“What agreement?” Raven edged closer to the figure in the cloak, head tilting to one side so as to better hear the odd echo of the man’s voice.
“The one we come to again and again, my darling bird.” The words slid through pure white teeth that flashed within the dark confines of his low hanging hood. “The one that sees you reborn in an endless repetition for the faithful. Spread your wings, act my messenger, and gather unto you a flock. Your reward, as always, power beyond your ken.”
That filled him with temptation. Power to dig himself out of the cycle of thieving and barely scraping by. “Y’said the reward. Y’didn’t mention what price m’to pay.” Raven’s voice never lifted past his hoarse whisper, but that didn’t seem to matter. This man heard him well enough anyways.
“Price.” The man huffed out a laugh that rang like wind chimes. A hand rose in a dismissing gesture. “Not one you’ll miss overly much. Your mortality. Agreement brings us a truce that will grant me the use of your flesh on my whim and in return, you will never fear death. Midnight will flow from your wings, your breath, as you see fit.”
Raven stared. A sense of dread crept into his chest and clung. He took a step back down the alley. Around him, the shadows shifted, crept down the alley with him and spread hands around the exit into the busier Ul’duh street beyond. Night grew darker, the stars blotted out over head and the flickering street lamp gave up trying.
“It’s already too late, Raven.” The man stepped forwards, gloved hands rising to ease his hood back. “I tire of being faceless and whether you agree or not is mere formality.”
Fog emerged from the hood. A thousand faces flashed and flickered like lightning caught up in the smoke. Nothing solid held the form of the man that advanced on him still. Raven backed into the shadowy hands barring his way. Cold seeped into him, pinning him in place. He opened his mouth, but no broken scream came.
The damage to his vocal chords from years ago didn’t allow such a voluminous sound. The fog that swept over him and drowned him muffled not just his scrap of voice, but the world in his view. The echoes of voices filled his ears. Cold crept down his throat to blossom in his chest like a flower born of night wind. Through his eyes, he watched countless lives snuffed out and understood the meaning of the faces in the fog.
A robe lay in the alley a few feet from where Raven sat up. His hands rubbed over his face and slid through his mop of wild, black hair. His throat ached. His chest burned. His vision cleared after a few blinks. But the world would never look the same. He could see them, the living. He could smell them, like one might fresh baking.
Hunger stirred inside him. The shadows curled around him, gentle in helping him to his feet. They were his now and he was an infection that would see everything he knew cast into darkness.
Somewhere, a fire burned in eternal opposition.
