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Freedom | Libertad [Zihel]
🕑 Added 2023-09-26 10:00:04 +0000 UTC
Fifty years for a demon is a small period, a fraction of a long life that is barely perceptible. But on earth, even that feeling becomes more real, full of rich nuances that change the perspective of an immortal being. Zihel began to grasp concepts he thought would never affect him. He could sense the vertigo of ageing, of being forgotten and that everything outside that cell was still going on; moving, changing without him. Although for that to happen he had to end up locked in a hole that smelled of sulphur and was damp.
Blood Brothers perished, were replaced and new ones were born. The direction of the Church had changed course several times, according to Valefar's objectives, and through the crack of a window to the outside, he saw the city grow and decline, as if it really had a life of its own and wasn't just a jumble of concrete and metal.
It wasn't the first time he had to live with himself. He didn't like it. It sucked, actually, but that time, there were no options for escape. Sometimes he'd hit the wall for fun, but if he got out of line, the spells they'd put on him would leave him shaking in pain on the floor. He'd be lying if he said he ever didn't look for it. It was better than thinking about Hasiel or the way he'd fucked up. No one visited him, no one gave him food, water, or the option of going out. He was in perpetual isolation and the best day was when a new prisoner arrived.
From what he had been noticing, the most likely to end up there were the demons of anger, followed quite closely by the demons of lust. He could hear them jerking off on the other side of the wall and it was disgusting. Not many came, but they did leave from time to time. At first, they were demons who had been there a lot longer than he had, but after a couple of decades, he began to realise that everyone who left, he had seen them come in. Far from wanting to leave his cell, he began to worry that no one was interested in using him for anything. Neither as a guest in a blood brother, nor as an experiment of some demented demon. Nothing. It was as if... Someone had reserved something special for him.
Whatever Valefar had in store for him, he wouldn't beg, he wouldn't prostrate himself, he would accept the punishment and laugh in his face. That was to be his final revenge. Possibly the only one he had and also the last. Over time, his thirst for revenge and violence had been extinguished, to become just a resigned prisoner, tired of existence itself. Wherever he went, worldly things did not fulfil him and he had nothing to fight for. No creatures to cherish, no goals to achieve. His very existence had become absurd.
The morning in March when his cell was opened, he felt ready to face his fate. The brothers laid him motionless on the floor. They surrounded him with chains and shackles and pulled him like a rabid dog. He went over what he was going to say in his head, but the words became a blur as a ray of sunlight hit him in the face. The heat and the light made him feel nauseous in his stomach, like the first time he opened his eyes on that strange planet. He had forgotten that sensation, as well as the smells... From his cell he could only smell the mould, but there were scents permeating everywhere. His sense of smell had been asleep for so long that it seemed to him that he could chew those smells.
The brothers led him straight into Valefar's office, in a very discreet entrance for him. Something was not going according to plan. Something was wrong. But he couldn't guess what.
'Hello.' Zihel watched him with his hunter's eyes wordlessly. His face hadn't changed, but his clothes had, his hair, his ridiculous style from a time he didn't know. 'Cat got your tongue?'
'What are you going to do to me?' His voice sounded cavernous from lack of use.
'Do you want me to do something to you?' His laugh was more irritating than I remembered. 'It seems your sense of humour hasn't been fixed by the years. Well, since you don't want to chat, let's get down to business.' Valefar slid a file across the table until it was in front of him. The title that read as a headline was: "Pin". 'Find it for me without causing me trouble and I'll consider releasing you for good behaviour.' That left him brooding in silence for a few seconds. He had taken it for granted that Valefar would have a punishment prepared especially for him, but he had never believed that he would have something that Valefar might want. Now he understood why he hadn't eliminated him, he still believed he could be useful to him.
He picked up the folder and glanced over it. He didn't understand what value a teenager with less brains than height would have. But if he had learned anything from Valefar, it was that he didn't like questions. If there was anything he needed to know, it would be there.
'Alive?' he asked before closing the file with an impatient wave of his hand.
'If you kill someone, I assure you that going back to your cell will be the least of your problems.' He wasn't sure he was going to honour the terms of the deal. First, because he hadn't promised to take it out, just to think about it. And, second, because the ground was too well prepared. He had made sure that the church had conveniently forgotten him, and now he had become the errand boy who went out the back door and no one saw.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance. He'd sworn to die killing himself, but this wasn't so bad. He could get out. If only one last time. He was already a winner, even if there was no reward. He bit his lip, annoyed with himself. He had gotten what he wanted from him, he was desperate for a breath of fresh air.
