Chapter 199: 199
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At the other end of the room, Soren's eyes snap open.
In that one shared look, a zap of energy passes light lightning across the gap between us, filling my body with a renewed energy that burns in my veins. It is obvious from the scowl that crosses Azrael's face that he hasn't seen it- the eerie glow of yellow eyes that glower from the shadows, the rising of a body wound in silver chains that now look more like fragile vines than silver bindings. So shortly I come to realise this is my chance- my shot at making Azrael pay for the crimes he has committed. And that is not an opportunity I am dying to miss.
One flip of a switch and fire and life flood back into my body, cascading through my system like water flooding down a river. My body burns, insides rumbling with a tremulous feeling as magic trembles through me, filling me with an unquenchable power, and one I so desperately missed. My fingers curl into fists.
"You are weak, Serena," Azrael taunts, his lips shrivelling into a sneer as he leans forward, pressing his body so close to mine that if he got any closer our bodies might just merge into one. "You can't stop me, and you never will be able to."
Giving one more glance over to the rising spectre in the corner of the room, I lower my gaze.
"Oh yeah? Well how about you try this on for size?"
Before Azrael can even register what is going on, my hands cut through the chains with a downwards yank, sending splinters of metal flying. Then, drawing back my fist, I punch him in the face.
Now, I don't mean to brag, but if Azrael had been mortal, that punch surely would have killed him. For the sheer bone crunching force behind the punch is enough to send Azrael staggering backwards, clutching his nose between his fingers, the bone twisted to protrude at an odd angle.
And even if it were not for the monumental weight and anger behind the punch, then it would be the flames that mar his face, scalding that perfect, alabaster skin and scorching it to a blistering mess that truly would have killed him. It is times like this when I wish he wasn't a vampire.
And so I grin as Azrael goes stumbling back, his legs flailing out beneath him like a new born lamb, taking a moment to revel in the glory of my act. A wide smirk graces my features at the sight of the blood that trickles down his nose, trailing down his chin like water down a stream.
Fortunately for him, the humiliation does not last long, and he manages to keep his ground. But much to my delight, he is seething.
Roaring, Azrael clutches the right side of the face, feeling the scarred skin beneath his finger tips that will surely heal in a matter of days. With a harsh thunk, Azrael clicks his nose back into place, the injury healing in a matter of seconds beneath his fingertips.
Well, I frown inwardly, so much for doing some permanent damage. But vampires, being rather obsessed with cosmetics and beauty- for it is an essential part of their being- what makes them so alluring and enticing to the folk of Faey and yet so unfathomably, utterly, dangerous, do not take such a violation of appearance lightly. Azrael's bloodied fingers drop to his sides as his gaze meets mine with an unrelenting rage in a matter of seconds.
Azrael's form flickers.
"You little bitch," he hisses wildly, drawing his hand away to inspect the blood that drains over his face, pooling in his palm with a tinge of blackened and burnt decay. "And here I thought you were the more submissive one. Looks like you need some training," he grunts, still somewhat having the nerve to laugh as he begins to take several lunging paces forward. Fishing in my sachet blindly, I keep an eyes on Soren, who rises silent as a ghost in the corner of the room, his form swimming in shadows, his eyes burning a formidable crimson.
There is something different about his form, something new, unexplainable, yet I barely have time to pass over him as Azrael approaches, my attention quickly reverted to the fight at hand.
At last in my hand, I grab what I am looking for.
Time to cause some permanent damage, I snicker to myself, rolling the bottle of silver fillings in the palm of my hand.
Azrael does not seem to notice what I am up to as crawls forward, his shape shifting, distorting, one minute a vampire, the next a behemoth winged demonic, glaring down at me with huge white teeth and red, soulless eyes. In my heart I know it is an illusion, and yet staring down this unholy monstrosity is much more difficult than the legends make it sound. Even if I had wanted to state otherwise, there would be no use denying it. Azrael's power is terrifying.
Frantically, I unstop the bottle in my hands, discarding the cork on the floor and tipping the contents of it into the palm of my hands, trying to ignore the shakiness of my posture. Silver fillings spill into my palm, burning me slightly to the touch, but having only part vampire blood in my veins, it is hardly a problem. Clenching these fillings in my slowly heating palm, I return my gaze to the creature before me.
