Novel & Cerita The Hand Requiem

After that, she glanced at Nick and turned to leave. Nick stood still, recalling the swear made by Master Handerson ten years ago. "In this life, if I, Callan Handerson, want to have children, I will cut off my finger and suffer from the pain of separation with my beloved one. And both of us will be cursed and die a terrible death!" The broken finger, the separation, the curse, and the terrible death... "Well..." Outside the ICU, there was a faint voice. Nick looked up and found that Rainie was sitting in a wheelchair with a timid look and was coming toward him.

'These are Demon hands. The old man's face brightened instantly. 'Yes,' he said, happily and seemingly unaware of my horror. 'That's right! You've got it. A gold star for you!' Nodding, almost to himself, he turned and surveyed the row, sweeping his arm out as if presenting the display of severed hands to me. 'Behold the spoils of the Endless War. What you see before you are the hands of every Shedim slain since the time after the Fall.'

I glanced at Ruth and she was beaming, tears in her eyes. The room bustled. Laughter, gasps and rounds of applauses. Then Victor cleared his throat. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. For tonight's last piece, we have a 32 by 48 oil on canvas titled ‘Hands of Heritage'. It shows a black woman standing tall in a sunlit yard surrounded by a bamboo fence. A baby wrapped snugly on her back as she pounds into a wooden mortar. Around her, chickens pecked at the red earth, and smoke curled in the background.”

The wound suddenly burst with a blinding light, as if it would tear his entire body apart. Kael let out a pained grunt but didn't stop. "Kael! What are you doing?" I tried to stop him. "Don't move," he said through gritted teeth. "This is the best protection I can give you." With a sharp cracking sound, a black crystal flew from his chest and landed in my hand. It was a heart-stoppingly beautiful crystal, as if it held the saddest melody in the world sealed within. "A Requiem Shard," Kael said weakly. "It's condensed from my deepest sorrow and despair. Crush it. Any soul that hears the sound will be plunged into absolute silence."

Even the middle-aged woman who usually loved to gossip lowered her head silently with a blush and made way for us. Although Chris didn't have hands to return the salutes, he tried to straighten his injured spine, and a long-lost smile appeared on his scarred face. With hands that no one could see, he accepted the delayed kindness and respect. I squatted down and gently kissed the scar on his amputated shoulder. "Honey, dawn has arrived." Under the sunlight, his shadow stretched back long and far. Like a monument.

I picked up the cardboard box and went to the first-floor lobby. Jebediah drifted out from behind a pillar like a wraith. "Aw, are you in a rush, Dr. Birch?" He deliberately stood before me, his eyes glinting with another scheme. "There's one final process to go through." I looked at him coldly. 'Out of my way." Jebediah froze before chortling. "Temper, temper, Dr. Birch." He didn't seem to have heard me as he continued, "Just to answer the Internet's curiosity, we've decided to make a broadcast about your punishment."

They were wondering what to do when Tia dropped a piece of paper on to Trion's head. "I'm not happy seeing all of you helpless like this...it hurts me so much. But I think I know what to do and I can see you guys have only fifteen minutes. You have to get a golden tear from the pregnant virgin queen of death." "Look.... look what Tia has told us. But how's this possible... I mean, how can someone be virgin and pregnant at the same time?"Trion was finding it hard to believe.

I set the timer on the coffee machine and waited patiently for the one liquid that might be able to set everything back to normal. “There’s a prisoner in the Hillburgh cell. He needs you to break this particular prisoner and get her to confess.” “Her?” I mused. “That’s new. What’s her crime?” “High treason.” He said usually like it was nothing. I blew a long whistle. “That’s a damn shame. Who’s the broad?” I poured out the coffee and blew on the fumes before sipping the foam and feeling the first thrill run through my spine. Coffee was heaven.

> “Sera: The One Who Will Survive Me” Her hands shook now. More than they had in the neural room. More than when she purged Echo. She opened the envelope. Inside: a folded piece of film. A photo. Not of Sera. Of Elise. Bruised. Bloody. Laughing. In the corner of the photo, in barely legible handwriting: > “She hit me. I laughed. She cried. I told her: that’s how I know you’re still mine.” Sera didn’t cry this time.

The priest’s voice rose and fell as he recited the prayers. "Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei." "Grant her eternal rest, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her." The priest beside him interpreted. Rafael stood on my left. Lucia on my right. Their presence was the only thing keeping me upright. My father stood across the grave, alone. His face was carved from stone, but his hands — his hands trembled at his sides. The priest lifted a small brass thurible, swinging it gently. The smoke of frankincense curled upward, disappearing into the pale morning sky.