Story of my Life

A/N: This first chapter is fairly tame... indeed, so far, most of it is (I have about 1/3 of it written, 6650+ words so far) but then, this is a story, not PWP (unusual for me). Some of the ratings don't apply yet, and I may add others later as the story progresses. Also, if anyone would like to beta this for me, I would be very grateful. :) Hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter One- 'Angelface'

This war was not my war, but still I found myself swept up in it. Well, swept away by it, really. Did you ever picture angels as violent, vengeful creatures? Those of you who've read your scriptures won't be surprised, but I was, when I found my blood boiling and my mind itching to kill our foe. It was always 'our' foe, never just theirs, our leaders'. I'm still not sure why I was so passionate about killing the enemy, but even now I still feel the urge sometimes, though my mistress has been relatively kind to me. Perhaps therein lies the problem; even now, I am still not sure why she has kept me alive all these years. She has told me often enough it was touch-and-go the first few weeks. I can still remember when she 'saved' me.
The dungeon was freezing, almost colder than I could stand, and the torches flickering in brackets on the walls did nothing to help my concentration. There was a fireplace in the corner, but it's warmth didn't even touch my face. I was bound, and hurt badly, but I knew it was far from over. I was quite literally an angel in a den of demons. Worse, I was their prisoner, and as an angel who had fought against their armies and slaughtered thousands of their kind while they watched, their mortal enemy. They would draw out my death as long as possible.
I sat across from my demonic tormentor, my head lolling back on my shoulder slightly as I struggled to stay concious, and the bastard grinned and pulled a burning poker from the fireplace. Of course I struggled, but succeeded only in falling to the floor, so I closed my eyes and grit my teeth against the pain I knew was coming. I could feel it almost on my cheek before it was flicked away and I heard voices raised above me. I felt myself start to shake before I lost conciousness, prepared to meet the Source.
Surprisingly, I not only woke up, but I awoke comfortable yet still in pain on a low stretcher bed. That was surely a sign I was alive. I was in a strange room, too, which was decorated in a distinctly demonic way.
There were intricate knotwork designs on the wall and subtly on most of the furniture, knotwork which gave the impression of crudeness and spikes until observed more closely, and the décor was distinctly shadow-coloured. Almost everything was dark shades of blue, silver or red- immitating the blood demons' natural habitat, I assumed, though I had never been to Xoudinn or even Khadar so I could not say for sure. The ceiling was raftered and high but gave no feeling of freedom, and, as in the dungeon, the fire flickering in the fireplace exuded no warmth. I noticed now it was a strange green where it should have been orange.
Between myself and the fire was an iron framed bed with high sides, which at first I thought was four-poster but then I realised the occupant of the room had merely draped strips of material over the rafters. The covers, bundled in a mound near the head, were nowhere near as clean or tidy as I would have immagined from such a high-ranking officer, as it must be to warrant such luxury and privacy. Then again, they were demons.
There was a dark wooden desk with no papers on it, only a feathered quill and engraved silver inkwell. A writing chair of the same wood as the desk stood behind it, and a tall armchair with silver inlay on the engraving sat next to a small circular table. Bookshelves full of scrolls, books, wooden boxes and what I hoped were herbs and crafting ingredients in jars lined the walls, adding to my sense of claustrophobia.
I tried to sit up and found myself attatched to the wall by a chain linked through a cuff on my less injured arm, though they both hurt like they'd been wrenched out of their sockets. Still a prisoner too, then. There was someone asleep in the bed, I realised- I could hear them breathing- but from my almost ground-level view I couldn't see them. I tried to work up the strength to raise my body until the breaths became shallower and the sleeper awoke. I froze and closed my eyes, my whole body quivering.
I had been tortured for several days, I knew, because there was an hourglass the same height as a man used to measure the time between dusk and dawn in the dungeons. My tormentor had made sure to mark his baccy breaks carefully on the glass, and I had watched it almost constantly, trying to will the time to pass quicker. I'll admit, I had a brief flash of hope that it was over when I woke up, but then I remembered they were demons. Nightkind.
I think I nearly stopped breathing when I realised whoever was in the bed had moved silently to stand in front of me. I felt sharp fingers in my hair and was dragged upright, my eyes flying open to meet the demon's triumphant gaze. Their eyes are the only thing about them that rattles me. I tried not to show any fear, but I had been sleep deprived, tortured, and watched my comrades killed the same way before me. He had left me til last because of my skin. I could tell this demon was admiring it too. This far north, everyone is paler than a ghost, but I am originally from southern Zamiir. My Calling lead me to Tahlreth.
“Name,” snarled the demon, her fangs far too close for my comfort.
“Kralti,” I replied quickly, realising even as I did it that it was both stupid and unlikely to spare me pain. The demon blinked, clearly surprised, then relaxed her grip on my hair slightly. I nearly toppled to the ground, but I felt her arms grip around my chest and I barely had time to get over the shock of her touch- cold and not entirely there, yet still strong- before I found myself sitting on her bed as she poured me water from a jug by the bed. I was too thirsty to be suspicious, and she took the glass from me sliently as I waited for my stomach to settle. Clearly gulping it down had been I bad idea.
“How do you feel?” she asked, her eyes carefully trained on my face. “Do not vomit on my bed.”
“I'll live,” I replied, my voice scratchy. She smiled.
“Good. You are a lucky one, lightbringer, though you may not realise it. I am willing to make a deal with you. If you are as honest and worthy as you so clearly think you are, you may live beyond our deal.”
I shook my head. “If I am to die anyway, why should I do anything for you?”
“At least hear my offer. Then reject it, if you find it unappealing.”
I stayed silent, and she continued.
