Alright, first of all, I want to draw all the attention away from me, and to my lovely (Amazing, fabtabulous, gifted, Genius) Beta, TheProblemMatique! XD Thank you for putting up with me! I owe you Sporky goodness, now. Three things for you, Huns.
1) Before you ask- yes, the tenses are a bit screwy. I'm trying it out, to see which way reads better. Feel free to tell me what way you prefer.
2) I own only Laina, in this story. Although Lothraire...Mmmm. Wouldn't mind being locked in with him...MOVING ON.
3) Read, enjoy, and tell me what you think! This is my first story for this topic, so I really, really, really want to know if it's liked or not.
Cold metal walls glare back at her; not glass. Not like everyone else's cage. The strip of foot-thick glass two thirds up the wall is at the perfect height for her to see from, so she doesn't feel trapped. At least, not as much as she would have. There are cameras in her cell, unlike in the others- recording her as she paces in front of her cold iron prison. The guards can't see her clearly from their side because the frost flowers have spread too far across the cold stone and pristine window; they're like creeping vines in the moist, humid jungle- beautiful to behold, but deadly to be caught in.
At every hour of the day, they pump her ten-by-ten cell with frigid air. The cold seeps through her clothing and beneath her smooth golden skin, locking itself into her bones. It drains her of her powers, minute by minute, leaving her weaker than a newly turned Immortal. The experience is humiliating and frustrating, at the same time.
She woke up on the small single bed they provided her, pushed up against the back wall, with only her clothes and a thick fur cloak to keep her warm. The cloak, made from the skins of snow leopards, was lovely; soft, warm, and delicious to look at. It swished invitingly as she paced ten steps, then turned and paced another ten; there wasn't much else for her to do these days.
She'd given up on charging the wall after the first week.
Cruel clawed hands, deceitful with their delicate bones, push back her stark white bangs from her face. Her hair is loose, for once, and hangs freely to her ankles. They took the spine straps and the bladed cap when they'd stripped her of the rest of her weapons. Her small purple vest, with its dipping back and empty sides, matches the wide leather belt that rides her full hips in colour. Her black pants, made from an unknown material, stick to her long, powerful legs like a second skin. Her boots, flat with thin soles, match the colour of her belt and vest.
In her most human form, her skin is a lovely sun-kissed gold. The colour is natural, if not old. She hasn't had the chance to use that form in ages- not since her stay in Egypt, so many years ago. Her eyes seemed to scare the guards, when they could still peer in. Sending shivers down their spines, because of their unnatural colouring. She must be a Valkyrie, they murmur to each other. Always angry, with those swirling silver orbs. So why did her lightning not shake the building, like the rest?
But they're wrong. So very, very wrong. She's older than anything they've caught before, and much more powerful. Or she would have been, if not for the cold. Her build, like all of the women trapped in the cages, is one of a warrior. Her stance is proud, her chin defiant in its lift. And her mercury gale promises nothing but pain, when she escapes.
When she speaks, they hear nothing but the snapping of electricity, and the boom of thunder. An old tongue, gifted to too few by the gods. The look on her face when she speaks its frightening- a burning hatred so raw, there isn't a word to describe it. The guards won't walk by her cell much any more. She can hear them bullying new recruits into taking their places. Cowards, the lot of them.
Her pointed ears, more powerful then even the Lykae, can easily pick up on the muttered words outside of her small little frozen world. She could hear the Immortals fight as the humans drag each of them from their cells. To do what with them, most never know. But she does. She could hear their wails of pain from the supposedly soundproof room. She knows their study of them is nothing more then a mockery to science. It's torture, plain and true.
Standing at a staggering six feet, Laina Silver-Cage, the first and last of the Demon White Vipers, listens to the children she should have been protecting as they're dragged down the hall one by one. She can only pray that her adopted Daughters will not ever be among them. With a sigh of defeat, the Goddess of Thunderstorms- the youngest and last surviving member of her pantheon- settled back down on the cold hard bed to rest.
As the days passed slowly, Laina began to feel her old self waking up more and more. Rising to the surface, goaded there by the constant jeering of the Lothraire, so called Enemy of Old. She knew for a fact that her cell was the odd one out, placed at the very back wall of the cell line up. The pink-eyed Vampyre, with his silken white blond hair and stunning looks, was to the left of her.
On her right was the current occupant to his affections. A Vemon, as the Witches had taken to calling him. She didn't know his true name, or anything of his history. The only knowledge she possessed of him was the same as the rest. That he was Carrow the Incarcerated's destined mate. And that she'd betrayed him in the worst way one could; by trapping him here, with the rest of them.
"Lothraire, I swear I will break through this damned wall and tear your pretty face off if you do not shut up this instant!" The Viper snapped suddenly, as she sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the small bed. It took no less than five steps to storm over to the long strip of glass, and glare at the pink-eyed monster beside her.
She was pleased to see that he had heard her threat, if the look on his face was anything to go by; the man looked simply stunned. Apparently her mastery over sound hadn't been stripped away by the cold yet.
Just as her enjoyment of his expression had begun, the stunned look slipped from his face, to be replaced by a sly smile.
