Flashback [The Docks] Hidden Depths, Part I

[Azrayel Kolasi]

Hidden Depths, Part II 1st of Fall, 504 AV Zeltivan Docks, East Street Close to Midnight The boy let out a muffled scream as the dark swell of the ocean loomed ever closer. His cries of protest had been reduced to an unintelligible string of vowels as one of the boys dragging him shoved a hand into his mouth. “Oughta tie a rock around his ankle, damn crybaby.” ”Heh, not a bad idea.” The ringleader at Azrayel’s back spoke.“How about it? You ready to die, trash?” The abyss of the Zeltivan bay rose to greet him as he was dragged right up to the edge of the pier. He twisted and yanked in every direction, feeling the grip on him only grow tighter in response. One boy each held one of his arms, and the oldest of the three, Zachary Cole, pushed at his back, and kept a hand in his mouth to muffle his cries. “C’mon, stop yer squirmin’. You’re gonna need that energy!” After he spoke, the other two began chuckling, as if on cue. Grabbing Azrayel by the back of the head, they dangled him just over the edge of the dock, forcing him to look straight down. Under the pale light of the moon, the waves gently lapping at the support pillars beneath them were an inkly black void, formless yet constantly changing shape. As he stared at it, he began to see dark faces and shadowy fingers reaching for him, beckoning him to come just ever so closer so they could drag him down into the nothingness. He felt the hold on him loosening, and didn’t even have time to yell before the ice-cold hands of the water knocked the wind from him. The last thing he saw was the faces of his attackers - wreathed in razor sharp smiles - before all was murky black and still. The salt burned his eyes and blurred his vision, and his hands scrambled out, grasping uselessly at the water around him as he felt himself sinking. Even as he pitched a fevered battle against the ocean around him, everything felt disturbingly still. He could hear nothing save for the heavy hammering of his own pulse. He felt his lungs beginning to burn with need, and instinctively, his legs began to kick in awkward downward arcs. It was enough to slow his sinking, but not stop it completely. With his hands, he felt the slime-coated wood of one of the pier's support beams, and grabbed tightly to it. The burning in his lungs was now a great fire; it was as if Laviku himself pushed against his chest from all sides with all his might. Desperately, he pushed himself up the support beam with his arms, kicking towards the faint shimmer of starlight above him. As the light grew brighter, so did the need in his chest. He gasped, as the by the time the air hit his face, he was in a blind panic. The air had never tasted so sweet, and he grabbed frantically to the pier to keep himself from going back under. He hadn’t drawn but two breaths when he heard the barbed voice of Zachary from above him. “Well, maybe he ain’t so useless after all. What’cha say, lads?” Both his cronies chuckled, and Azrayel had to wonder if they actually found Zachary funny or were masterful practitioners of the art of boot-licking. “Hehe, looks like he could use some help, donnit Zach?” “Sure does. “ Zachary leaned closer to the edge of the peer, staring Azrayel is the eye, his face still plastered with that same predatorial grin. “Lemme give you a hand there, pal.” As Azrayel grabbed at the lip of the pier, he found himself violently plunged back into the drink. He struggled against the urge to suck in his breath as the cold knocked the wind out of him yet again, saltwater flooding his nose and searing his eyes. He reached up, helplessly grabbing and pushing the hand on his head. He could hear the laughter of the three above him growing as he squirmed, pushing and tugging desperately in every direction, trying to find any weakness in the hold on him. The subtle weight of the waters seeped him limbs of their strength deceptively quick, and he felt a familiar pressure beginning to eat away at his lungs. Yet there was no way out. Every kick downwards was countered by the hand on his head. He latched onto it, clawing at Zachary’s wrist with increasingly feral need.