"You are lucky I cannot hurt you," Azrael whispers, his voice turning into a slobbering growl as his form changes, towering above me as a terrific, heaving behemoth. The creature is bulging in muscle, his nails lengthening to claws, leathery wings dragging on the ground, too heavy to use. Underneath, it is still Azrael- still burdened with that snarky grin, white messy hair, and blood red eyes that drill holes right into your soul. Still that same fraudulent, misogynistic vampire- only this one is much, much larger.
In my heart I know it is an illusion. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying.
"Because otherwise," he growls, shaking the blood off his hands. "I might have killed you for that."
"Funny that," I say, allowing a flame to crackle to life in my palm, engulfing the silver shards with a whoosh of power. I do my best to throw him a smile of nonchalance. "Because I can kill you. Now, lets make that mark on your face lasting, shall we?" I grin, and with a sly wink in his direction just for good measure, lob the flame at his face.
The effect is everything I hoped for and more.
Flames shoot through the air at speeds even my vampire eyes can't trace, flickering with residue of bright metallic silvers. The air crackles as it burns up, a shower of purple and blue sparks reaching out in different directions until at last it collides with its target with a fracturing sizzle. Within seconds, the right side of Azrael's face is suddenly embedded with shards of silver and the imprint of shallow golden flames.
The beast roars, clutching his face with his hand. The smell of burning flesh wafts up into the air, potent and intoxicating as a small sizzling hum drifts from Azrael's form. My work is done.
When at last he breathes himself to calm, tugging his hand away from his face, the damage I have done is revealed- and it is spectacular.
Unlike the scar on his chest- more of a war token than a ruination of his profound beauty, the marks that scratch up his face are entirely the opposite. The whole half of his face is ruined- there is no doubt about it. His skin is scarred with an ongoing series of gashes, red and pliable under the influence of my magic, his entire face raw, his majesty obliterated. From the wounds, a red blood seeps like tears down his face, trickling down his cheek and on to the floor below us with a wet patter. Blood drips from one ruined, white eye.
"You have ruined me," he whispers, his hands shaking, claws lengthening at his fingers. Then his voice rises. "You have ruined me!" he roars, lunging towards me, blood and spit spraying in tandem from his mouth. I dodge out the way, aided by the partial blindness that Azrael now has, a trait which is not only disorientating him, but slowing him down.
Not that I am complaining.
"You got what you deserved," I spit at him, readying another fireball in my palms. "Besides," I add, my voice laced with a mocking undertone. "Now your face matches your personality. An ugly monster."
Catapulting another fireball in his direction, I scoot around the room, understanding how imperative it is to keep myself moving with Azrael baying for my blood. For while Azrael is disorientated now, there is no telling whether it will last- or if he is faking it altogether.. I wouldn't put it past him. I need to stay unpredictable, I need to-
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At the other end of the room, Soren's eyes snap open.
In that one shared look, a zap of energy passes light lightning across the gap between us, filling my body with a renewed energy that burns in my veins. It is obvious from the scowl that crosses Azrael's face that he hasn't seen it- the eerie glow of yellow eyes that glower from the shadows, the rising of a body wound in silver chains that now look more like fragile vines than silver bindings. So shortly I come to realise this is my chance- my shot at making Azrael pay for the crimes he has committed. And that is not an opportunity I am dying to miss.
One flip of a switch and fire and life flood back into my body, cascading through my system like water flooding down a river. My body burns, insides rumbling with a tremulous feeling as magic trembles through me, filling me with an unquenchable power, and one I so desperately missed. My fingers curl into fists.
"You are weak, Serena," Azrael taunts, his lips shrivelling into a sneer as he leans forward, pressing his body so close to mine that if he got any closer our bodies might just merge into one. "You can't stop me, and you never will be able to."
Giving one more glance over to the rising spectre in the corner of the room, I lower my gaze.
"Oh yeah? Well how about you try this on for size?"
Before Azrael can even register what is going on, my hands cut through the chains with a downwards yank, sending splinters of metal flying. Then, drawing back my fist, I punch him in the face.
