Origins of Blood Chapter 10: Chapter 9: Drowning in Death

Read chapter 10 of Origins of Blood by Bloody_Potato on NovelPedia.

Elliot’s POV—Red Blood “Light in utter darkness is the grief that burns your soul until nothing remains.” “Lio?” my brother said with sparkling eyes as we snuck out of the orphanage to watch the New Year at a waterfront. “Once I’m grown, I’ll make us rich.” I tousled his already unruly hair and laughed. “You don’t believe me?” “ Sure , I do …” I followed his gaze into the night, where hundreds of stars exploded—thousands more to come. Back then, he was thirteen, turning fourteen, and I’d soon be able to get us out of that hole. Now—as stars pierce me with mocking laughs—I face the hollow eyes of my once sparkling brother. More stars follow; more colors burst; more bullets pierce everything I claim is mine. “Boss,” says the bald creature coming downstairs. “‘nen frischen Fang von der Straße.” It hurls the man at the other two creatures, which fired at me just seconds ago—one still digs its thumb into my shoulder. I groan. The rough language leaves my ears, and the faceshifter turns, hiding itself in cold shadows. My fading breath ignites like a spark turning to flame, while I bleed through three or six holes, maybe more; I can’t know for sure with the world spinning, and my entire body thrown into the bowels of hell. I feel the pulse in my toes. My upper arms burn—no, blaze as does the rest of my body. My body is on fire … but without pain, as if I’m iron. I feel the bullets push out from my wound, through blood; flesh burns to close. My heart races with sour saliva drowning my mouth, and I puke everything upside down. Puzzled, I glance at my palms, brush over my bloodied shoulder, and feel no hole anymore. “Er spricht unsere Sprache, Boss.” “Ein Deutscher?” The bald figure nods, steps behind the man, and grabs his hazelnut hair. The man—wounded as severely as I—however, rises, elbows the bald creature into its abdomen, disarms the monster, and fires into its bald head. There is silence—a scream—another shot, but it bounces off my brother , as if its skin were metal. The brown-haired fires three times as many shots, with one bullet bouncing off and hitting his own stomach. “Dreckiger Bastard—” His voice, the same tongue as that of the torturing monsters, falters—his body follows. My vision dims, and the faceshifting monster hunches forward, pouring blood over the man’s stomach and mouth. I keel over. —break— “Geht’s dir gut?” Something shakes my shoulders. “Hey?” My fingers fidget, and something glides over my arms and chest, then pats my cheek. “Steh auf—” I clench my hands into fists and slap the creature on top of me. My eyes snap open. “Alter!” I face it— him , the hazel-haired man, and drop my fists, breathing shallowly. Cold sweat itches on my nose. “What?” I rub my face with aching fingers. “Huh? Oh … eh …” eyes the color of his hair meet mine. “… Deutsch … German?” “No.” “Eh … English?” I nod; he frowns. “Ehm … American, or Briti—” “American,” I plump backward, bareback, hitting the cold wall. There is a silence neither of us breaks for what seems to be minutes. I break it, however, and massage my temples. “You can speak their tongue?” “… their what?” “Language. I mean, can you talk … communicate … with those creatures?” “Dreckige Bastarde,” he curses, nods, then touches his stomach, and switches back to English. “How am I … not dead?” “Must be their blood.” I stand up, clench my fists, and face my purple, curved fore and ring fingers. I sigh and wipe away a tear that never leaves me; my brother pops into my mind. “You got a plan to get out?” he says, voice rough and choppy. I shake my head; we aren’t even in chains, and yet we can’t escape because of the unbreakable door upstairs. With bare feet, I walk over the greasy floor and ignore the man’s naked frame as he stretches out his hand. “Name is Gene.” I swallow, look over his shoulder at some blue shimmering mold, and shake it. “E—” The door opens, and light fills the dimly lit room. Both of us stare at the creature, which holds a revolver as awkwardly as its