'When do I start?' Valefar folded his hands on the desk, pleased with how receptive Zihel now seemed. A little firm hand and a good sledgehammer and even the toughest flesh will eventually soften.
'Now.' He gestured in the direction of the door. Zihel turned and left the office without any sign of flinching, but even he knew that his clenched fist was shaking inside his pocket.
He looked up and down the corridor, expecting a pair of brothers to block his way, like a bad practical joke. But it didn't happen. He managed to leave the compound without anyone intercepting him.
He was free, but he had never felt so prisoner.
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Cincuenta años para un demonio es un periodo pequeño, una fracciĂłn de una larga vida que apenas es perceptible. Pero en la tierra, incluso esa sensaciĂłn se vuelve mĂĄs real, llena de ricos matices que cambian la perspectiva de un ser inmortal. Zihel comenzĂł a comprender conceptos que creĂa que nunca le afectarĂan. PodĂa percibir el vĂ©rtigo al envejecimiento, a ser olvidado y que todo lo que estĂĄ fuera de aquella celda, seguĂa su curso; MoviĂ©ndose, cambiando sin Ă©l. Aunque para que eso pasase tuvo que acabar encerrado en un agujero que olĂa a azufre y tenĂa humedades.
Hermanos de Sangre perecieron, fueron reemplazados y nacieron nuevos. La direcciĂłn de la Iglesia habĂa cambiado varias veces de rumbo, segĂșn los objetivos de Valefar y por el resquicio de ventana que daba al exterior, vio la ciudad crecer y decrecer. como si de verdad tuviera vida propia y no fuese solo un amasijo de cemento y metal.
No era la primera vez que habĂa tenido que convivir consigo mismo. No le agradaba. Era una mierda, de hecho, pero aquella vez, no habĂa opciones para evadirse. A veces le pegaba a la pared por diversiĂłn, pero si se pasaba de la raya, los hechizos que le habĂan puesto encima lo dejaban temblando de dolor en el suelo. MentirĂa si dijese que alguna vez no lo buscaba. Era mejor que pensar en Hasiel o en la forma en la que la habĂa cagado. Nadie lo visitaba, nadie le daba comida, agua, ni la opciĂłn de salir. Estaba en perpetuo aislamiento y el mejor dĂa, era aquel en el que un nuevo preso llegaba.
Por lo que se habĂa ido dando cuenta, los mĂĄs propensos a acabar allĂ eran los demonios de la ira, seguidos bastante de cerca por los de la lujuria. Los escuchaba cascĂĄrsela al otro lado de la pared y era asqueroso. No llegaban muchos, pero sĂ que se marchaban de cuando en cuando. Al principio, eran demonios que llevaban mucho mĂĄs tiempo que Ă©l allĂ, pero al cabo de un par de dĂ©cadas, se empezĂł a dar cuenta, que todos los que salĂan, los habĂa visto entrar. Lejos de desear abandonar su celda, le empezĂł a inquietar que nadie estuviese interesado en usarlo en nada. Ni como huesped en un hermano de sangre, ni como experimento de algĂșn demonio demente. Nada. Es como⊠Si alguien hubiese reservado algo especial para Ă©l.
Fuera lo que fuera lo que Valefar le tenĂa preparado, no rogarĂa, no se postrarĂa, aceptarĂa el castigo y se reirĂa en su cara. Esa iba a ser su venganza final. Posiblemente la Ășnica que tenĂa y tambiĂ©n la Ășltima. Con el tiempo, se habĂa ido apagando su sed de venganza y violencia, para volverse tan solo un preso resignado, cansado de la propia existencia. Fuese a donde fuese las cosas mundanas no le llenaban y no tenĂa nada por lo que luchar. Ni criaturas a las que apreciaba, ni objetivos que alcanzar. Su mera existencia se habĂa vuelto absurda.
