The Angel, The Demon, both locked in their never-ending struggle, each vying to bring about a new world with the other’s blood. Truly there could never be a more glorious battle. Or at least, that’s what her Master would say.
To the Girl With the Dead Eyes, who perched in the rafters of the church watching the battle below, this was all a means to an end. She had no idea just what sort of personal history her Master and the Inquisitor had, but despite what may have occurred between them in the past, her Master, a truly frivolous fool, seriously believed he was the star of his own personal epic, and was battling as such. She however, was not so delusional. There was no glory here, no sense of honor or pride, and certainly no reason to fight the Inquisitor other than the fact that he was the next step in her evolution.
The plan was simple, her Master distracted the Inquisitor long enough to provide an opening, then she would leap down to attack. Her Master would capitalize on the distraction, and the fight would be over. However, knowing the Inquisitor, he would see the attack coming in time to counter swiftly, leaving no such opening. Which was why they had sired another of their kind to go first.
She turned her gaze to the whelp beside her. He was watching the fight intently, still adjusting to the capabilities of his new body. The boy was barely sixteen in his old life, barely a week old in his new one. Tricking him with promises of understanding and belonging, playing upon his depression, it had been easy to lure him to their side willingly. He would attack first, no doubt being obliterated by the vastly more powerful and experienced Inquisitor, but his death and her attack would create the necessary distraction.
At least, that was her Master’s plan.
The battle waged for a few more moments, both figures blurs of claws and fangs before she saw it. Her Master fell back, just a fraction of a foot, and hesitated, for just the tiniest part of a second, and the Inquisitor, for the briefest of moments, was off balance. The signal to attack.
“Go now!” She hissed at the boy, who leapt from the rafters immediately, claws and fangs aimed at the Angel. A good little soldier. She leapt immediately after him.
As expected, the Inquisitor turned and saw the attack coming. A smirk crossed his face as he raised his hand to the sky. The heavens growled and obeyed his command, the storm seemingly eager to join the battle, and lashed out with a blast of lightening, smashing though the old roof and slamming the whelp in the chest; burning his body to ash before it hit the floor. It didn’t matter. With the Inquisitor distracted, the Girl With the Dead Eyes found her target, and her fangs plunged deep into his neck.
In her arms, her Master’s body jerked, his blood now flowing freely into her mouth as she drank him dry. This, she had learned, would give her the strength she needed. All the power of her Master, all the power of her kind, resided in the blood, their life force. Now she would add his strength to her own. She continued to drink even as his body started to wither and decay, even as he looked upon his childe with unparalleled fury in his eyes. She would consume more than just his life force, or his power. She would not stop until she had drank his very soul. Finally, when there was nothing left, when the mighty demon that was once her Master had turned to dust in her arms, she turned to face the Inquisitor.
She had made sure to save room. After all, the main course was yet to come.
Waiting until the demon hunter, the divine Angle of retribution, had shaken off the disgust that had overwhelmed him at the cannibalistic display of treachery, she launched her attack, taking her Master’s place in the battle between Angels and Demons, her claws and fangs clashing with the Inquisitor.
She had wondered why her Master had stayed her attack the first time they saw the Inquisitor destroy her childe in an alley outside a ratty nightclub. Now she knew. The Angel was a terrifying force to confront. His power was immense, his attacks nearly impossible to predict. The storm itself seemed to be an extension of his will, lightning striking anywhere she dared stay for more than a few seconds, the rain pelting against her skin through the holes the lightning made, yet never touching its master. Had she confronted him before, she would have been destroyed in an instant.
Yet as powerful as the Angel was, his strength was fading, while hers was overflowing. He had never been pushed like this. A ferocious slash of her claws, and she caught the Angel across his chest. For the first time since before the flood, an Inquisitor was wounded.
The Inquisitor recoiled in pain, his hand coming to his chest. Today, in this battle, he was outmatched, for the first time in his long existence. Had she been at her normal level, he could have destroyed her as easily as he did the annoyance earlier. But now, after fighting with her Master, and her transformation into this new state, his strength was no longer enough. Perhaps if he had time to rest, then maybe - but now - now she would transform again, and this time, the outcome would be far more terrifying.
She pressed her attack with all her strength, determined to bring the Inquisitor down. Despite his wounds, he was still doing an admirable job of dodging and countering, but she could tell this battle nearing its conclusion. She dodged to the side and, catching his wrist, pulled the Angel towards her. No longer possessing the strength to match her, the Inquisitor was yanked forward into the fangs of the Demon, which sank into his neck and caused his blood to flow into her eager mouth.
This was it, this was the end.
His blood was unlike any other, and the Girl With the Dead Eyes reveled in it. She drank deeply of the blood of Angels, letting it fill her very being, letting it consume her with its warmth. All the power of the Inquisitor, the only thing to hunt her kind, and now it would be hers. The Final Nightmare would be born.
She let the body drop from her arms only when there was not a drop left and wiped her mouth, allowing herself a brief grin in triumph. Outside the storm intensified, and the heavens wept openly at the death of one of their own. The thunder crashed with rage, the wind howled with anger, and the lightening struck the ground, trying to strike the abomination from the earth. From within her, darkness pooled, welling up inside of her until it could no longer be contained. The transformation had begun. Her body, now unnecessary, exploded outwards as the overwhelming darkness took her soul and clung to it, manifesting itself as a new, sentient entity.
The darkness, like a black fluid, shaped itself to take the form of her previous shell. This new body took a step forward, then another, an extension of darkness, of death. Tendrils of pure unshaped evil extended from its shape and writhed at the air around it. Where it stood, darkness fell like dripping water and pooled at its feet, surrounding it in a milky circle, ever growing.
At last, when the transformation was complete, she opened her eyes; the only aspect of her that had remained unchanged, and turned her gaze to the world, seeing for the first time.
The Final Nightmare had been born, and it had been born from the Girl With the Dead Eyes.
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