Ladybug - Innocent

** #1308233 Not An Image **

Innocent

Angels, lend me your might
Forfeit all my lives to get just one right
All those colors long since faded,
All our smiles are confiscated
Never were we told, we'd be bought and sold
When we were innocent

-Fuel

Angela woke up to find herself in a fucking bathtub.

Her first reaction was to bolt upright, not remembering what she was doing there in the first place. Handcuffs around her wrists jerked her to a quick and painful stop, drawing surprised blue eyes to her skin. She was stained with red, the cuffs having rubbed bloody lines around her flesh. The rest of her body felt bruised and battered, and she found her breath rasping in her lungs. Panic was racing through her veins, making her vision swim before her, not helped by the red sheen in front of her gaze.

She had been stripped down to a tank top and her underwear, her weapons clearly gone and her jeans nowhere in sight. They’d even taken her boots, the fucking pricks. Her hands jerked again, straining against the cuffs that chained her down. The other ends were looped around the brass feet on the ancient tub, and apparently she’d already tried tugging on it as hard as she could because there was blood trickling from her wrists now, dripping dark lines down the stained yellow porcelain. The floor below her was a tarnished and cracked blue tile and the mirror above the rusted sink was splintered and coated with grime.

She had woken up in Hell.

And she had no idea how she had gotten there.

Her mind raced frantically, still pulling with desperate yanks at the chains that bound her. Her back and her calves were wet from the half an inch of water that sat stagnant and dark in the bottom of the bathtub, and she couldn’t stop the chill that ran down the back of her spine. Goosebumps prickled along her arms, her gaze still flicking wildly around the room, the only light coming from the uncovered light bulb swinging over her head and a faint glow emanating from beneath the door. At first she could hear nothing but her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, and then the sound of harsh voices and one very familiar one.

“Colin,” she gasped, fear digging its icy fingers into her heart.

She couldn’t believe that it hadn’t occurred to her immediately, but now that it had, memories rushed back to her in a tidal wave of images and colors. Their lives had been so stained with violence and hate, ever since the doors had reopened those six years ago and let the true demons loose on the world. Now she couldn’t remember what life had been like without the shadows around every corner and the red doors marking where the Daemonkin had passed. She couldn’t remember what it was like to sleep without a gun under her pillow.

And she couldn’t imagine what she would do without Colin.

She twisted her body in the bathtub, pulling the chain around her right hand tight and attempting to slam a bare foot into it.

So far, the plan wasn’t working very well, but she didn’t know what else to do. With a frustrated snarl, she slammed her foot against it, not caring that the chains were digging deeper into her wrists and dripping dark onto the damp and shattered tiles below. She kicked against it again, and this time the entire tub rocked a little. She paused momentarily as it settled back down to even ground and then with a vicious grin she slammed all of her weight into the side of the tub.

It tipped, and for an instant she didn’t think it would go, and then the entire thing tipped over, spilling her out onto the tiles. Her left hand jerked hard, still caught by the other foot, and the smallest hiss of pain escaped her lips as it did. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as possible, aware that the voices outside the door had just gotten louder and that she could hear feet approaching the bathroom even now. She pulled hurriedly at the end looped around the brass foot, wrenching her left hand free just as the dented wooden door swung open, revealing a stooped, scarred figure.

She did not wait for an invitation.

Cold fingers snapped out, catching her captor around the wrist and yanking him into the bathroom. A knee shot up and caught him in the gut and she heard him expel a blast of air, and then her fingers were tangled in greasy hair and slamming his face down into the porcelain sink. There was a sickening crunch as he connected and a crack as the sink split along the side. She dropped the body to the floor in a crumpled pile, blood trickling from the dark wound on his forehead. She wasted no time, crouching by his form and searching him for any weapons. Her fingers closed around the butt of a gun, and a pale smirk etched itself on her face.

She flicked the safety off and tried to steady her breathing at the sound of footsteps.

She watched as the door began to swing inwards, pressing her back up against the cold wall behind her. Her lungs begged her to suck in more air, but she ignored their pleas, waiting with a practiced killer’s patience until she could see the whites of her enemy’s eyes. Her heart was thundering in her chest adrenaline rushing through her veins and making her palms sweaty. She fought the urge to move, wishing she knew how to still the shaking of her skin.

A head leaned into the room, gaze fixated on the battered porcelain tub.

She fired a shot through his head, not waiting until he hit the floor to move. Deft fingers skimmed over the fresh corpse, pulling another gun from his body and a knife that she put between her teeth for the moment. Now armed with two guns, she stepped over the corpses in her way, sliding into a crouch in the doorway. Once again, she found herself holding her breath as she listened for any sounds. There were still voices coming down the hall, but she heard no more footsteps, and she allowed herself a quick glance into the darkened corridor.

There was a light shining at the end, but she could see nothing of what was going on. She could hear the voices more clearly now, the sound of chanting reaching her ears, even though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Colin’s angry shouts echoed down the hall, overshadowing whatever else was being said. “You bastards,” he was screaming. “You fucking cunts, if you fucking killed my sister I’m going to fucking kill every mother fucking one of you!”

