Chapter 203: 203
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It doesn't take me long to figure it out. As the dagger presses up further against my throat, a cool rush of air brushed over my skin, and a cold, foreign touch. Hairs prickle on the back on my neck as I attempt to glance round behind me, but my efforts are swiftly cut short, quite literally, but the press of a knife.
From across the room, Soren's voice slinks across the darkened air, chilling the room.
"You so much as lay a cut on her throat and I will personally make your demise as grim as your nightmares, I am only warning you once, Azrael."
"Well," Azrael snickers, his eyes still trained on me, flashing a deep ruby red. "Considering you all already plan to kill me, I might as well go out in style."
But the warning must have had some effect, as the pressure against my neck gradually eases, allowing a gasping breath to push through my lungs. Nobody in the room moves.
"Don't you ever get tired of making illusions," I growl after a short silence, but there is a nervous edge to my voice that makes me seem far less imposing than I hoped for. Opposite me, Azrael's sharp teeth form a glittering grin as blood dribbles down the corner of his mouth, trailing a line down to his chin until I become faintly aware of the drip drip of blood on the floor. His eyes never leave mine, just as the dagger never leaves my throat. After a meagre amount of deliberation over my question, Azrael answers with a cheeky grin:
"Only if I do not have enough energy to create them, then I get rather exhausted," he reports, eyes smouldering.
A little taken aback, I stare at him for a moment. Suffice to say, I did not expect him to take a question like that for such face value. In fact, I barely expected an answer at all.
But nevertheless the dagger continues to press at my throat, digging into the pale flesh of my skin as the illusion persists. From the look that ripples across Soren's face, I can tell that he is inches away from tearing up Azrael, and whatever illusion stands behind me, into thousands of little pieces. Unfortunately, the only thing stopping him is the knife at my throat.
Being a vampire, I am reminded of the fact that even if I did have my neck slit, it would not kill me- at least not permanently. I am sure Soren knows this, yet the fear in his eyes is unmistakable: Soren is not letting me get killed on any account, even if I do so happen to come back to life. In the time of my unconsciousness, Azrael could do anything and everything he wanted me and everyone else- regarding that Soren is unable to stop him. But then my eyes trail down, settling upon the object lodged in Azrael's chest.
A flicker of relief runs through me, the burden of dying eased from my mind.
Fortunately for me, the blood spikes skewering against Azrael's skin give him enough sense to realise that trying to hurt me in any way would be temperamental to his health, and that in doing so, he would end up just as dead on the floor as I would be. Azrael is mad, but not suicidal. He knows when his limits have been reached. And so we stand there, glaring each other down across the floor, waiting for each other to move.
"Azrael, you know you cannot hurt her, you would only end up killing yourself, don't be rash," Soren repeats, stepping closer towards me, surprisingly unafraid. I have never heard such anger in his voice, such rage, enough to send the whole room reverberating with a chilling darkness, A slithering cold starts to edge its way into my veins, sending my blood running and icy cold. From across the room, Kal and Ithuriel watch on, twin expressions of terror distorting their features. But there is a look in Ithuriel's two tones eyes, a feeling or emotion that I can't quite place- or am too panicked to try to- enough to make his feelers glow and pulse, the fur hackles on his back raise. The little fox gets up and starts to plod over slowly, each step clearly an effort. Like a game of sly fox, he creeps around. Then Azrael's voice that brings me back to attention.
"I know very well that you glamoured me not to hurt her, brother" Azrael spits, fading off into a series of coughs when the blood needles pack closer around his body. Soren's magic continues to press inwards, casting a strain on Azrael's features. In response, the knife on my neck tightens. "But," he adds, grinning when Soren anxiously but obviously bitterly moves the blood spikes back a few inches, giving space for Azrael to breathe. The white haired vampire relaxing marginally, pleased to not be faced by the imminent release of death. "Your commands do not extend to my illusions, Soren. He can do whatever I want, so long as I can maintain it by myself."
"Then it's obvious," Soren growls, shooting forward, his hand outstretched until finally landing a grip on Azrael's throat. A soft, wet choking noise erupts from his throat, followed by a series of muffled gasps around the room. But when Soren's hand around Azrael's neck tightens, he does not flinch. Perhaps by now he is used to the pain.
"Soren, don't!" I warn, but in his haze of anger, he barely hears me.
Rage radiates off Soren's body like nuclear fallout, permeating the air with a blackened mist that shimmers between us, screening him from view. With the gaping black wings of his back, the towering shadow of his body and the terrifying bloodlust in his usually gentle eyes, he looks the picture of a nightmare, a sleep demon, ready to scoop up your soul from oblivion in one swipe of his knife like claws. He is proven himself very capable of doing exactly that, so for Azrael's demise, it is merely a matter of time.
The next words that come from Soren's lips are so haunting they send shivers down my spine.
"I shall kill you, and your little puppet will die on the spot," Soren hisses against Azrael's skin, his hands continuing to tighten is a pure, seething anger and unadulterated rage. Azrael does not flinch.
"How can you be so sure?" he chuckles, eyes gleaming. Azrael gestures over to me, to where I am held captive by a creature I cannot see, but understand its terror enough from the fear that trickles across Kal's face from the other side of the room. Desperately, Dawn clutches onto his hand beside him, terrified of the consequences of letting go as she stares down this creature. She is already tormented enough by the vicous ways of the white haired vampire as it is. She would not be getting involved. Yet still the little fox endeavours to creep across the room.
