Fiction: Helpless – Pt.3
Bronriel found herself in a surprisingly good mood—a rarity for the succubus who was used to sulking off somewhere in the abyss of the Nether. Normally complaining of her boredom, the demoness these days was found in front of a large, antique mirror adorned with gold and jewels of all shapes and colors cackling with glee.
Oh how fun this was! Seeing the heart of that coward she’s forced to call her Mistress become torn with conflict and doubt over her friends. That would teach her to be so weak and soft. If only her former master were still here to see this. She would have such a fi—
“Bronriel. Why do you take such delight in seeing her in despair?” The booming voice was familiar, and irritating at that. Her good mood evaporated somewhat as she turned to the source—a giant, gaseous being created from the very fabric of the Nether itself. “You know… since you’re a being of chaos, I’d think you’d take such joy in this too! You have poor taste, Juk’gron,” Bronriel said, flipping her black locks over her shoulders. “It’s quality entertainment! And just deserts for that wimp.”
“She’s stronger than you think.”
“You mean she’s strong enough to run away, right?” the succubus replied with a devious giggle. “Face it. She’s always ran. Ran from home. Ran from her own power. Ran from her comrades. Except for when she was under Tichar’s influence—Nether do I miss him—your Mistress has always been a coward.”
She turned back to the mirror, a cruel grin twisted on her lips.
“Break,” she seethed. “Break and fall apart.”
Ravine’s head was throbbing when she woke up. At least this time, it wasn’t to the sound of metal slamming on wood, she grumbled inwardly as she picked herself off from the floor and onto a nearby seat. The room was as she left it when she drifted back to sleep after being awakened (a bit rudely) earlier by a man she simply knew as Hazard—save for the obvious dents made on the wooden floor. Some wake-up call… in more ways than one.
The memories of the night before were still a bit hazy. They were clear, but up to a point. Then everything was blank. No fragments, no blurbs. Just a blank. Only the faint smell of whiskey on her robes, and a headache served as her only reminders that she just might’ve done something that she shouldn’t have.
Ravine moved sluggishly towards the stairs leading up to the bedroom. “Sav?” She held her head in one hand as her headache came on again. “Are you… awake?”
Slowly, she trudged up the steps, using the wall as a guide so she wouldn’t trip over herself. This is your own damn fault. You should know better than to go out drinking. When has that ever solved anything?! She winced. When in the Nether did Hazard get into her head? (No… it couldn’t be. He was a lot more… vulgar.) Or was it her inner voice scolding her after he dropped by?
Dammit woman. Be strong. You need to be strong for two people now.
I… I can’t. Nether, this is too much…
If you won’t be, you’re dead. You’ll both be dead. Do you want that?
Ravine straightened out her posture as she entered the room. Savras was awake after all, though he looked to be in a great deal of pain. Not exactly surprising after he overextended himself yesterday with so many unexpected visitors—Mourne being chief of them.
Her thoughts began to drift again to his news that Shakta still remained in this world due to his work—and the argument that ensued then after between him and the priestess’s own mother—but she quickly cleared them away. They weren’t important now.
“I’m so sorry…” Ravine murmured as she hugged him lightly, almost on the verge of breaking down. Even through his pain, there was still some confusion on his face as he whispered the words, “What for?”
Come on. Prove that you still have some strength left. “It’s… it’s nothing,” she shook her head as she gathered herself, and attempted to smile. “Would you like some breakfast?”