The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 25: Diana I

Diana held the three-pronged Star of Michael to her chest and prayed to it. "Tonight, grant me the power to win my justice over him."

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

She breathed deeply, trying to stabilize the holy energy that threatened to surge out of her body. Every day, every second, without rest, she strained to contain it.

The whole day had passed in a blur. Her thoughts were tunnelled to this very moment where she could finally exact retribution for her twin brother. She had barely any memories of David Rupert. All she had to reminisce him by was the small window of her childhood when they were still together — days of running around the garden, chasing after each other's shadows.

They first broke her heart when they took him from her, in a small horse-drawn carriage down to the wheatfields of Vermilon. It was as though half of her soul was ripped away. As a child who could barely remember that fateful time, all that was left in her recollection was the pain. She could cope with it, she believed, for she still had chances to see him in the Vermilon Palace where he was being fostered.

Then, they crushed her heart again with the news of his passing. In the beginning, they said it was a bear that mauled him. Then they found out it was the Ghost of Vermil — a demon in a child's skin that even his own family abhorred him.

She waited years. The Viscount had seemed reluctant of the idea of hurting a small child, even if he were the suspected murderer of his own blood and kin, even if he was already disowned. The Viscount said the commonfolk would still talk; the other nobles would still paint them in a bad light for harming a child without concrete proof of his crime. The chance had passed, they missed it. All of Gallagher nearly forgot the incident now. But not the Ruperts, not Diana. If at all, the pain it caused her was all she could remember. David's voice and face seemed all foreign now, but not the hurt that his death had left. Now the chance had presented itself again.

Fate favours me. She thought.

The Ghost of Vermil relied on his brother for protection, having no blessing of his own. The angels saw through him even as a babe. They bestowed him not even a spangle of holy power. Unfortunately for him, Marco Vermilon had departed for the Delta. Today, the Ghost was lamb in the wolf's maw.

As the sunset painted the sky in crimson, Diana followed with her eyes as the Ghost, covered in a black cloak that shadowed his face, exited the gate of Demach. She intended to lure him out to the city streets with a false instruction from the professor. But it seemed there was no need to.

She pulled her own cloak over her ginger locks and pursued after him. Ser Kallan, a promising knight of the House Rupert, joined her outside the academy walls, together with two other soldiers, all three of them donned in mail, their swords at their waist. "My lady."

She knew the Vermilons had a small house just close to the Royal Keep. She had to execute her plan before he reached there.

To her confusion, the Ghost of Vermil did not turn to the direction of the Keep. He kept to the alleyways, hurriedly skipping over potholes, rushing down cobblestone steps, his cloak fluttering after him. "He's headed for the Southern Gate," she told her small retinue.

"To her brother?"

Right now, the heir of Vermilon should be deep inside the forest. There was no way for him to reach his brother so quickly.

The Ghost strode to the Gate with utmost haste without looking back. Above them, the heavens grew darker with each street they passed. He soon took out a small lamp that he gripped close to his body.

Does he know we're tailing him? Why is he so fast? Diana clutched the die in her hand, ready to engage him.

He had to stop at the portcullis and plead the guards to grant him passage. Diana's group slowed to a stop, concealing themselves behind a stall of hens that smelled just like the rest of the sick-laden streets they had just gone through.

Suddenly a begging mother with a babe at her breast accosted them, hands open for alms, "My lords, just something for a meal. I have run dry of milk to feed my son."

"Don't touch her," a soldier shoved her away.

Diana ordered, "Give her a silver for supper, and another for shoving her."

The same soldier looked at her with shame, and bowed, "As you say, my lady."

The portcullis rose. They watched as the Ghost stepped outside the walls of Gallenport.

"Come. We cannot lose him." Entreating with the guards was no hustle. As soon as they saw her badge that flaunted the famed symbol of a kneeling stone guardian at the centre of a three-pronged star, they merrily kept the gate raised for her.

She asked them, "There was another student before me. Where did he say he's going?"

"Ah," one guard replied, pointing, "To the delta. Are you also headed there, my lady?"

She nodded to him. "Did he say why?"

"To exterminate the cursed being, he said," the guard answered.

And how will he be able to accomplish that without a shred of holy power? He's lying. He's detected our presence. He's going to his brother.

He cannot run to the old knight of Vermilon for safety, Diana thought. If he did, she could simply invoke her claim for justice. The knight had no duty to protect him for he was no longer a Vermilon by name.

In the open field dotted with a smattering of houses and freshly harvested cornfields, the Ghost of Vermil seemed to have quickened his pace. He was nearly out of their sight when they passed under the portcullis, only recognizable by the speck of his lamp that darted over the vegetation.

"He's running away!" Ser Kallan said. "I'll stop him." He thrust his open palm forward as he gathered holy energy there, mouthing, "BREATH OF THE SACRED!" Haaaa...The world seemed to sigh as a gust of wind brushed past their small group of retributionists, whirling past the stubbles of corn, carrying leaves and stones as it went. In a matter of seconds, it caught the Ghost's figure and sent him tumbling in the grass.

"Now is the chance," her soldier told her.

Diana stepped towards her quarry. "No, I want to look him in the face when I take his life from him. He claims to have no memory of it. I should make him remember. Keep him kissing the ground, Ser Kallan."

