forehead.

Izalla’s eyes grew wide as she turned to look at her ex-bestfriend, a new realization crossing her features.

The blood was from him.

Not the blood of the guy called Jason who’d they’d sat by.

No. The blood from the blade she’d found under the table.

Which meant only one thing.

He had found her after all these years of searching.

 

The impact of the other train hitting them was almost instant.

 

 

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