Midnight City (boyxboy)

|Thirty Two: Cold|

Light so bright it burned poured through the gap of the now open cell door. His eyes had to blink profusely to adjust to the new ability to see beyond the consuming darkness that had held him for hours, or days- he wasn't sure. But a shadowed figure appeared to block some of that light, just before strong arms grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.

The sound of metal scraping filled his ears as they unfastened the chains from the wall, still keeping the shackles around his wrists and ankles to restrict any real movement. His wings sagged to the ground, dragging along the dirty floor as he was escorted down seemingly endless narrow hallways, the white feathers collecting muck and dust on the wing tips. 

Sam made sure to count every step, remember every turn, should he find a way to escape and get out of this place. A mental map of this maze could save him vital seconds, or minutes even. 

As they rounded yet another corner, he was faced with a heavy, wooden door which groaned painfully as it opened, doing nothing to soothe his throbbing head. A set of dilapidated, stone steps were revealed as the door opened, and his ankles ached as he was forced to walk up them. The figure just dragged him like an animal on a leash, yanking on his chains when he faltered and struggled to take another step.

Whoever they were wore a long, black cloak to cover their body, but it was easy to see that they were broad shouldered and muscular. Tall, almost as tall as Cassius, and unnervingly quiet. They didn't say a word when they came to retrieve the angel, and they said nothing even when Sam tripped and stumbled to the ground.

Each step was as lung-burning as the last, and his empty stomach struggled to fuel him with the energy he needed to haul his body up each step. But he did it. Somehow, he did it. The door at the top of the steps was the same as the last, screeching bloody murder as it was forced to open, the ancient bolts of its hinges bearing the weight of the rotting wood.

How old was this place?

But as they stepped through that doorway, the air changed to something much, much older. Something darker, a heaviness in the air that weighed on his tired shoulders. The wallpaper was a dark shade of purple, the pattern from a medieval era that he certainly hadn't learned about in history class. The wooden floorboards underneath his feet creaked with each step, yet seemed to stay silent for his keeper.

The shackles rubbed painfully on his joints, and he attempted to rotate his wrists, but found himself wincing at the feeble attempt at movement. Paintings covered the walls of the next corridor he was led through, the once vibrant colours having become faded and dull over time. Some were of beautiful landscapes, grassy hills and snow covered mountain peaks. Most were of ancient, unknown faces.

However, that was until they ventured deeper into the maze. He still counted his every step, memorised every twist and turn with his fogged mind. A new painting came into view, and Sam almost fainted at the sight.

There, golden eyes gleaming, hair white as snow, skin pale and smooth, fangs sharp and threatening, was his Prince. Was Cassius. Wearing his golden crown, dressed in a tailored black suit, with silver details woven into the lapels of his jacket.

He was in the Helsing Manor.

The dungeons were underneath the King's Manor.

And Sam was practically thrown into the throne room, with His Majesty the King sat on a golden throne, the angel kneeling at the foot of the dais. He hissed at the pain as he was forced to his knees, feeling the bruises forming already.

Was Cassius here?

Sam looked up.

He wasn't.