A smile lit her face, even as bloody as it was.

That was Colin. Always being a prick.

She listened closely, but it didn’t sound like anyone else was anxious to come check the disturbance out. Her attention went back to the crumpled bodies on the floor, ignoring the blood pooling steadily outwards from the hole in the man’s head. Instead, she focused on his jeans, peeling them off his deadened legs and pulling them on. His boots were way too big for her, and she tossed them into the tub, but at least she had some fucking pants on now. She didn’t bother feeling pity for either of them, even though they were human and should have been her allies.

They had sided with demons, the marks evident on their skin. They didn’t deserve to call themselves human anymore.

The pants were too loose on her, but she just pulled the belt tighter and tucked the knife away. She padded softly down the hallway on bare feet as sweat slid down her forehead. She held the two guns in front of her, fingers resting lightly on the triggers and blue eyes flicking quickly around for any sign of movement. The hallway was just as dirty and worn as the bathroom, all the lights having been broken ages ago and the only carpet left was frayed and full of holes. Broken picture frames hung by dented nails, scratches running through the faces of those who’d once lived here.

No one was safe anymore. The world had been shattered the day the demons had reopened the doors. She hadn’t been there to see the end; she had spent it staring at the white ceiling of an emergency room. Outside the world had been crumbling down around her. It would probably be in worse shape than it already was if it hadn’t been for the inhuman, the ones who were different like her father had been. They were called the Fallen, and she imagined she was one of them, but didn’t know or care. Whatever darkness lay inside her that made her different didn’t make her special. It just made it harder to stay alive.

She wasn’t human. She had accepted this by now.

Her father had been one of the Fallen, and that meant she was just as damned as he was.

Some had told her that it was a gift. It meant she was destined from birth to fight in this fucking war, to fight the Daemons and their spawn. It meant that she was tougher than most humans, that she could take a beating better. It meant that having a true Daemon’s claws punching a hole in her chest didn’t have to be a fatal wound. It meant that sometimes, when times were at their worst, she found darkness pooling at her feet and obeying her will.

It meant that she was fucked up. It meant that the Daemons would always choose to hunt her first.

Broken glass crunched under her feet. She should have been more concerned by the shards cutting into her bare feet, but all she was really cared about was whether or not the monsters out there had heard the tiny noise and whether or not they could smell fresh blood. She shouldn’t have worried so much. If they hadn’t smelled the crimson already coating her skin, they probably wouldn’t smell this fresh amount. She kept moving forward anyway, trying to pretend that her wrists weren’t throbbing with pain and that her legs didn’t feel weak and rubbery. Her breath was coming easier at least, her heart no longer beating so loudly and obviously in her chest.

The closer she got to the living room, the louder the chanting became. She still couldn’t figure out what they were saying, but at least she could tell now that it was because they were speaking another language. It sounded like Latin, but then she didn’t know any other languages except English and it could have been fucking Japanese as far as she was concerned. They were repeating the same few phrases over again, in the same harsh tongue, and Colin was still shouting over them. She heard a violent thud, and heard her brother grunt in pain. She couldn’t help but be proud of him for not crying out.

She slid to the edge of the hallway, and managed to peek out into the room, guns still clasped firmly in her hand.

Angela barely held back her gasp of surprise.

There were seven of them in the room, five of them sitting in front of the door that she presumed led out of the apartment building. Two of them were humans, black runes and demon markings etched in black contrast upon their pale skin. They were rocking back in forth, chanting along with the three Daemonkin that sat with them in the half circle. The one in the center had horns spiraling back and away from his forehead, and he was standing in front of Colin, hand still bloodied from where he’d just railed her brother across the face.

The other two were standing back away from the ritual, arms crossed and looking unconcerned.

All eyes were focused on the door. Runes had been drawn upon it with some dark liquid, and from the shape of her brother, she imagined it was blood. Similar etchings had been carved into his skin with sharp knives and sharp claws that still glittered darkly in the dim lights. Black candles had been set up around the five, throwing harsh shadows and wicked illuminations upon the door and Colin, whose eyes never left those of his tormenter.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, spitting blood at the Daemonkin.

The monster smiled down at her brother, pulling a knife from his belt. “And with his life, the seal be broken,” he said.

She barely had time to manage a strangled cry before he had slammed the knife hilt deep into her brother’s chest, right in the center of the runes they had carved there. A gasp escaped Colin’s throat, his eyes growing wide as he expelled blood from between his lips. For that one moment in time, all Angela could see was her brother, her little baby brother as he died right in front of her eyes and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it now. The damage had been done, the blade was in his chest, and his blood was dripping in a steady flow to the carpet below.

Angela did not feel herself move.

She felt herself take action, knew that it was happening, but it was from a distance. She felt like a casual observer in the back of her mind, because she could not accept that Colin was dying. So she watched as her hands came up and fired bullet after bullet into the men and monsters that had brought this about. She watched a bloody hole exploded into the first man’s head, watched as his body tumbled over. She watched as one of the Daemonkin attempted to rise, claws and fangs bared in a deadly threat.

