Bryan Fisher - Sneak Peak Chapter 15

Chapter 15
​Within the confines of his cramped apartment, Bryan paced, his footsteps echoing against the worn-out wooden floor. His mind churned with a volatile mix of anger and frustration, each emotion leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His claim to the winery and his rejection weighed on his shoulders.

Mismatched furniture cluttered his tiny apartment, and the floor creaked with every movement. The kitchenette, tucked against one wall, emitted a faint odor of stale food, mingling with the scent of filth that permeated the air. In the back, a small bedroom offered solace, but its cramped quarters only intensified his sense of entrapment. The tiny space overall added to his overwhelming feeling of being imprisoned.

As Bryan glanced out the lone window, a dismal sight - a brick wall devoid of any signs of life greeted him. The sight further reinforced his belief that a man could not endure, let alone thrive, in such a stifling environment. He had been promised power, promised wealth. “Those stupid people from their precious Annui council. They think I don’t know what they are. They think they hold the power, they have no idea how powerful the Nemracki are, how powerful I will be.” Bryan pounded his chest with each word.

After he had been told to kill Sera, his sister. There was nothing he wasn’t willing to do. Then he killed David... Nothing will stand in my way. The Nemracki taught him that power dissipates over time and he must kill again to receive new power. But each killing only brought the same amount of power... he wanted more power, much more power.

Bryan approached his makeshift altar. He chanted under his breath as he lit each candle in turn, he lit the little pile of shavings and hair, releasing a further stench to the room. His small apartment felt even more restrictive now, the anger gnawing at him in the tight quarters of his home; a space that had become both his sanctuary and his prison.

“Kerri,” he scoffed, his voice dripping with bitterness. “She’s got the bloodstone now! That clueless attorney had it this whole time.” Watching the candles, he couldn’t help but pour out his thoughts to the ever-present entity that shared his space. Nothing, there was no response. In fury he rose, pacing back and forth once more.

With a clenched jaw and flared nostrils, he fumbled with a stack of old letters, family photos, and books; remnants of his search for the elusive bloodstone and the power it held. His fingers traced the edge of a heavy book, its spine lined with cryptic symbols, fury spilling out as he realized the futility of his quest.

“I scoured every inch, every secret their lineage held in its grasp,” he raged, his eyes darting around the room like a caged animal. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the worn-out furniture, amplifying the tension in the air. “Sera, stupid bitch sister... I knew they did not bury her with it,” he muttered, his voice filled with malice. The weight of his desperation pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe. “I knew that for sure she had it when I killed her. Why didn't I just take it then? How the hell am I going to get it away from Kerri?”

His question filled the room, sworn into the permanence of the stained wooden beams and time-worn bricks of his apartment. Anger and raw desperation bled from his voice as he spoke of his sister Sera. The bloodstone, a hand-crafted pendant, had been the one thing hanging in the balance of his life; his only tether to sanity amidst the chaotic, spiraling world that enclosed him.

“That pendant... It is the key!-- the key to everything I’ve uncovered about the Bloodstones.” his voice cracked, swallowed by the muted walls around him. “You promised it and the winery to me—To me!" His whine echoed through the tiny apartment, bouncing off the lifeless walls, entitlement etched in every syllable.

Fists clenched, eyes burning with an unsettling mix of resolution and regret, he gazed into the nothingness, challenging the entity that held him under its cryptic sway. It all reduced to that tiny artifact, the bloodstone. His legacy, his right, and his curse. “Where are you?” he screamed.

Leaning against the cold windowsill, he vented his frustration to the room, the faint scent of aged books filling his nostrils. With furrowed brows, he concentrated, his mind consumed by the weight of his words. “I’ve exhausted every trick in my arsenal, every ounce of power given,” he pleaded. “But despite it all, it’s not enough, I need power that does not fade, the power of the bloodstone.”

Bryan lit more candles and renewed his ritual in the center of his cramped living room. He drew an athame along this fingertip three times to add his blood to the herbs in the bowl. Then, he carefully prepared the offering, composed of rare seeds, sacred herbs, and his blood. Suspended over a small flame, the ingredients smoked. With every swipe of the athame, he remembered the sacrifices he had made. Lost love, friends, family–all fallen away, sacrificed for a power they could never understand. He thanked the Nemracki for his gift of power and asking for more. Tonight, Bryan would have to kill again. The only way he could replenish his power was to kill again.

The night grew darker as Bryan called out to the Nemracki, intoning ancient words of power, each syllable painted with an echo of reverence and fear. Under the flickering glow, his green eyes glowed with a fevered intensity, the vibrant color almost glowing against his pale skin.

“I beseech you, Nemracki, through blood and flame, through bone and spirit,” Bryan began. The flames danced higher as his voice grew louder, more commanding. His words formed a pact, a multifaceted promise to the entity he served, cemented by another blood offering - another soul given up in the pursuit of power.
Rising from the floor, Bryan extinguished the candles one by one, each one sighing out, expelling curls of smoke that filled the small space with a heavy, almost suffocating aroma. Bryan took a deep breath, inhaling the scent into his lungs, before stepping out of his apartment into the cold, expectant night.

The wind whipped around him, filled with an electric energy. It was almost as if the city had sensed Bryan’s intentions and was holding its breath, waiting for him to strike. Bryan stealthily moved on the pavement, his gloved hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

His soon-to-be next victim lived alone. An elderly man, living on the outskirts of the city. Bryan knew him, not personally, but enough to know that no one would mourn his passing.

He crept into the man’s quiet home unnoticed, a specter in what would be this man’s last night. With a swift and practiced movement, Bryan ended the man’s life just as the sun rose. He left a single, black feather lying on the man’s chest–his sick, signature touch. He knelt and cut off an ear, and a lock of hair, scalp included.

With another soul sacrificed to the Nemracki, Bryan retreated to his apartment. His heart beat wildly in his chest, each thud a reminder of the power pulsating within him. He entered his circle and felt the rush, the suffusion of the new power granted to him. He relit his candles, carefully placing his grotesque trophies into the crucible, and set it on fire once more. The stench of burning flesh and hair filled his apartment and Bryan breathed it in.

But Bryan knew it was never enough. He would always crave more. The air in the room seemed to quiver as the room responded, an eerie echo that vibrated through the otherwise silent apartment. His one-sided conversation would appear insane to any observer, but Bryan knew better. He didn’t waste his words on the still air but directed them toward the power that held his fate in its hands.

“The winery was to be mine,” he growled, his voice filled with frustration as he clenched his fists. The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with tension, while the response of the mysterious entity remained elusive. Desperation consumed him, pushing him to the brink, and Bryan resumed his restless pacing, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. Then, as if following a predetermined script, the reverberating echo resonated in agreement, sending shivers down his spine.

“You hold the capability, use it,” it commanded, its voice a whisper in his ears. “Move into the Bluff house. It's the only way past their defenses, they must invite you to stay. Blend; watch; observe. It’s the path to what you seek.”
​
The command seemed to quell his turmoil. Nodding, more to himself than the entity, Bryan started planning his move to the Bluff house. This move, he hoped, would be his ticket to the coveted winery and the power it held. Amidst his chaotic emotions, his resolve was the one thing that remained constant. He would go to any extent for the power he desired.

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