[Azrayel Kolasi]

An eerie stillness began to cover his thoughts. Everything's so dark down here. His arms, floating passively in front of him seemed distant and unfamiliar. The exact steps he had taken from his front door earlier today to arrive in this place were lost, meaningless. This was the place he was going to die. In some of the stories his father had read him as a child, the heroes would often have visions near death. Visions of great deeds they had performed before, or more commonly perhaps, a greater destiny they had not yet fulfilled. Yet no such visions came to young Azrayel. Everything was growing still, and the light seemed to drain away from the waters as he felt his lungs tightening in his chest. His heart stopped beating in his ears, and everything was growing silent. Except for the laughter. That insipid, hee-hawing, donkey-like chortling from above. A flock of repugnant vultures, circling above, roaring with approval as the life drained from the his body, that they might pick it clean afterwards. Zachary Cole. His father was a member of The Wave Guard, so he and his friends got to be jerks to everyone. It had always been that way. To be fair, anyone in Zeltiva was likely to treat some little urchin from East Street like refuse, but Zachary Cole took it to new extremes. He could still hear that laughter. He felt warmth rising up his in chest, a red wave of energy gripping at his body as he felt the colors of the world rushing back to him. Yet all he could hear was that laughter, dripping with pomposity. Using the hand on his head as an anchor, he pushed his body through the water and wrapped his legs around one of the support beams for the pier for leverage, before pulling as hard as he could on Zachary Cole’s wrist. A sharp scream abruptly cut their laughter off, and Azrayel kicked and paddled desperately as Zachary plunged in next to him. With the pressure on his head gone he burst from beneath the waves and immediately gasped as he felt oxygen flooding his body again. He had never felt anything so intoxicating before. He was too young to know what being drunk felt like, but he knew it couldn’t feel any better than the cool, nighttime Zeltivan air. His reverie was cut short by a quick jab to the jaw. “You mangey little scrote!” Azrayel shook the blow off, as another connected with his cheek. “You're gonna get messed up something bad now!” Zachary had grabbed a hold of Azrayel’s shoulders, and he was about to pull them both back under the water. His nerves still aflame with adrenaline, Azrayel quickly grabbed onto the pier, and used it as anchor from which to head-butt Zachary’s nose. “You petching idiot! You're dead!” Azrayel had already managed to weakly pull himself back onto the dock, coughing and spitting desperately as he crawled away from the water, only to finally collapse onto his hands and knees as he fought to reclaim his breath. Looking up, he could see that the two goons had helped Zachary out of the water, and he was already glaring at Azrayel with murderous intent in his eyes. No strength left. Azrayel pushed desperately against the wood beneath him, willing his body to stand, to run. He could hear the three boys approaching him slowly, with infuriating levels of nonchalance. “Well, lookie here.” It sounded as if Zachary could barely speak through his own panting. “Looks like the little vagrants all out of steam. Shame. I was hoping he’d fight back some more.”

[Azrayel Kolasi]