La mañana de marzo que abrieron su celda, se sentĂa preparado para afrontar su destino. Los hermanos lo dejaron inmĂłvil contra el suelo. Lo rodearon de cadenas y grilletes y tiraron de Ă©l como si fuese un perro rabioso. RepasĂł lo que iba a decir en su cabeza, pero las palabras se volvieron borrosas cuando un rayo de sol le golpeĂł en la cara. El calor y la luz, le hicieron sentir nĂĄuseas en el estĂłmago, como la primera vez que abriĂł los ojos en aquel extraño planeta. Se habĂa olvidado de aquella sensaciĂłn, como tambiĂ©n de los olores⊠Desde su celda solo se podĂa percibir el del moho, pero allĂ habĂa aromas que se filtraban por todas partes. HabĂa tenido el olfato dormido durante tanto tiempo, que le parecĂa que podĂa masticar aquellos olores.
Los hermanos lo llevaron directamente al despacho de Valefar, en una muy discreta entrada para ser Ă©l. Algo no iba segĂșn lo planeado. Algo estaba mal. Pero no podĂa adivinar el quĂ©.
âHola.â Zihel lo observĂł con sus ojos de cazador sin decir nada. Su rostro no habĂa cambiado, pero sĂ su ropa, su pelo, su estilo ridĂculo de una Ă©poca que no conocĂa.â ÂżTe ha comido la lengua el gato?
âÂżQuĂ© vas a hacerme?â Su voz sonĂł cavernosa por la falta de uso.
âÂżEs quĂ© acaso quieres que te haga algo?â Su risa era mĂĄs irritante de lo que recordaba.â Parece que tu sentido del humor no lo han arreglado los años. Bien, pues no quieres charlar pasemos a lo que importa.â Valefar deslizĂł un archivo por la mesa hasta ponerlo delante de Ă©l. El tĂtulo que rezaba como cabecero era: âPinâ.â EncuĂ©ntralo para mĂ sin causarme problemas y me replantearĂ© soltarte por buena conducta.â Aquello le dejĂł algunos segundos meditando en silencio. HabĂa dado por hecho que Valefar tendrĂa un castigo preparado especialmente para Ă©l, pero nunca creyĂł que Ă©l tendrĂa algo que Valefar pudiese querer. Ahora entendiĂł por quĂ© no lo habĂa eliminado, aĂșn creĂa que podĂa serle Ăștil.
TomĂł la carpeta y la ojeĂł por encima. No entendĂa quĂ© valor tendrĂa un adolescente con menos cerebro que altura. Pero si algo habĂa aprendido de Valefar, es que no le gustaban las preguntas. Si habĂa algo que debĂa saber estarĂa allĂ.
âÂżVivo?â PreguntĂł antes de cerrar el archivo de un manotazo impaciente.
âSi matas a alguien, te aseguro que volver a tu celda serĂĄ el menor de tus problemas.â No estaba seguro de que fuese a cumplir los tĂ©rminos del trato. Primero, porque no habĂa prometido sacarlo, solo pensarlo. Y, segundo, porque el terreno estaba demasiado bien preparado. Se habĂa asegurado de que la iglesia le olvidase de forma muy conveniente y ahora se habĂa convertido en el chico de los recados que salĂa por la puerta de atrĂĄs y nadie veĂa.
ChasqueĂł la lengua molesto. Se habĂa jurado morir matando, pero aquello no estaba tan mal. PodrĂa salir. Aunque fuese una Ășltima vez. Ya salĂa ganando aunque luego no hubiese recompensa. Se mordiĂł el labio, estaba molesto consigo mismo. HabĂa conseguido lo que querĂa de Ă©l, estaba desesperado por una bocanada de aire fresco.
âÂżCuĂĄndo empiezo?â Valefar juntĂł sus manos sobre el escritorio, satisfecho con lo receptivo que parecĂa ahora Zihel. Un poco de mano firme y un buen mazo y hasta la carne mĂĄs dura acaba por ablandarse.
âYa.â Hizo un gesto en direcciĂłn a la puerta. Zihel se girĂł y saliĂł del despacho sin ninguna señal de flaqueza, pero hasta Ă©l sabĂa que su puño cerrado temblaba dentro del bolsillo.
MirĂł a ambos lados del pasillo, esperando que un par de hermanos le cerraran el paso, como una mala broma pesada. Pero no sucediĂł. ConsiguiĂł abandonar el recinto sin que nadie lo interceptara.
Era libre, pero nunca se habĂa sentido tan prisionero.