Now, I don't mean to brag, but if Azrael had been mortal, that punch surely would have killed him. For the sheer bone crunching force behind the punch is enough to send Azrael staggering backwards, clutching his nose between his fingers, the bone twisted to protrude at an odd angle.
And even if it were not for the monumental weight and anger behind the punch, then it would be the flames that mar his face, scalding that perfect, alabaster skin and scorching it to a blistering mess that truly would have killed him. It is times like this when I wish he wasn't a vampire.
And so I grin as Azrael goes stumbling back, his legs flailing out beneath him like a new born lamb, taking a moment to revel in the glory of my act. A wide smirk graces my features at the sight of the blood that trickles down his nose, trailing down his chin like water down a stream.
Fortunately for him, the humiliation does not last long, and he manages to keep his ground. But much to my delight, he is seething.
Roaring, Azrael clutches the right side of the face, feeling the scarred skin beneath his finger tips that will surely heal in a matter of days. With a harsh thunk, Azrael clicks his nose back into place, the injury healing in a matter of seconds beneath his fingertips.
Well, I frown inwardly, so much for doing some permanent damage. But vampires, being rather obsessed with cosmetics and beauty- for it is an essential part of their being- what makes them so alluring and enticing to the folk of Faey and yet so unfathomably, utterly, dangerous, do not take such a violation of appearance lightly. Azrael's bloodied fingers drop to his sides as his gaze meets mine with an unrelenting rage in a matter of seconds.
Azrael's form flickers.
"You little bitch," he hisses wildly, drawing his hand away to inspect the blood that drains over his face, pooling in his palm with a tinge of blackened and burnt decay. "And here I thought you were the more submissive one. Looks like you need some training," he grunts, still somewhat having the nerve to laugh as he begins to take several lunging paces forward. Fishing in my sachet blindly, I keep an eyes on Soren, who rises silent as a ghost in the corner of the room, his form swimming in shadows, his eyes burning a formidable crimson.
There is something different about his form, something new, unexplainable, yet I barely have time to pass over him as Azrael approaches, my attention quickly reverted to the fight at hand.
At last in my hand, I grab what I am looking for.
Time to cause some permanent damage, I snicker to myself, rolling the bottle of silver fillings in the palm of my hand.
Azrael does not seem to notice what I am up to as crawls forward, his shape shifting, distorting, one minute a vampire, the next a behemoth winged demonic, glaring down at me with huge white teeth and red, soulless eyes. In my heart I know it is an illusion, and yet staring down this unholy monstrosity is much more difficult than the legends make it sound. Even if I had wanted to state otherwise, there would be no use denying it. Azrael's power is terrifying.
Frantically, I unstop the bottle in my hands, discarding the cork on the floor and tipping the contents of it into the palm of my hands, trying to ignore the shakiness of my posture. Silver fillings spill into my palm, burning me slightly to the touch, but having only part vampire blood in my veins, it is hardly a problem. Clenching these fillings in my slowly heating palm, I return my gaze to the creature before me.
"You are lucky I cannot hurt you," Azrael whispers, his voice turning into a slobbering growl as his form changes, towering above me as a terrific, heaving behemoth. The creature is bulging in muscle, his nails lengthening to claws, leathery wings dragging on the ground, too heavy to use. Underneath, it is still Azrael- still burdened with that snarky grin, white messy hair, and blood red eyes that drill holes right into your soul. Still that same fraudulent, misogynistic vampire- only this one is much, much larger.
In my heart I know it is an illusion. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying.
"Because otherwise," he growls, shaking the blood off his hands. "I might have killed you for that."
"Funny that," I say, allowing a flame to crackle to life in my palm, engulfing the silver shards with a whoosh of power. I do my best to throw him a smile of nonchalance. "Because I can kill you. Now, lets make that mark on your face lasting, shall we?" I grin, and with a sly wink in his direction just for good measure, lob the flame at his face.
The effect is everything I hoped for and more.
Flames shoot through the air at speeds even my vampire eyes can't trace, flickering with residue of bright metallic silvers. The air crackles as it burns up, a shower of purple and blue sparks reaching out in different directions until at last it collides with its target with a fracturing sizzle. Within seconds, the right side of Azrael's face is suddenly embedded with shards of silver and the imprint of shallow golden flames.