Their footsteps drew nearer still. Azrayel peered around under his sopping wet bangs, past several loose coils of rope and the encroaching feet of his attackers. The glint of something reflecting the moonlight caught his attention. “Real shame, Zach,” one of the ever so helpful cronies responded. “Want us to rough him up for ya?” Grab it slowly. Keep it behind, out of sight. Azrayel had a newfound appreciation for sailors with drinking problems as he moved to stand, and used this motion as a cover to grasp deftly at the neck of the bottle, which he held just behind him at the small of his back as Zachary approached. “No thanks, boys. I’m gonna take this little hoodlum apart myself.” Azrayel felt a smirk coming on, despite the situation. We’ll see if you still feel so superior with a bottle in your head. Zachary stopped, his face curling into a snarl.“Is that a smile I see on your face, you little petch-head?” He didn’t wait very long for an answer. “Well I’ll give you somethin’ to smile about!” With a lunging, awkward step forward he caught Azrayel across the cheek. His head whipped back and he stumbled down the pier. It shocked him. The two punches earlier in the water hadn’t hurt at all, but now he was seeing stars. Zachary had been quick to capitalize as he grabbed Azrayel’s wrist, winding up to hit him again. He pivoted at the waist, and the blow glanced over his head. He felt Zachary yank on his wrist, and pull him forward, trying to throw him off balance for another hit. As he came forward, he brought the bottle across Zachary’s jaw. A sickeningly dull thud resonated across the docks as Azrayel came back down with the bottle and caught him on the temple with it. He stumbled and buckled, blood running down his head. One step forward to capitalize, and Azrayel’s knee knocked the wind from the older boy, burying into his guts. “Zach!” The cronies realized their boss was in trouble far too late. Their eyes widened with horror as Zachary fell, broken glass showering down all around him as he hit the dock, blood running down his face. Azrayel looked down at the broken bottle in his hand as if it weren’t really there. He could still feel the warm spray of the older child's blood on his face as the last strike had connected. The two other children were panicking now, shaking Zachary and yelling at each other. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. They were too far away. The implications of what they were talking about, the accusations they were throwing at Azrayel in harsh voices, were incoherent. Azrayel felt the remnants of the bottle fall limply from his hand, scattering across the pier. Zachary was just laying there, silently, bleeding all over the place. He had dragged Azrayel kicking and screaming through the streets. He had tried to drown him. Now he was just laying there.

[Azrayel Kolasi]

Azrayel felt reality come back, realizing the other two boys had stood up and were sprinting madly at him. The first swing was sloppy, and even as tired as Azrayel was, he slipped it to the left - only to be caught by another equally wide swing from the other on his right. Pier’s too narrow… Can’t avoid them both. “Your gonna pay! You hear me?!” The voice struggled through tears as another quick jab narrowly missed Azrayel’s head. He grimaced, raising his arms to guard his head and bobbing to the side as several more fists drove him back further down the pier. Sorting out what just happened became a secondary priority as self-preservation instincts began to kick in again. Slipping a punch, Azrayel delivered a hook into one of his attacker's jaws, narrowly stumbling out of the range of the other attacker as he swung. His attackers hit hard enough, and were a lot bigger than Azrayel, but their swings were wide and clumsy. He lets out another hook, catching Azrayel straight in the jaw. His vision blurs slightly and he feels his body growing heavier. Have to get away! He drives forward, retaliating with the point of his elbow. It digs into the boy’s gut and he collapses on the pier, wheezing for air. An opening! With one attacker on the ground and the other trying to catch his breath, Azrayel lurched forward, winding around them to make his escape, until he felt hands locking around his ankle like a chain. He looked down; the bully he had knocked down first was holding his leg in a vice. “Get offa me!” Azrayel squirmed, kicking helplessly against the others hold. The world exploded hues of yellow and red static as the other kid, having caught his breath, delivered an axe-handle to the back of Azrayel’s head. The grasp on his ankle lessened and he stumbled back, reflexively raising his arms to guard his head. Another shot caught him in the stomach, and he wheezed, nearly collapsing as the world around him tumbled and rolled. Need to leave, now! He stumbled backwards, the world still fuzzy after the last blow, narrowly avoiding a giant uppercut. He tripped and fell, hitting the ground on his back but neatly rolling into a crouch. They were already running forward to close what little gap had formed, but it was enough time. He held a moment, then dove forward, right between one of the childrens legs as they charged him. “What the hell-” They both spun after him. He could feel their hands grabbing at his back and ankles, like shadows chasing you from beneath your bed frame. He rolled onto his back and raised his feet straight up, delivering a donkey-kick straight into one their faces, who collapsed promptly, letting out a muffled sob. The other collapsed on top of him, weakly pounding on his head and covering him with snot and tears as he screamed. “Murderer! Bastard! You’ll pay! You’ll-!” Azrayel grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down with one hand, and with the other caught him across the face with his fist. He then bucked and rolled, kid flailing and collapsing to the side as Azrayel scrambled out from under him and to his feet. The bully reached out to try and grab his ankles again, but Azrayel had pulled himself into a sprint as he stood, and hopped cleanly over Zachary’s body as he took off up the docks. And then he ran.