Another bullet found its throat swiftly enough, and she felt nothing but a cold quiet rage as it crumpled into the ground. Her head twisted, her arm swinging around to find the two who had stood back and watched, and she had to fire twice to get the second man because he was moving towards her and had managed to dodge her first shot. One of the Daemonkin, a female of sorts, had leapt from the floor to the wall and then scrambled across the ceiling in swift, deadly motions. She reminded Angela of the first Daemonkin she’d ever seen, fingers little more than broken chunks, movements like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

She barely felt the claws slamming into her shoulders.

She only felt dim satisfaction and hate as she fired a bullet into her gut and shoved her off onto the ground. The Daemonkin attempted to scramble back to her feet, but Angie didn’t give her the chance, ripping the blade from her belt and slamming it down into her forehead. The creature’s eyes glazed over almost immediately as her skull was pinned to the carpet, black and chunky blood flowing out in a dark pool around her.

And then Angela turned her attention to the last Daemonkin, the one that had just stabbed her brother.

There was no fear in his eyes, but there should have been.

He only managed to take a single step towards her before she felt it, that dark power that had always been there at the edge of her control and had now slipped completely beyond her ability to hold. The shadows in the room were pooling in a dark lake beneath her feet, and she stalked across the carpet as if walking upon water. The creature still stared at her, raising his claws and licking her brother’s blood from its dark surface. The dams around her burst in that instant, and in a moment black tendrils were snaking across the floor, lifting the Daemonkin from the ground. They held him their because of her desire, suspended in space by a terrible power.

She let the gun fall to the side, holding his eyes with hers. All she wanted was to rip him apart from the inside out.

So that was what the shadows did.

It was only when the last pieces of his shattered form had dropped to the ground in a red and black cloud that she finally made it to Colin, falling to the carpet before him. Her knees were resting in a puddle of his blood, but she didn’t care anymore, slim stained fingers trying to raise his head up, trying to get those blue eyes to open and look at her. “Colin!” she whispered, begging him silently to open his eyes and look at her. The blade was still in his chest, but she was terrified to pull it out.

It was pinning him to the door.

She whispered his name again, and this time his eyelids fluttered, blue orbs distant and dimmed with pain. “Angie…” he said quietly, a smile forming on his face. There was still blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and she tried to wipe it away with her thumb but only succeeded in smearing it. Tears began to form at the edge of her vision, and her brother shook his head. “Don’t cry, Ladybug,” he told her. She wanted to smile at the ancient nickname. She wanted to smile and ease her baby brother’s fears, but she couldn’t seem to make it reach her lips.

He smiled one more time, and then his eyes glazed over, and his head fell slack. Behind him, the runes etched in the door began to glow, and slowly the brown wood began to turn red. Realization finally burst in her mind, realization of how the true Daemon’s had finally opened the doors six years ago. Her father had always told her that they needed a Fallen to open it for them, so she had always assumed that the Fallen were just as corruptible as every other human being. She hadn’t wondered why the doors became red.

She had known that they used red doors to cross the barrier.

And now she knew why.

They needed a dead Fallen to open their gates. If they wouldn’t open the doors for them willingly, then the blood of one would do just as well. Tears flowed down her face in rivers now, and she found herself screaming at the door that was glowing a brilliant, deathly red color. Her hands were still holding her brother’s head, and for the second time that night she felt the shadows that still hovered around her, felt their pull at her skin, waiting to do whatever she demanded of them. But all she wanted was her brother back. All she wanted was for him to open his eyes again.

Whatever dark power it was that she controlled, it obeyed her in this as well.

Shadows slipped from the floor and slithered down her brother’s throat. She felt their icy fingers wrapping around his heart as though they had wrapped around her own. She felt the fingers squeeze, again and again until the deadened organ began to beat again. Her hand closed around the blade, pulling it from his chest in as smooth a motion as she could manage. And she felt the shadows gather and pull around his wounds, trying to sew the flesh back together.

Her eyes swiveled and focused on his form with the same distant and glazed look that she’d had before, watching tiny black strands appear like stitches in his skin. She saw it entering his mouth and his nose, forcing his lungs to take in air again, their cold black fingers embedding themselves like a darkened parasite in her brother’s form. She saw his eyes open then; saw the dim shadow of death retreat and a shadow of her own making taking over instead. For one long moment, his eyes were not the brilliant blue she knew them to be. They had turned entirely black, but they were alive, and they were her brother’s eyes.

She had brought the dead back to life.

“Colin?” she breathed softly, fingers still holding his face up.

The shadows retreated from his gaze, and the crystalline blue returned and they were filled with fear. He gasped for air, and began to hack and cough as though he were choking. Black splattered out onto the carpet and she hurried to try and untie him from the chair he was still bound to. “Colin?” she asked again, her brother’s body falling heavily on top of her. She guided him to the ground, and he braced himself on hands and knees, still coughing up black bile.

“Colin?” she asked one more time, fears tightening her throat.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes so full of pain. He said only one thing.

“What have you done?”

Previously... "Ladybug - Hospital"