“I am Empress Nyraz Korara the First of Khaldarish, and I go by many other aliases and titles, though that and my birth name- Nu'yr Amatae of Arkenea Tahlrethal- are all that are important right now. I was brought into this world against both my mother's will and everything that is sacred and right, as nothing more than an experiment, something for someone to prove viable and safe, though I think my subsequent actions have convinced them to stop playing with nature... I was supposed to be their Saviour, and instead I became their Destroyer. I slew a thousand of their number with one simple command, and I am about to kill you, one of the last remaining Lightbringer soldiers to speak of, and yet still I find myself bitter, and hateful, and morbid over that one act of stupidity.
“That is slightly off the subject, however. To you, I am simply the right-hand woman of the Lord of the army that defeated yours. There is pressure,” here her voice grew hard, “at court, and in society, for me to take some share of the victory spoils. Demons have a tradition of giving slaves, one which I cannot entirely agree with, but must uphold nonetheless. I am a unique womyn, so I would like a unique slave. But looks are not enough. I have to know you, or at least about you, to know you are unique. Otherwise I shall seem a hypocrite, as that has always been my reason for not accepting slaves in the past. But, when my Lord offers a gift, it cannot be refused...
“So, plain and simple, the deal is; your life's story in exchange for your life. A life of slavery, it's true, but life nonetheless. Your real life's story, mind.”
I sat for a moment, unable to understand what was going on. Slowly it all fit into place, and I looked at her with renewed fear. Necromancy is a powerful art, and one which I knew Lord Balberith's magister- for that is what she was, and who- was very adept. She raised bodies as fast as we could kill them, adding our own fallen to her ranks. If she knew my life, it would be easy to know my soul, and then an eternity of pain and servitude might await me.
“I will not lead you to my family, my friends...” was what I replied, as it was true as well.
“Favours earn favours, angelface. I am not without mercy. Lives spared where they would have been slaughtered is easily arranged,” she countered, and I hesitated again. She sighed, her eyes frustrated yet- fortunately- still amused, then stood and walked to the door.
“I will leave you to rest and think on it. Someone will be along with food and clean clothing and such shortly,” she informed me over her shoulder, disappearing with a swish of her velvet train.
After not long, a human girl with a slave's collar and mouth mask arrived with the promised comforts, as well as a pot of hot water on wheels so I could enjoy a warm scented bath. I intended to stay awake until the Empress had gone to sleep, but my eyes closed the second I fell on my cot.
I woke up as the Sun was setting again, and the Empress sitting calmly on the foot of her bed, weaving what looked like a charm of protection. I lay still, watching, not sure whether or not to interrupt. When the charm was finished, a small white dove flew to her hand unbidden as she wrapped the beads and feathers containing the magick in silk, then in stained brown paper. After a moment's hushed instructions to the dove, she released it into the dusk and watched it fly away before turning to me. I flinched slightly, still not accustomed to her prescence. If anything the food and bath had sharpened my fear of her, and my mental state, so that what before had seemed a shadow of a shadow of evil now seeped from her every pore. I lay still and trembling as she gently touched my face, then my neck.
“It does not feel as I expected...” she murmurred, almost to herself. I assumed she meant my skin. “It's almost softer than pale... weaker..?” Her talon suddenly ripped through the skin over my collarbone, causing me to cry out in pain. I huddled closer to the wall, cursing myself for not accepting her deal straight away; then I pulled myself together and tried to gather my faith, and met her eye almost without wavering. Her lips twitched, her eyes moving slowly between my face and the blood pooling at my neck.
“Where is your one god now?” she muttered, moving back on the cot. I continued to stare insolently, hoping it would not cost me my life.
“Alright then, enough games. Have you thought on our deal?” she asked, her eyes regaining the cold, disconnected quality she exuded. I considered remaining silent, then thought of my teachings. Be open and honest with all you encounter, even the sly and dishonest, lest you taint yourself to their degree. As I felt it likely I would soon meet the Source, I deemed it unwise to disregard the guidance.
“I have, and I would like to accept- but on one condition,” I answered, trying not to seem nervous. She merely raised one eyebrow, then nodded, which I assumed meant 'continue'. “I will tell you my life story, after you have told me yours.” I looked her square in the eye when I said this, hoping for a reaction, and was not disappointed. For a demon, her mannerisms were remarkably human. She was very self-controlled, though- another distinctly strange trait. Most demons would not take an angel, no matter how unique, into their quarters and allow them to live another hour, let alone a full day. Especially not a blood demon. Nor allow them to speak like that directly to them.
Luckily, she still seemed more amused than frustrated, but for a moment I thought she would refuse and kill me nonetheless. Demons are renowned for their mood swings and eye-of-the-storm destruction. Blood demons especially, and when their prey is terrified like I was, it's been said they can barely control themselves.
She stood and walked slowly to the armchair, her expression unreadable.
“It will do you no good. The only purpose it will serve is to nurture the contempt and disgust I'm sure you already feel towards me,” she murmurred after a time, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. I could almost swear she felt pity for me, a reluctance akin to the feeling a mother has when watching her child head blindly for a loss of a portion of their innocence. I wavered briefly, unsure, but it was the only plan I had, such as it was, to prolong my time of semi-freedom.
“Nonetheless, it is a fair exchange,” I persisted. She smiled without mirth at that.
“You Lightkind and your 'fairness', your 'justice'...” She sat for a good five minutes while I waited with baited breath. My situation, even without provoking her, was unstable enough. I could still feel twinges from where I had been tortured. “Very well, angelface. If you are sure that is your wish, I will tell you of my story, though I doubt you will be satisfied with the tale. Draw up that chair, and I will weave the strands of my life together as best I can.”
I pulled the chair from the desk and settled myself warily across from her, still shocked at how well my bartering had gone.