With another BREATH OF THE SACRED, the knight thrust one hand, summoning a cyclone of wind that knocked the Ghost down once more as he attempted to rise. He clutched the lamp close to his body, shielding it from impact as he tumbled in the dirt. Whenever he tried to get to his feet, the gust of Ser Kallan's wind toppled him. At some point, it looked as though he was merely toying with him.

A group of farmers witnessed the scene. "We are pursuing a murderer. Worry not, we shall bring him justice," she declared.

Despite the bruises on his arms and the blood dripping down his nose, the Ghost of Vermil still had the strength to prop himself on one hand as he gazed up at her. "My lady, what did I do wrong? Whatever it is, please forgive me," he begged, clutching the lamp with his bandaged hand, his beret sitting askew.

A wolf in sheep's clothing. A devil with the facade of an angel. His face appeared strikingly innocent, ocean-blue eyes that seemed to have a glow of their own, hair impeccably golden save for one strand of black hair that hung over his eye. If Diana had no knowledge of his atrocity, she would have mistaken him for a virtuous lamb.

Twirling the die in her fingers, she stooped and spat at his face. "Do you remember now?"

He turned his face away, sniffling. "I'm sorry. What should I remember, my lady?"

"David Rupert. You remember him. Stop pretending!" She stepped on his knuckle with the heel of her shoe.

He winced. "I don't know him, my lady. Please forgive me."

Diana's vision darkened with fury. She wanted him to own up to his crime, to recognize that she was punishing him for it. But if it could not be helped, she still planned on making him pay for the life he took, anyway. She began to emit her holy energy. Just a little should be enough to rid of him.

"He keeps hugging this lamp," the soldier said. He tried to tear it away from him, but the Ghost held on to it as though his life depended on it.

"My lord, please... It's dark," he pleaded, gripping it close to his body, not yielding even as the soldier kicked him at his rib.

Diana chanted, "DIE OF FATE!" The Die of Fate was not so simple an artifact. It could turn into a random object that might or might not be useful. The more holy energy infused, the better the weapon or item that it could become; yet in the end, there was still no absolute certainty. But Diana's blessing from the angels was PEERLESS LUCK — a guarantee that fate would always favour her.

The die siphoned the thin light of holy energy from her. It shimmered gold, then right in her palm, it morphed into a blood-red knife with a sharp toothed edge. A tool of torment. One that she desired. Fate did favour her.

"Sit up," she commanded the limp figure of the Ghost of Vermil. "Sit up! You're not the victim here. My brother was. You slaughtered him. And now you have to pay and suffer the pain that he suffered. Sit up."

He lay immobile as a possum playing dead, compelling the soldiers to cursingly pull him up by the hair. He was battered but he seemed like he could take more. The bleeding from his nose had ceased. Only a caked trail of blood was left there.

"David Rupert, remember the name. Don't die quickly on me." She knelt before him in one knee and purposefully shoved the knife just right below his chest.

"Plea—" His cry for mercy was interrupted by the first tooth of the dagger that buried in his chest.

With all the weight of her arm behind it, Diana began to drive it deeper when — CRAKK! A blinding flash of light erupted next to her, along with it the deafening sound of thunder.

The burst of light flung them apart.

Diana's hearing became muffled after the explosion, but she could make out a panting voice that spoke over them, "How can you disappear out of my sight so quickly?" A woman. She sounded out of breath. "I didn't know you can walk so fast."

With the back of her head hurting from the intense light, Diana had to squint to open her eyes. She recognized her. "Lady Ashwood? Are you declaring war against my house?"

Catherine Ashwood smirked at Diana as though she looked down upon her, "I could have struck you, but I didn't. You see, I have a promise to keep, a boy to watch over. I've been reduced to a babysitter, a genius like me." She lifted the body that lay unmoving on the ground. "Hey, Marco's brother, are you still alive? Can you stand? You should not have run so far so hastily; I am not blessed with long legs."

Although, she appeared to make light of the confrontation, Ashwood did not take her eyes off from Diana, constantly on guard. She kept a sparkling ball of holy power in one hand as she helped the Ghost back to his feet, blood drenching his cloak.

"Step aside, Lady Ashwood and I will overlook this affront. You know he's a murderer. I have the right to retribution," she yelled at her, desperate. The guards should have noticed the spike of lightning. They would rush to the field. Diana was not sure if it would be to her advantage or not.

"With what evidence?" She retorted.

Ten witnesses — all of them recounting the same horrid story. How little Rupert had screamed. How he had still been alive when they found him. How the blood of poor David had soaked the hands of the Ghost of Vermil. They had painted an image in young Diana's mind that she could never forget. So, how could he?

Diana breathed and let her holy power gush out. Her soldiers, drawing their swords, began to encircle Catherine.

Diana scorned her, "You claim to be wise. Yet, here you are, blind to the truth."

She humphed, "I'm not the one about to be blinded."

Diana covered her eyes, activating a barrier. BANG! Another flash of light enveloped them. Thunder boomed so close it threatened to burst their eardrums. When Diana's sight had adjusted, Ashwood had disappeared, along with the Ghost of Vermil.

"There!" Ser Kallan shouted, pointing at the edge of the forest. Earlier, the Ghost had only been feigning weakness, it seemed. Now, with a knife lodged close to his chest, he staggered after Catherine Ashwood as they disappeared beneath the shadows of the trees.