Chapter 18: What is this thing you call `cold'
Author's Note; Despite what many of you think, this chapter needs to happen, maybe because I want it to or the story needs it, but either way here it is. Or there
Roland had already fogged up the bathroom the moment the freezing shower hit his skin. He ached dearly, but some of it was worth it. He was glad to be back in the arms of his girlfriend. He chuckled before correcting himself. "Fiancé," his voice was hoarse and dead, his vocal cords needing to regrow.
"Roland?" she yelled through the closed door.
"What?" he stepped into the shower and every cut from the night before opened up, his blood spilling into the tub. He winced at the pain, but didn't' say anything else.
"I was going to warn you about taking that shower," she stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
"And that would mean anything to me because?" Despite heating up the room, Roland enjoyed the cold water for once. He could have sworn that it would have frozen anyone else, but to him, it was a nice change instead of the heat that always was around him.
"I don't want you wounds to reopen."
"Too late." Roland took his time, cutting his hair as he washed off the grim and the death from his skin. A patch of skin burned his chest, and Roland slowly removed it, creating more blood. At least that massive wound from the Demon was healed up.
"Well, finish up so I can heal you." He chuckled again, and felt her punch upon his arm despite the fact that he knew she didn't move.
"Thanks," Roland replied, rubbing his arm. She had caught a rather sore spot. The pain echoed through is body, and he felt a few loose teeth. He sighed, and focused, drawing the power that was around him into his body. Everything was connected, and while he was infinitely small, the power he had access to was infinitely large. The room expanded, moaning against the stress, because shaking as it returned to its normal size. Almost all of the wounds were gone, though an old one within his side had opened up. He reached for a towel as the world remained still. He had a while if he remained at that speed before his girlfriend even touched the shower curtain. But as he wrapped it around him body, the world returned its normal speed.
"Roland de'Moas," his girlfriend yelled at him, the shower curtain opening up. Roland tensed up, but nearly fell as the wound began to bleed again. "You should know better than that."
"My cousin told me that many times," Roland chuckled, pulling his hand away, looking at the red blood. He hadn't tasted it in over three years, but the craving was still there, like all of his brethren. Human blood was an addiction for some demons, and clearly his father was on of them and was kind enough to pass upon that disease. He shook his head, fighting off the last of his demon hood back into the depth of his soul.
"And yet you still do not listen." The girl placed a hand upon his forehead and on the wound. She used his power, having lost almost all of hers. Slowly, they were coming back, but she still had to rely on Roland more than she cared for. They glowed bright white before the world came back in focus and Roland's wound was healed again, if only of a short time. "Now, please, try not to reopen this wound." She petted his black hair, taking him into her arms.
In truth, he was all she had left. Her family was slaughtered by a pack of banthi demons, ones that he missed in his travels. The next three days were spent eliminating the world of them. There might be a few left, if only Roland released that his heart was misplaced, and he rushed home to take her in his arms and comfort her. After their little adventure from the previous year, it took all of Roland's power to hold onto her and protect her. "I should have been there," she whispered as Roland slowly began to breathe again.
"nope, you needed this just as much as I did." Roland said, reaching up to caress her face. Tears were rolling down. Their connect was stronger than ever, especially after last night. Even in his condition, he wanted to be complete. And now they were. "Besides, helping what Rolands do best." She chuckled at his sweet antics. He adore the simple things in life, which was probably do to the horrors he had seen. Being to Hell thrice did wonders to a person, many having not survived it. But he went, twice to save her.
A hacking cough fit took over Roland, and his girlfriend held him still as he nearly coughed up a lung. "Lets get you off of this floor and dress. Then you will go back to bed to properly recovering." There was no room for argument in her voice.
She stood up, pulling Roland to his feet before leading him to bedroom. The room held many shelves, a few filled with books, but most holding statues or relics Roland had collected through the short five years of his career. "You look pale," she said, sitting him down on the bed, before heading into their closest and pulling out a shirt and a pair of pants for him. Black as that was the only color he wore. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Two three," Roland paused, taking in a deep breathe. "weeks ago." He didn't have to look up to know that his girlfriend was standing shocked, her mouth opened, and angry as Hell.
"Roland Clark de'Moas," she said.
"Oh, middle named me, that isn't good." Roland chuckled before trying to dodge a slap on his arm from her. He didn't have such luck,
"You should know better than that." She was standing over him, fuming. Roland could feel her power pulsing through the room. "And why haven't you been eating?" For a moment, Roland didn't answer; the world went black, then cleared up again. "Roland?" she was shaking him. "Roland, what's wrong?"
