The mundane

Having been hiding away from the world for centuries and living in a remote mysterious island unlocated. He finally discovers a mundane;a young boy shipwrecked and left stranded at the shores of the island half dead with a Ravener demon poison coursing through his veins. Craving a mundanes(someone of the human world) company over the years,thus he decided to save his live.

For three days, the young boy ;Drake Wayland thought slowly. All his thoughts ran as thickly and slowly as blood or honey.

"I have to wake up".

But he couldn’t.

The dreams held him, one after the other, a river of images that bore him along like a leaf tossed in a current. He saw how a Ravener demon killed his dad and how he singlehandedly killed the Ravener demon but however got poisoned by it and then how he woke up in very dark cave. He also saw his mother lying in a hospital bed, eyes like bruises in white face. He saw himself, standing atop a pile of bones with white feathered wings sprouting out of his back. Angels, falling and burning. Falling out of the sky.

Drake’s eyelids felt as if they had been sewed shut. He imagined he could feel tearing skin as he peeled them slowly open and blinked for the first time in three days.

He saw clear blue sky above him, white puffy clouds and chubby angels with gilded ribbons trailing from their wrists. Am I dead? he wondered. Could heaven actually look like this? He squeezed Drake’s eyelids felt as if they had been sewed shut. He imagined he could feel tearing skin as he peeled them slowly open and blinked for the first time in three days.his eyes shut and opened them again: This time he realized that what he was staring at was a stalactite and stalagmite, painted with a rococo motif of clouds and cherubs.

Painfully he hauled himself into a sitting position. Every part of him ached, especially the back of his neck where the Ravener demon inserted it's poison through into his systems. He glanced around. He was tucked into a linen-sheeted beds with metal headboards. Although he could hear the faint and ever present chirping sound of birds. He wondered where he was as he realized he was in a cave.

Just above him was an aperture through which light rays from the sun entered the cave, it was the source of the visible form of energy.

In the center of the cave sat a magnificent desk. It was carved from a single slab of wood, a great, heavy piece of oak that gleamed with the dull shine of years. The slab rested upon the backs of two angels, carved from the same wood, their wings gilded and their faces engraved with a look of suffering, as if the weight of the slab were breaking their backs.

The walls were lined with books, the shelves so high that tall ladders set on casters were placed along them at intervals. These were no ordinary books either—these were books bound in leather and velvet, clasped with sturdy-looking locks and hinges made of brass and silver. Their spines were studded with dully glowing jewels and illuminated with gold script. They looked worn in a way that made it clear that these books were not just old but were well used, and had been loved.

The last thing Drake could remember was that he and his father were attacked on their ship ,a quick image of the scorpion thing with its crabbed, evil face flashed through his mind; he shuddered.

A long, scaled creature with a cluster of flat black eyes set dead center in the front of its domed skull. Something like a cross between an alligator and a centipede, it had a thick, flat snout and a barbed tail that whipped menacingly from side to side. Multiple legs bunched underneath it as it readied itself to spring.

The cavernous space looked less like it had been designed according to a floor plan and more like it had been naturally hollowed out of rock by the passage of water and years.

The floor was polished wood, inlaid with chips of glass and marble and bits of semiprecious stone. The inlay formed a pattern that Drake couldn’t quite decipher—it might have been the constellations, or even a map of the world; he suspected he’d have to climb up into the cave and look down in order to see it properly.

Like a gush of wind and spiritual energy embracing the cave that has been turned into a vast institute and well designed, a tall masculine and powerful figure embraced the large cave. It was shinigami. His silvery close-cropped hair gleamed like a polished steel helmet and his mouth was hard. He wore a waist sheath on his thick belt and the hilt of a long sword protruded from the top of it. Drake turned and dumbfounded. A shriek tore itself out of his throat. he staggered backward, tripped, and fell, just as the powerful figure walked towards him majestically with his hands folded.

His sclera turned pitch black and the iris color was red. His two wings. One a pure white feathered wing and the other a pitch black bat wing have all varnished by virture of shape shifting into a human. He was an Angel-Demon blood. Even bus third eye were no longer visible.

“So, you’re finally awake,” said shinigami. “i'm pleased. I thought you’d probably die in your sleep."

In a jiffy,the powerful figure was now perched on the next bed.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Drake’s voice rasped like sandpaper. "Where am I"? The young boy said in fear as he staggered backward the more, scribbling his hands on the floor as if to get hold of something, finally a stick, "Don't get close to me" he threatened pointing the stick towards shinigami.

Shinigami rolled his eyes. I should be the one asking the questions and not vice versa." I saved you from dying from the Ravener demon poison,just so you know"

The image flashed through Drake's mind immediately for the second time.

"You mean that creature is a demon?" Drake asked and the next second coughed out and a sudden, stabbing pain made him clutch at his stomach. He gasped.

Shinigami looked at him in alarm. “Are you okay?”

The pain was fading, but Drake was aware of an acid feeling in the back of his throat and a strange light-headedness. "My stomach"

“Oh, right. I almost forgot. I ought to have given this to you since you've woken up.” shinigami grabbed for the ceramic pitcher and poured some of the contents into the matching cup, which he handed to Drake. It was full of a cloudy liquid that steamed slightly. It smelled like herbs and something else, something rich and dark. “You haven’t eaten anything in three days,” Shinigami pointed out. “That’s probably why you feel sick.”

Knowing this strange man saved him from dying ought to have dispelled his fears but he still had his reservations however,he gingerly took a sip. It was delicious, rich and satisfying with a buttery aftertaste. “What is this?”

Shinigami shrugged. “One of my tisanes. They always work.” He slid off the bed, landing on the floor with a catlike arch of his back. “I’m shinigami, The only surviving Nephalem and by the way I live here alone in this island."

"What do you mean by a Nepahalem?"