"So you can speak, Demon. I was beginning to fear you were a mute." His smile only grew as he quietly added "or stupid."
Trying to stifle her offended gasp, she drew back a hand and slammed it into the glass in front of her. A sparkling shower of frost drifted down to her feet from the glass, where her blow had knocked it free. Unfortunately for her, there seemed to be no other effect to the glass itself. With a tired sigh, she dropped her forehead against the cold surface.
"Show some respect to your Elders, Vampyre. I've got a good fifteen thousand years on your arrogant ass. I have far more then enough power to back up my threats." The growling hiss accompanying her words would have made her daughters cheer. She actually sounded as though she meant it, for once.
On a good day, Laina sounded more insane then threatening. Which, to those who knew her well, made her even more unpredictable then she normally was. Sadly, those unstable times made her powers even more unpredictable. Though she had been gifted with the abilities of both of her Godly parents, she'd never been taught to use them. It was a shame, really. This whole situation could have been avoided, if she'd only had more control over them. With the ability to call a killing storm with nothing more then a thought, and the ability to blast apart a city by amplifying the sound of even a pin dropping- she should have been a destructive force to be reckoned with. Not a being to be tamed by a simple bit of cold weather. But for every great power, there is a simple, if not more powerful, weakness.
Lothraire spoke again, dragging her back to the present. The man had draped himself seductively across the wall nearest to her, his leer speaking volumes on his opinion. "If you'd really believed you could actually do that to me, my dear, you already would have. But with that collar on, you're just as powerless as the rest of us." He lifted one elegant hand to pull at his own collar for emphasis. She'd forgotten she'd been bound by mystical means, as well as environmental.
"Oh shut up!' She snapped, her temper finally getting the better of her. "You have no idea what it's like, to be trapped in here for months! At least you're brought from you cage every few days. I was welded into mine. Welded! Four months ago, to be exact." Her violet painted lips pulled back from her teeth as she snarled at him, her words bouncing around not only her cell, but his as well." I haven't been outside of this ten foot prison in four months. I haven't had physical contact with another being in four months. Haven't eaten, haven't drunk, haven't felt warmth, haven't-"
She broke off abruptly, and turned her back to him. She'd only let the Order know how much the solitude had effected her, if she continued to speak. For the first time in her life, she pushed away the blind rage, and the awesome power it could grant her. She held onto her temper, and her secret remained safe. Let them think she was an unusually strong Valkyrie. Let them believe that she was the first, born before Nix was a glint in Woden and Freya's eyes.
"Demon?" She ignored his calls, defiantly giving him her back. The white scales at the base of her neck rise up at the thought. With a small sigh, she pushes it away. There isn't any need to be careful here. No one can get to her in her little iron cage, let alone hurt her while her back his turned.
Wait. Laina's ears twitch twice as a though occurs to her. Twice now he's spoken of what she was- and it most certainly wasn't Valkyrie. Swinging back around, she nearly topples over at the speed of the move. Throwing out her arms to catch herself, her palms come in contact with cold metal and freezing glass.
"What did you just call me?"
"Demon. Why, have you lost yourself, in these long months?"
Once more her fist strikes the glass, and this time small spiderleg cracks are left behind. Behind her, she can hear the soft whirl of the camera as it comes to life and focuses on the damage done to her restraints. She knows it's focusing on the damage, because the sound of the silent alarm screeches through her sensitive ears a moment later. Slowly, she draws back her fist, and slams it down into the same spot. More cracks.
The devil's own smile spread across her lips at the sight.
"You'd best keep that information to yourself, Lothraire. Or I really will come over there, and tear your handsome face off." She can tell by his widened gaze that he can seem the damage she's done. Damage that, rightfully, she shouldn't have been able to inflict. Black mist begins to trickle from the corners of her eyes, as the silver of her irises overtakes every bit of her eye. Drawing back her fist once more, an eerie sound escapes her lips before she strikes out again. This time, she can tell the blow was true. Large chunks of glass litter the floor outside of her prison cell. One more strike should do it.
She never gets the chance. Gas filled the room as she raised her hand high, and her head began to spin within seconds of breathing it in. Within a minute, her vision had faded to black.
Lothraire watched as the Demon Goddess struck at the glass, breaking it. If she was still that strong, even with her powers bound…just how much devastation could she cause once she was unleashed? A slow smile curved his lips as his guarded gaze captured the scene in full, tucking it away for further analysis. He made certain to wipe the smile away before the humans made it to their section. Long after she'd collapsed, they finally came. The Demons who'd locked her away in the first place. They made short work of the Iron wall- a wall, he might point out, no Immortal could break through. Even a God.
They all wore masks to protect them from the gas that still pumped into the room. A precaution, he guessed. No one wanted the woman to wake up before she was placed in her new home, after all.
Bright pink eyes widened as his room –if you could call it that- began to fill with smoke. Did they honestly think that would work? He had yet to be blooded- there was no need for him to draw breath. Striding over to where the nearest human guard stood, he knocked politely on the glass. The man, no more then twenty seven, if he judged right, turned around just enough to frown at him. Flashing him a smug fanged smile, he flipped him off and wandered over to his bed.
He never saw the dart coming.