You can do this.
Raphael nodded to himself, willing himself to believe the voice only he heard. He could do this. They depended on him. He could –
Suddenly, it came.
Pure, gut-wrenching pain seared his mind, dominating all thought and sensation. That was all he could feel – all he could focus on as it tore away at the fraying seams that held his sanity. Collapsing onto the edge of the cliff, he hunched over, clawing at the bed of rocks beneath him. He hissed as the pain increased tenfold, his nails digging deeper into the gravel. He was barely aware of the wounds that had opened, of the grit embedding itself into his hands, of the blood pooling at his fingertips.
Clear your mind. Don’t fight us.
He opened his mouth to release a snort of disbelief, but instead, a guttural roar ripped through his throat, the muscles in his neck straining under the tension.
‘I never asked for this!’ His snarl broke through the storm, calling out to the voice that haunted him, heart and soul. ‘I never wanted this! Why me?’
It is in your blood. It can only be you. Only you can help them.
Before he could throw back a retort, another onslaught of pain ploughed further into his head, his agonised, pleading screams lost in the biting wind of the storm.
Then suddenly, it fell silent. Deathly silent. For the first time in months, his mind was his own, the voice now a part of him.
Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes flickering, the black in his pupils bleeding into his emerald irises. Sitting back, his glanced over his arms and hands in undisguised awe. For a few seconds as he watched, inky tendrils curled beneath his skin, pulsing with a life of their own, before fading. But he knew they were still there. Running a finger over his forearm, it suddenly displayed the network of vessels that lay lurking beneath his skin, humming with unadulterated energy. Keeping his finger pressed to his arm, he watched in fascination as the streams of blood that ran from his fingers ceased, fading into scars and then disappeared altogether as if they had never existed. Dropping his hand, he raised his eyes, drinking in the sight that greeted him. Across the horizon, the once overwrought skies were clearing, sunlight seeping through the gaps in the quickly dissolving clouds. Below, the raging foam horses had quietened as though lulled to sleep, the tranquil waves now caressing the cliff side. The birds were singing once again, filling the stiff air with their serenading songs.
It was over; the calm after the storm had arrived.
Bouncing to his feet with a newly gained agility, he strode with dark intent. He saw it now – what they had been telling him. He saw the past – the blood and violence that tarnished the deceptively attractive town. He could see the evil for what it was now, hiding as it was, a serpent coiled tightly around it.
The calm after the storm was here – but it wasn’t there to stay.
Hafsa Khalil 