[Azrayel Kolasi]

He ran till his heart pounded in his ears like a wardrum, and pumped his veins full of boiling water. After the ordeal in the bay, his lungs burned and his legs buckled and nearly faltered with each haphazard stumble forward, and the mostly empty avenues of East Street passed him in a formless blur. He didn’t look back, he didn’t need too. What was following him was already on his heels. It clung to his clothes; it flooded his nostrils and left a metallic, bloody taste in his mouth. It made his stomach churn and contort, until with a he caught himself against the wall of an alleyway. Even though he had stopped moving, the world lurched and pulled him forward, and the ground rushed up to meet him. He collapsed against the cobblestone, sobbing softly. Did I just murder somebody? He had known Zach most of his life. As a resident of the Old Quarter, his house was just close enough to the Ancient Quarter that he had his nose up whenever Azrayel was around. Hell, this wasn’t even the first time they’d come to blows before. But then I killed him. His blood felt like ice water, as if frost was clinging to his very bones. What if father found out? What if Zachary’s father found out? The boy choked back a breath, forcing himself back to his feet, wobbling and nearly falling again in the process. Bracing himself on the wall of the building, he slowly made his way back to the street, peering cautiously out of the alley before stepping out. Murderer. The word echoed in Azrayel's mind in the sob-strained voices of Zachary's cohorts. Murderer. It reflected in the eyes of his mother and father, staring at him as if he were a stranger. It was on the lips of every stranger he saw in the streets, written on every tavern and roadsign. Murderer. As Zeltiva very seldom ever truly slept, especially in East Street, the number of people out and about was disconcerting. Though most folk kept to themselves, especially this late out, being seen or heard was more than he could bare. He moved as quietly as he could ( for the first time in his life grateful for being smaller than most boys his age) through darkened alcoves and shadowy alleyways, wincing at each leaf that crackled beneath his feet, nearly jumping as a glancing swipe from one of his boots sent a bottle crashing down a small flight of steps. At last, he was home. The windows were dark, and Azrayel knew that mother and father already must have given up waiting for him and gone to bed. This hadn’t been the first night that Azrayel had stayed out late, and although his parents were certainly never thrilled about it, Azrayel had always been highly independent and his father had begrudgingly began to trust him. And then I went out and killed a kid… He slid slowly along the back wall of the house. His mother and father’s room was across the hall from his own, and he’d have to walk right by their door to get to his own. Still have blood on my clothes. Can’t risk them waking up. He took each step carefully, making sure his footfalls were light as he approached his open bedroom window. It had been fairly difficult to get in the first time he had snuck home; as a smaller child, the five feet from the ground to the window had been an vast chasm. He hadn’t grown much since then, but necessity presented a solution. The wall of his home was too smooth to climb, but not so for the house next to his. With a grunt, grabbed to the uneven portions of his neighbor's wall, pulling himself up. He trembled with effort, his body still worn from the night's ordeal, but his window was close. He twisted his head so he could get a good look at the jump. Just about two feet. If his arms were just a bit longer he could nearly just grab onto it. His arms were still burning, and he could feel his boots beginning to slip. Now or never. With a final push, he was off. His boot slipped as he jumped, and he let out a yelp as his window pane violently slammed into his guts, knocking the wind from him. His hands had lashed out and grabbed to window before he fell. His teeth clenched and his eyes burned as he pulled with everything he had left. Almost over… Almost in bed… He let out a long groan that was louder than he intended, and pulled himself up and through the window. With several wandering staggers, he found the edge of his bed, and pulled himself under his blanket. His body and clothes still carried the freshly brined aroma of the Zeltivan Bay, and after the last few hours the softness of his bed almost seemed decadent. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. He would get no sleep tonight. And tomorrow was going to be a brand new hell.

[Keene Ward]

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