her as she suffers.
~ Chapter Twelve ~
The only feeling that Axelle has is pain. There is no shock or sadness that these are her last few seconds in existence. All she feels is the agony of hell fire tearing across her body.
She knows she isn’t really burning; it all has to be in her mind. The heat is imaginary. She clings to that as she continues to scream to Luc to help her, but there is no sound coming out of her mouth. She stares down into his bright blue eyes, that are wide with shock and she sees his helplessness. As she thrashes on the ceiling, trying to get away from the flames, she holds her hand out to him. She stretches as far as she is able to reach him and the last thing she sees before her eyes are burnt out of her head is his hand reaching up for her.
It’s not really happening . It’s not really happening . It is all an illusion to break her. She has figured this out somehow. Her eyes are gone, her hair has been singed off her head, her lips have cracked and fallen off, her clothes are melting into her skin and she can feel it all. But somehow, she knows it isn’t real. Her rationale for this is that she would be completely useless to Luc as a burnt out corpse, there would be nothing left to go into phase four if this was real. So she clings onto that. It’s not really happening .
She has to fight it. She has to find the strength in her to push back the flames. They are starting to lick at her essence now through the gaping holes in her skull. Worming their way inside her, burning her lungs so that she cannot take another breath. She lets out a “whoosh” sound and then grits her teeth. They are still intact, but her tongue has flaked into ash at the bottom of her mouth.
Axelle has never cherished anything in her couple of centuries of being. She has coveted things, of course, like power and strength, but she has never really felt the need to keep something because she liked it. She knows she is dying now. She cannot fight the fire and as her life flashes before her mind’s eye she sees Slade, the slave that she enjoyed tormenting until he broke. She sees Lacey, the woman whose body she occupied on earth to go about her havoc-wreaking. She sees Evan, the cute Reaper who seems to care about her. But none of those things are enough for her to grab onto.
That is until Luc flashes before her. Not in his handsome, suave, human form, but the version of himself that she saw when he molded the bronze to her wrist. The creature from the bowels of hell that had at once terrified her and made her nearly cream herself for him.
He is the Devil. Her lord and master. A creature that, through no other reason except that he created her demonic essence, she owes her loyalty to.
And he needs her. He picked her out of all the others to do this task for him and she blindly accepted it because she knows it is important. She told herself she wouldn’t let him down and yet here she is giving in to this illusion. Ready to die.
She fixes her mind onto him. Both versions of him and she grinds her teeth even further down. She will fight this.
Axelle feels the flames recede from inside her form, leaving her essence to flicker and heal. She feels her tongue in her mouth again and she blinks her reformed eyes to see Luc still standing beneath her, worry etched into his features and his hand still outstretched to take hers.
It’s all the encouragement Axelle needs. He wants to save her and even if it is just because of what she is supposed to give him, it is enough that he just wants to. She peels her arms off the ceiling, the muscles in her arms screaming with the effort. She pushes back the flames with the strength of her mind and soon it is a simple ring of fire circled around her. She stretches her arms out to the sides and touches the ring, clasping it in her hands she pulls away from the ceiling and she floats down to the plush carpet, landing silently in the center of the circle on her feet,
~ Chapter Twelve ~
The only feeling that Axelle has is pain. There is no shock or sadness that these are her last few seconds in existence. All she feels is the agony of hell fire tearing across her body.
She knows she isn’t really burning; it all has to be in her mind. The heat is imaginary. She clings to that as she continues to scream to Luc to help her, but there is no sound coming out of her mouth. She stares down into his bright blue eyes, that are wide with shock and she sees his helplessness. As she thrashes on the ceiling, trying to get away from the flames, she holds her hand out to him. She stretches as far as she is able to reach him and the last thing she sees before her eyes are burnt out of her head is his hand reaching up for her.
It’s not really happening . It’s not really happening . It is all an illusion to break her. She has figured this out somehow. Her eyes are gone, her hair has been singed off her head, her lips have cracked and fallen off, her clothes are melting into her skin and she can feel it all. But somehow, she knows it isn’t real. Her rationale for this is that she would be completely useless to Luc as a burnt out corpse, there would be nothing left to go into phase four if this was real. So she clings onto that. It’s not really happening .
She has to fight it. She has to find the strength in her to push back the flames. They are starting to lick at her essence now through the gaping holes in her skull. Worming their way inside her, burning her lungs so that she cannot take another breath. She lets out a “whoosh” sound and then grits her teeth. They are still intact, but her tongue has flaked into ash at the bottom of her mouth.
Axelle has never cherished anything in her couple of centuries of being. She has coveted things, of course, like power and strength, but she has never really felt the need to keep something because she liked it. She knows she is dying now. She cannot fight the fire and as her life flashes before her mind’s eye she sees Slade, the slave that she enjoyed tormenting until he broke. She sees Lacey, the woman whose body she occupied on earth to go about her havoc-wreaking. She sees Evan, the cute Reaper who seems to care about her. But none of those things are enough for her to grab onto.
That is until Luc flashes before her. Not in his handsome, suave, human form, but the version of himself that she saw when he molded the bronze to her wrist. The creature from the bowels of hell that had at once terrified her and made her nearly cream herself for him.
He is the Devil. Her lord and master. A creature that, through no other reason except that he created her demonic essence, she owes her loyalty to.
And he needs her. He picked her out of all the others to do this task for him and she blindly accepted it because she knows it is important. She told herself she wouldn’t let him down and yet here she is giving in to this illusion. Ready to die.
She fixes her mind onto him. Both versions of him and she grinds her teeth even further down. She will fight this.
Axelle feels the flames recede from inside her form, leaving her essence to flicker and heal. She feels her tongue in her mouth again and she blinks her reformed eyes to see Luc still standing beneath her, worry etched into his features and his hand still outstretched to take hers.
It’s all the encouragement Axelle needs. He wants to save her and even if it is just because of what she is supposed to give him, it is enough that he just wants to. She peels her arms off the ceiling, the muscles in her arms screaming with the effort. She pushes back the flames with the strength of her mind and soon it is a simple ring of fire circled around her. She stretches her arms out to the sides and touches the ring, clasping it in her hands she pulls away from the ceiling and she floats down to the plush carpet, landing silently in the center of the circle on her feet,
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