The beast roars, clutching his face with his hand. The smell of burning flesh wafts up into the air, potent and intoxicating as a small sizzling hum drifts from Azrael's form. My work is done.
When at last he breathes himself to calm, tugging his hand away from his face, the damage I have done is revealed- and it is spectacular.
Unlike the scar on his chest- more of a war token than a ruination of his profound beauty, the marks that scratch up his face are entirely the opposite. The whole half of his face is ruined- there is no doubt about it. His skin is scarred with an ongoing series of gashes, red and pliable under the influence of my magic, his entire face raw, his majesty obliterated. From the wounds, a red blood seeps like tears down his face, trickling down his cheek and on to the floor below us with a wet patter. Blood drips from one ruined, white eye.
"You have ruined me," he whispers, his hands shaking, claws lengthening at his fingers. Then his voice rises. "You have ruined me!" he roars, lunging towards me, blood and spit spraying in tandem from his mouth. I dodge out the way, aided by the partial blindness that Azrael now has, a trait which is not only disorientating him, but slowing him down.
Not that I am complaining.
"You got what you deserved," I spit at him, readying another fireball in my palms. "Besides," I add, my voice laced with a mocking undertone. "Now your face matches your personality. An ugly monster."
Catapulting another fireball in his direction, I scoot around the room, understanding how imperative it is to keep myself moving with Azrael baying for my blood. For while Azrael is disorientated now, there is no telling whether it will last- or if he is faking it altogether.. I wouldn't put it past him. I need to stay unpredictable, I need to-
At the other end of the room, Soren's eyes snap open.In that one shared look, a zap of energy passes light lightning across the gap between us, filling my body with a renewed energy that burns in my veins. It is obvious from the scowl that crosses Azrael's face that he hasn't seen it- the eerie glow of yellow eyes that glower from the shadows, the rising of a body wound in silver chains that now look more like fragile vines than silver bindings. So shortly I come to realise this is my chance- my shot at making Azrael pay for the crimes he has committed. And that is not an opportunity I am dying to miss.One flip of a switch and fire and life flood back into my body, cascading through my system like water flooding down a river. My body burns, insides rumbling with a tremulous feeling as magic trembles through me, filling me with an unquenchable power, and one I so desperately missed. My fingers curl into fists."You are weak, Serena," Azrael taunts, his lips shrivelling into a sneer as he leans forward, pressing his body so close to mine that if he got any closer our bodies might just merge into one. "You can't stop me, and you never will be able to."Giving one more glance over to the rising spectre in the corner of the room, I lower my gaze."Oh yeah? Well how about you try this on for size?"Before Azrael can even register what is going on, my hands cut through the chains with a downwards yank, sending splinters of metal flying. Then, drawing back my fist, I punch him in the face.Now, I don't mean to brag, but if Azrael had been mortal, that punch surely would have killed him. For the sheer bone crunching force behind the punch is enough to send Azrael staggering backwards, clutching his nose between his fingers, the bone twisted to protrude at an odd angle.And even if it were not for the monumental weight and anger behind the punch, then it would be the flames that mar his face, scalding that perfect, alabaster skin and scorching it to a blistering mess that truly would have killed him. It is times like this when I wish he wasn't a vampire.And so I grin as Azrael goes stumbling back, his legs flailing out beneath him like a new born lamb, taking a moment to revel in the glory of my act. A wide smirk graces my features at the sight of the blood that trickles down his nose, trailing down his chin like water down a stream.Fortunately for him, the humiliation does not last long, and he manages to keep his ground. But much to my delight, he is seething.Roaring, Azrael clutches the right side of the face, feeling the scarred skin beneath his finger tips that will surely heal in a matter of days. With a harsh thunk, Azrael clicks his nose back into place, the injury healing in a matter of seconds beneath his fingertips.Well, I frown inwardly, so much for doing some permanent damage. But vampires, being rather obsessed with cosmetics and beauty- for it is an essential part of their being- what makes them so alluring and enticing to the folk of Faey and yet so unfathomably, utterly, dangerous, do not take such a violation of appearance lightly. Azrael's bloodied fingers drop to his sides as his gaze meets mine with an unrelenting rage in a matter of seconds.Azrael's form flickers."You little bitch," he hisses wildly, drawing