"Fuck," he whispered before closing his eyes again.
Roland suddenly jerked back, practically throwing himself onto the bed. His hand shot up to his head, trying to hold out the pain and the anguish. The visions were horrible sometimes. Like this one. It was from the Library, the future in one of many forms. The girl screamed and the demons ascended. The pain echoed through is body; causing every wound he ever received to open up again. It hurt. It hurt as Hell descend upon the girl and Roland felt it all. The screams etched into his brain a single word: Potter.
He passed out from the pain, but heard somewhere in the light his girlfriend yelling for help, and trying to hold his body together. Maybe it was finally over and the light was quickly replaced with darkness.
* * * * * *
Harry was sleeping when the infirmary's doors were thrown open by an unknown force. He was still sleeping when the girl was yelled at Annie to help the man in her arms bleeding to death from all the wounds he had. And he was still sleeping as Logan stormed into the room. No, it was the screams of Hermione that woke him. Sitting up he looked around, the world blurry. Hermione was holding him tightly, refusing to let go. He wrapped on arm around her, the other taking his glasses and Harry saw the horror before him.
The man whom Harry assumed was Roland was covered in boils and burn skin, some it fresh as the smoke was coming off of him. Blood was pouring out of nowhere, but it seemed that his entire body was bleeding.
Logan was standing next to Annie practically yelling at him to prep him for something. Another man with brown hair and a red visor ran in, followed closely by a woman with red hair. She was beautiful. Harry could have sworn that she was familiar, but never saw her before. "Why are we helping that demon?" the man asked.
"Because that `demon'," Logan shouted at the man, "has saved more lives and given more to this world in the past five years than we will in our entire lives." His claws flashed out at the man. Logan turned back to Annie. "Hook me up now, or I'll cut open my wrist just so he can heal."
"W-what's wrong with him?" Hermione finally got open.
"A vision," the girl who brought Roland in said. Her hands were glowing, trying to heal his wounds, but it was a slow process. "He at least needs some blood. Even a pint will help."
Annie turned to Logan. "Get in the bed next to him; we'll have to hope that your blood matches."
Logan practically flew over to the other bed, he just so fast and far. "It will." He was laying down, pulling his sleeves up, preparing for the transfusion.
A thought struck Harry as he watched all this. Ron. His best friend of five years was still missing. "Hermione, I'll be right back," he got up and walked over to Roland. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Harry lifted up the man and glared at him. "Where is Ron?"
"Harry, put him down," the girl said, trying to remain calm. Annie had just come back with the equipment she needed, which fell to the floor when she saw Harry out of bed.
He felt his skin harden and even now, could see it darkening. The earth was flowing through him, giving him power. "Harry for God's sake, just put him down; we'll talk about this later." Logan seemed worried about this man, but this man had Ron and right now, Harry was betting that if Roland died, Ron would go free.
Roland didn't respond, he just held up a hand and a dark portal opened up. Open came tumbling Ron, bruised and in torn cloths, but alive. Harry dropped Roland with a loud thud onto the bed. He rushed over to Ron. Other than a few bruises, he was none worse for the wear. But he kept on muttering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Harry helped his friend over to a bed, where Ron lied down and just stared up.
"Don't worry," Professor Xavier came rolling in, "we'll take care of them." He looked up at the couple standing in the door way. The man was in shock, while the woman seemed quite amused. "Jean, can you help Ms. Granger find some cloths? Scott, same with Mr. Potter?" Logan glared at Scott with all the hatred in the world, but Harry couldn't figure out why. This had nothing to do with Roland.
Hermione had gotten up and was standing behind Harry now. She slowly slipped her hands around his waist and almost hid behind him. The fear was echoing off of her, it wasn't of the woman, it wasn't of Roland, it wasn't even of Ron. It was the man with the brown hair and the red visor. There was this darkness around him that Harry saw that he couldn't explain. A darkness that evoked the primal aspects of Harry's power.
You'll be safe, a calm voice echoed in Harry's mind. It seemed like so familiar, almost like that of a woman who he knew so long ago. No harm will come to you or your soulmate. Harry looked directly at the red-haired woman. She was smiling at them, hoping that they would come along.
"You will be safe," Roland's voice echoed in the room. "I'll make sure of that." No one else, save Hermione, the red haired woman and Logan heard the noise, as their eyes focused in on the bloody man. "Death won't be swift enough." Whether Roland was talking about Harry or himself, the boy-who-lived didn't know. But the pain and agony that came with that statement told him much.
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