The Death of Nicole Reid

[Lewis!]

​

The incessant shrill beep and dim red flash of an active long-range transmitter filled the concrete bed chamber Alma had found herself resting in, the device indicated an encrypted frequency was attempting to open a communication line. Geyer awoke, rising hesitantly with a stretch, her groggy and drooping eyes just barely making out the red twinkling coming from her bedside table. She inserted a couple of detached components into her vocabulator, reaching for the transmitter to accept the connection. "What?"

Through the static crackle of incompatible communication systems, a coarse voice broke through. It carried the tone of malicious satisfaction which just barely seeped through the broken haze of white noise. "It's me. It's good news."

Second King, Campbell, her lap-dog frater, he could never just get to the point, always chasing her validation first and foremost. She was quick to cut to the chase. Rudely awoken, lethargic, her reply was curt and symptomatic of her overall state. "Out with it, Frater." A brief hiss of wounded noise spat from the receiver, the malicious glee draining from his voice. "Ashford's dead. We dealt with her."

It was done. Nicole, First Defender, Ashford... her chord had been cut. A few seconds of recollection evoked the memory of Akvira's demise. Akvira, Ashford... Alma, all of wavering faith in the Bleeding Clamp. Reminded of the look in the eyes of the First Archtraitor, Alma could only wonder when her time would come. When would her heterodoxy be discovered? Would her death be just as brutal? Would it be at the hands of those who once pledged their loyalty to her? It was a bothersome thought that she promptly sorted away into a neglected bin of cognitive dissonances yet to be ruminated upon. She cleared her throat. A pause on her end. Dead air.

Campbell had remained silent, waiting with bated breath, anticipating his congratulations, acknowledgement of his achievement, anything to satisfy his vastly inflated ego. Finally, he broke the silence, his tone expressing a growing frustration "W- well?"

"Good work, Frater. I'll be there soon." The connection was abruptly cut. Dismissive to the end. Campbell gritted his teeth, doing his best to bite back his quickly rising temper as he was left to stand in bitter silence. He turned to face the bloodied corpse lying limp on the hard brick floor of Bucharest's storm system. The hole Eighth King had left in her stomach was considerable, cauterized instantly by the surge of primordial essence he had conjured forth from within himself. He took great pleasure in the final irony of her death, having forced her to suffer the true, tangible power of the Perennial Arts which she had come to forsake.

He stared at the body for a long while. The Archtratior was dead. Long live the Bleeding Clamp.

​

@slick @Ron @PeaceAndMagick89

 

[shad]

 

[Lewis!]

-snip whoops