“I’ll find one.” Willem slips away, revealing his wings for the first time since we entered the mortal realm. I can see the relief in subtle relaxation of his shoulders. Willem launches himself into the air, his wings beating like a whisper in the night.
Willem disappears over the apex of the opera house roof as I slip out into the street. Keeping to the shadows, I make my way up the opera house stairs. Leaves crunch under my feet and an ominous wind buffets my back. A shiver crawls up my spine. I creep along the walls, eyes lingering on the massive spiderwebs covering every unexposed surface. I pause at the door, peeking through the wooden slats for any sign of the Nephilim inside. My eyes pierce through the darkness easily as I scan the lounge. The room is grand, with a ticket booth to the right and a rotted seating area on the left. A staircase overpowers the room, massive and decorated with elaborate railings. A chandelier hangs directly overhead on a thin chain. I purse my lips at the sight of it, it’s a wonder it hasn’t collapsed yet.
Deeper in the depths of the opera house, I see the faint glow of light. I grin. The Nephilim is here. Quietly, I tug on the nearest board, testing its strength. To my surprise, the board is already loose, propped up on the one below but with no real attachment to the doorframe of the opera house. I place the board to the side, moving slowly and gently to avoid making any unnecessary noise. More boards reveal themselves to be loose, and they join the first in a careful pile on the ground.
Cold air seeps out from the opera house, carrying the foul stench of rotting furniture and rat feces. I hunch my shoulders and lift a leg over the lower boards to fit between the ones that are still nailed in tightly. The crunch of glass echoes through the lounge, and I curse silently to myself. Glass glitters on the floor at my feet, sprinkled across the entrance like a primitive alarm system. I flick my wrist and scatter the remaining pieces of glass, clearing the floor for my other foot. Once inside, I brush off cobwebs that I brushed against, tossing a spindly spider onto the floor carelessly.
I glance up at the chandelier on the ceiling. Spiders have enveloped it in webs until it looks more like a massive, deadly cocoon than a chandelier. Careful not to trigger any more alarms, I slip through the entrance towards the light emanating from the doors into the theatre. Rats chitter in the distance, and I hear faint scratching. The door to the theatre is propped open with a loose stone as if someone is waiting for me. I narrow my eyes at it, a sense of foreboding welling in my chest. Something about this isn't right. I hesitate at the door, the light beckoning me. Perhaps I should wait for Willem. But he might already be inside, perhaps backstage or in the balconies.
My nails elongate and sharpen into deadly claws, and I let my fangs descend. If anything, they'll give me extra defenses against the Nephilim. The creature will undoubtedly be stronger now that it's fed on so many souls. Perhaps even as strong as me, until its wealth of souls depletes. I loose a long breath, letting my shoulders relax, and slip inside the theatre. The light comes from the small lamps lining the aisles, showing the audience the way, and from a series of candelabras on the stage.
And in the center of it all, sits the Nephilim.
He's tall and wiry, but I don't question his strength. His white-blonde hair hangs limply over his forehead. He stares at me with wild, red eyes. From this distance, he looks so gaunt, he resembles a skeleton with evil glowing from its empty sockets. I stride down the aisle, hands swinging casually at my sides. He watches me greedily, a smile exposing his large teeth. I don't summon my magic yet even though my instincts are telling me it would be a very good idea. The Nephilim would sense it, and he would be more guarded. I want him as defenseless as possible for as long as possible.
“You finally made it,” he says. His voice cracks, as if from disuse.
“You must be the Master,” I say, stopping at the bottom of the aisle, a few yards from the stage. “Did you prepare all this for me? I’m flattered.”
“I’m so pleased to hear it,” the Nephilim rasps. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
I gesture at our surroundings, to the carefully placed candelabras on stage. “I should apologize, I only discovered your existence a few weeks ago.”
The Nephilim's smile falters, and I see a flash of anger in his eyes. "No matter," he says, leaping off the stage. "You know now. And you'll see soon enough."
“See what?” I cock a brow. “I only see a crazed Nephilim in a rotting opera house. Trapped. Cornered. Despised.”
He waves his hands. “This is what you were trying to prevent all along. I’m stronger than you, Kane. All Nephilims could be if we were free to be as nature intended.”
"Yet they aren't. What a pity," I say, coldly.
"They will be." The Nephilim starts towards me, his hands balled into fists. Wings unfurl from his back, and I hide my surprise behind a look of boredom. Nephilim don't have wings. "By leeching human souls, I've made myself more powerful than you. I control death now, not you or your Reapers. Death," the Nephilim pauses, a grin stretching his lips too wide, "is me."
I summon my magic, and it fills me in an instant with dark power. Without hesitation, I launch it towards the Nephilim, picturing a violent and vicious end. The floorboards beneath my feet grow hot from an invisible, intangible fire. It singes the chairs around me and melts
