Free Rebellion by J. D. Netto Page A

see Devin walk out from one of the doors behind the throne.
    “Devin,” I shouted, relieved to see him. “You are well.”
    Nylora marched in his direction; the sound of her heels clicking against the floor reverberated.
    “Well, what do we have here? If only you had been the one to have awakened us from our sleep.” Her voice was like an entrancing melody. She extended her hand in an attempt to touch Devin’s face, but he recoiled.
    “Awoken you from your sleep?” Devin asked. With sword in hand, he paced around the room, his eyes focused on the blood-drinkers.
    “Where is Demyon?” Bartholomew grew impatient. He rubbed his fingers against his forehead. “We must speak to him.”
    “What business do you have with him?” Devin pointed the tip of his sword toward Bartholomew.
    “Our business is our own, Nephilin,” Dahmian said. “Must we kill all the inhabitants of this kingdom in order to see its king?”
    “You and the other Nephilin…Nephele…you are both very stubborn.” Bartholomew said, giving Devin a half-hearted smile. “There are ten of us here in Bellator. I wish I could tell you where the others are.”
    “What business do you want with me, Bartholomew?”
    Bartholomew’s jaw opened and he intertwined both of his hands.
    “Oh my,” he said with a smile. “The king walks out of his chamber.” He spread out his arms, bowing his head in mockery.
    “All my life, I thought the tales of the blood-drinkers were legend. It is repugnant to see what you and your people have become,” King Demyon said.
    “My people?” Bartholomew raised his right eyebrow. “Always so quick to judge, Demyon. Always so willing to pass judgment without knowing the truth.” Bartholomew rushed his way toward him.
    “How far have you fallen?” King Demyon looked at him in disgust.
    “Hopefully, I have fallen so deep into the darkness that no one will dare try to bring me back to the light.” He bent his neck to the left, cracking his bones.
    “May I go fetch the others?” Dahmian asked.
    “Yes. I want them all here.” He furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes at King Demyon.
    Dahmian paced his way out of the throne room, humming the same haunting melody from before. Bartholomew clicked his tongue repeatedly; his eyes focused on King Demyon.
    “I know they are here, Demyon.” Bartholomew crossed his arms. “You know of whom I speak.”
    King Demyon observed Nylora as she walked to his right.
    “Will you tell us where they are?” she asked as she grabbed the nape of his neck, licking away the blood that had dried on her lips. “I do not think it is necessary to say what will happen if you do not.”
    “Do not think we will allow you to wound him.” Devin stooped his body forward as he used both of his hands to grasp the handle of his sword.
    Bartholomew let out a snide laugh. “Let’s see what the great Nephilin is capable of.” He grasped King Demyon’s arm. “Try to stop me.” His teeth sank beneath Demyon’s skin.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw Devin’s garments ripping like a veil, his dark feathered wings springing from his body. My wings slithered underneath my skin, ripping their way out of me in an instant. Like a torrential river, anger rushed through my veins. I did not hesitate. I tightened my hand into a fist and struck Nylora’s jaw.
    Her right hand tightened around the nape of my neck. My nerves twitched beneath her grasp. As the blade of my sword penetrated Nylora’s side, a throbbing pain took my head.
    My surroundings were as black as the night. I saw no one else but a grotesque monster ahead of me. Instead of its skin, a clear substance covered its frail-looking body. Its once vivacious blond curls were now lifeless. Despite the gruesome appearance, I could tell by the facial traits that this monster was Nylora. Why did she look so decomposed?
    Her body shivered at every step I took. Low snarls came out of her as she wrapped her exposed chest with her skeletal arms. For a