Portland In Black 22

Noir Badarte is a necromancer with a heart of gold- and he finds himself in Portland Oregon, to find a new serial killer called the Wolf- but Portland's own insane undead have plans of their own for him. 

< Previous Part | Start of the Story | Next Part > | More Noir Badarte Stories

"Oh poor, poor boy."  Black Anna chuckled.  

Noir realized that the buzzing he heard was just in his head.  He felt sort of betrayed.  A part of his core nature wanted to obey every thought Black Anna pushed out.  He could feel the cold chains of her spells wrapping around him.

The dream had ended.  But he still felt Black Anna in his mind.  Noir felt the darker part of his nature hold the door open for her, letting the dark black ichor of Anna's spells into him.

But he still had some control left.

"Please.  Stop..."  Noir's body wouldn't move.  That wasn't the result of magic.  Just the raw, brutal pain he'd endured.  Injuries had piled on top of sleep deprivation.  His mouth was beyond parched.   Worse of all, Noir had lost track of the days.

He gazed up at the cage on the dais.  The ancient body of Ellie laid sideways like he had, her blank stare in his direction.  Noir wondered if that elderly victimized body was capable of thinking even empathically about another anymore.

"Please..."  Noir wanted to shift his gaze onto Black Anna.  But he couldn't move.

The young-looking, blood-splattered undead stood just outside his vision.  She crouched to look at him, her face smiling with sharp teeth.  But she kept just enough out of his sight to make him feel both irritated and concerned.  Irritation that he knew she did it on purpose. Concern that he didn't know what she planned next.

"Oh yes, I can fix this at anytime, you know."  Black Anna told him, much like  one might inform a beloved pet about to pay a visit to the vet clinic.  "Oh!  Your dreams were so pretty!  Your hatred for your father... so very... Freudian of you."

Nearby undead giggled in delight at her words, even though most of them hadn't seen a damn thing.  Or at least, Noir was certain they hadn't.

"I don't..."  Noir had trouble saying the rest of the words.  Instead, he coughed.  His lungs stung from it.

"Poor death caller."  Black Anna knelt down, putting her face next to his in the kennel's wire frame.  He felt the cold, wet blood that clung to her face.  Her smell reminded him of the sheep his father raised.  The smell of dead sheep his father would butcher, the stench of meat and guts.  Fresh death.

"All children want to kill their parents, you know."  Black Anna continued.  "I help children do that, you know.  But... well, I sometimes forget which children are which.  My new children?  Or the tiny screaming ones I take at night?  Or the old ones that cry in their sleep?"

Noir shook his head.  "No... please... mad..."

Black Anna nodded.  She kept her face close.  "Yes.  Mad.  Quite."

Noir felt tears come down his face.  "Let me.  Help.  I know... how..."

Black Anna tilted her head.  Her face grew dour.  She frowned.  The undead monster scooted back, and sat down, legs crossed under body.  "Maybe this is a lucid moment, but you can help.  I think..."

Black Anna waved a hand, spraying black ichor on the floor tiles.  The ichor erupted into shapes and forms, creating a small black diorama that Noir's eyes watched, twitching as Black Anna forced him to see.

"I was born out of pain, embarrassment and torture, you see."  Black Anna explained.  A tiny ebony, liquid version of herself was held down by others.  Bottles were being forced down her throat.  She gagged, choking each gulp down.  "But unlike you, I loved my father.  He didn't like what they did."

The miniature of Black Anna vomited.  Noir felt color streamed in his vision, sharing things into a scene from a 1920s dance.  Anna's vomit wasn't vomit, instead, the young girl had puked blood.  A vicious, drunken teen party turned from debauchery to murder as teenagers laughed and pointed at her.

Noir watched, his gaze widening.

A older man fought his way into the scene, throwing the young men off her.  Even with no sound, Noir could interpret the words he was yelling at her.  The older man was yelling her name.  He grabbed her, trying to get her to breathe.  To live again.

"You know, I saw dead people all my life.  My father supported me.  He said it was talent.  He always wanted the best for me."  Black Anna put a hand over the miniature version of the older man, her father, trying to save her dying miniature form.  "But alas, even him being in charge of our school didn't make things easier.  He coddled me too much.  Protected me too much.  Let me get away with too much."

Black Anna's hand slammed down on the miniature version of her father.  She smashed him like one might smash a bug.  "See, death caller?  He was there when I awoke.  I had to kill him.  Its how you learn to grow up."

Noir shuddered.  "No... Don't..."

"You can help me."  Black Anna gazed into Noir's eyes.  A young woman's voice, not the monster's this time came out.  "Please.  The madness... Please Noir.  Join me, complete me.  Save me from myself."

Noir stared at her.  Every part of himself felt the urge to break free.  To muster the last precious bit of strength he had.  To surrender to her.  To give in.  To let his mind cure her of the thing she'd become.  Noir reached down for the right, last spell, something or someone to help free him from the pain and the misery.  To help him make things right.

But the necromancer couldn't.  He looked back at Black Anna.  And in defiance he tried to summon a geist to help him.  A monster of his own to strike back at her.

"No."  Noir said, infusing the word with as much power left as he could.  Purple fire leapt out of his eyes, flying up and away from him.

Black Anna shook her head.  She grabbed at the air around his mouth.  She snatched up the spell he'd cast.  Purple fire struggled to escape her grasp.

"Oh, poor boy."  Black Anna snuffed out his spell.  Noir felt the spell and its energy move.

"How..."  Noir felt confused.  He didn't understand, how could she have taken the spell?  How could she just take and steal its energy like that?

"Death magick is more than just a fickle tool for the dead, death caller." Black Anna sighed.  "You still refuse to just kill yourself.  Oh well.  I guess I have to try a bit harder now..."