his hand away to inspect the blood that drains over his face, pooling in his palm with a tinge of blackened and burnt decay. "And here I thought you were the more submissive one. Looks like you need some training," he grunts, still somewhat having the nerve to laugh as he begins to take several lunging paces forward. Fishing in my sachet blindly, I keep an eyes on Soren, who rises silent as a ghost in the corner of the room, his form swimming in shadows, his eyes burning a formidable crimson. There is something different about his form, something new, unexplainable, yet I barely have time to pass over him as Azrael approaches, my attention quickly reverted to the fight at hand. At last in my hand, I grab what I am looking for.Time to cause some permanent damage, I snicker to myself, rolling the bottle of silver fillings in the palm of my hand.Azrael does not seem to notice what I am up to as crawls forward, his shape shifting, distorting, one minute a vampire, the next a behemoth winged demonic, glaring down at me with huge white teeth and red, soulless eyes. In my heart I know it is an illusion, and yet staring down this unholy monstrosity is much more difficult than the legends make it sound. Even if I had wanted to state otherwise, there would be no use denying it. Azrael's power is terrifying.Frantically, I unstop the bottle in my hands, discarding the cork on the floor and tipping the contents of it into the palm of my hands, trying to ignore the shakiness of my posture. Silver fillings spill into my palm, burning me slightly to the touch, but having only part vampire blood in my veins, it is hardly a problem. Clenching these fillings in my slowly heating palm, I return my gaze to the creature before me."You are lucky I cannot hurt you," Azrael whispers, his voice turning into a slobbering growl as his form changes, towering above me as a terrific, heaving behemoth. The creature is bulging in muscle, his nails lengthening to claws, leathery wings dragging on the ground, too heavy to use. Underneath, it is still Azrael- still burdened with that snarky grin, white messy hair, and blood red eyes that drill holes right into your soul. Still that same fraudulent, misogynistic vampire- only this one is much, much larger.In my heart I know it is an illusion. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying."Because otherwise," he growls, shaking the blood off his hands. "I might have killed you for that.""Funny that," I say, allowing a flame to crackle to life in my palm, engulfing the silver shards with a whoosh of power. I do my best to throw him a smile of nonchalance. "Because I can kill you. Now, lets make that mark on your face lasting, shall we?" I grin, and with a sly wink in his direction just for good measure, lob the flame at his face.The effect is everything I hoped for and more.Flames shoot through the air at speeds even my vampire eyes can't trace, flickering with residue of bright metallic silvers. The air crackles as it burns up, a shower of purple and blue sparks reaching out in different directions until at last it collides with its target with a fracturing sizzle. Within seconds, the right side of Azrael's face is suddenly embedded with shards of silver and the imprint of shallow golden flames.The beast roars, clutching his face with his hand. The smell of burning flesh wafts up into the air, potent and intoxicating as a small sizzling hum drifts from Azrael's form. My work is done.When at last he breathes himself to calm, tugging his hand away from his face, the damage I have done is revealed- and it is spectacular.Unlike the scar on his chest- more of a war token than a ruination of his profound beauty, the marks that scratch up his face are entirely the opposite. The whole half of his face is ruined- there is no doubt about it. His skin is scarred with an ongoing series of gashes, red and pliable under the influence of my magic, his entire face raw, his majesty obliterated. From the wounds, a red blood seeps like tears down his face, trickling down his cheek and on to the floor below us with a wet patter. Blood drips from one ruined, white eye."You have ruined me," he whispers, his hands shaking, claws lengthening at his fingers. Then his voice rises. "You have ruined me!" he roars, lunging towards me, blood and spit spraying in tandem from his mouth. I dodge out the way, aided by the partial blindness that Azrael now has, a trait which is not only disorientating him, but slowing him down. Not that I am complaining."You got what you deserved," I spit at him, readying another fireball in my palms. "Besides," I add, my voice laced with a mocking undertone. "Now your face matches your personality. An ugly monster."Catapulting another fireball in his direction, I scoot around the room, understanding how imperative it is to keep myself moving with Azrael baying for my blood. For while Azrael is disorientated now, there is no telling whether it will last- or if he is faking it altogether.. I wouldn't put it past him. I need to stay unpredictable, I need to-