"Who is to say," he adds, giving me a pointed look with his eyes, "That my illusion will carry out its command even in my death?" he grins, straining against the bonds, until realising he is getting nowhere, his face falling. The fact that he cannot yet move is obviously bothering him. But thus far it is the only triumph I have over him, and I damn well am going to keep it. In the meantime, I need to find some way to get myself out of this illusion's grip, or at least any way that does not entail me blowing everyone up into cinders and littering the skies with ashes. That seems much too… chaotic.
A little white fox creeping up beside me alerts me to my senses. For a moment, I glance down, before swiftly returning my gaze to Azrael, unwilling to draw attention to Ithuriel by my side.
"You are bluffing," I but in, drawing the two Princes attention to me. I need to buy myself time, and if there is one thing I am good at, its going to be that. A small white figure brushes as my calves, too small to be noticed through the screen of blackened smoke that floats through the room, blanketing our vision. "As soon as you die your soul would leave your body, the orders would be nullified, and your powers, until it finds a new host. You could do me no harm."
"Do you want to test that theory?" Azrael offers, then choking a little as Soren squeezes his neck further.
"Don't toy with me Azrael. And don't you dare touch my wife. You scratch even an ounce of her body and I will give you a fate worse than death, I can assure you that," he growls, motioning with his other hand as the spindles of blood weave themselves around Azrael, pinpointing him for all sides.
Nonchalantly, Soren glances to the ground, his eyes brushing over Delina's form, weak and crumbled, but still breathing. Gently, he nudges her with his foot, clicking his tongue sadly.
"I can't believe she still cares for you, after all this, in her heart she loves you. And you go and screw her over by taking her blood to make another illusion. And now you direct that illusion at my wife.. Disgusting."
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It doesn't take me long to figure it out. As the dagger presses up further against my throat, a cool rush of air brushed over my skin, and a cold, foreign touch. Hairs prickle on the back on my neck as I attempt to glance round behind me, but my efforts are swiftly cut short, quite literally, but the press of a knife.
From across the room, Soren's voice slinks across the darkened air, chilling the room.
"You so much as lay a cut on her throat and I will personally make your demise as grim as your nightmares, I am only warning you once, Azrael."
"Well," Azrael snickers, his eyes still trained on me, flashing a deep ruby red. "Considering you all already plan to kill me, I might as well go out in style."
But the warning must have had some effect, as the pressure against my neck gradually eases, allowing a gasping breath to push through my lungs. Nobody in the room moves.
"Don't you ever get tired of making illusions," I growl after a short silence, but there is a nervous edge to my voice that makes me seem far less imposing than I hoped for. Opposite me, Azrael's sharp teeth form a glittering grin as blood dribbles down the corner of his mouth, trailing a line down to his chin until I become faintly aware of the drip drip of blood on the floor. His eyes never leave mine, just as the dagger never leaves my throat. After a meagre amount of deliberation over my question, Azrael answers with a cheeky grin:
"Only if I do not have enough energy to create them, then I get rather exhausted," he reports, eyes smouldering.
A little taken aback, I stare at him for a moment. Suffice to say, I did not expect him to take a question like that for such face value. In fact, I barely expected an answer at all.
But nevertheless the dagger continues to press at my throat, digging into the pale flesh of my skin as the illusion persists. From the look that ripples across Soren's face, I can tell that he is inches away from tearing up Azrael, and whatever illusion stands behind me, into thousands of little pieces. Unfortunately, the only thing stopping him is the knife at my throat.
Being a vampire, I am reminded of the fact that even if I did have my neck slit, it would not kill me- at least not permanently. I am sure Soren knows this, yet the fear in his eyes is unmistakable: Soren is not letting me get killed on any account, even if I do so happen to come back to life. In the time of my unconsciousness, Azrael could do anything and everything he wanted me and everyone else- regarding that Soren is unable to stop him. But then my eyes trail down, settling upon the object lodged in Azrael's chest.
A flicker of relief runs through me, the burden of dying eased from my mind.
Fortunately for me, the blood spikes skewering against Azrael's skin give him enough sense to realise that trying to hurt me in any way would be temperamental to his health, and that in doing so, he would end up just as dead on the floor as I would be. Azrael is mad, but not suicidal. He knows when his limits have been reached. And so we stand there, glaring each other down across the floor, waiting for each other to move.
"Azrael, you know you cannot hurt her, you would only end up killing yourself, don't be rash," Soren repeats, stepping closer towards me, surprisingly unafraid. I have never heard such anger in his voice, such rage, enough to send the whole room reverberating with a chilling darkness, A slithering cold starts to edge its way into my veins, sending my blood running and icy cold. From across the room, Kal and Ithuriel watch on, twin expressions of terror distorting their features. But there is a look in Ithuriel's two tones eyes, a feeling or emotion that I can't quite place- or am too panicked to try to- enough to make his feelers glow and pulse, the fur hackles on his back raise. The little fox gets up and starts to plod over slowly, each step clearly an effort. Like a game of sly fox, he creeps around. Then Azrael's voice that brings me back to attention.
"I know very well that you glamoured me not to hurt her, brother" Azrael spits, fading off into a series of coughs when the blood needles pack closer around his body. Soren's magic continues to press inwards, casting a strain on Azrael's features. In response, the knife on my neck tightens. "But," he adds, grinning when Soren anxiously but obviously bitterly moves the blood spikes back a few inches, giving space for Azrael to breathe. The white haired vampire relaxing marginally, pleased to not be faced by the imminent release of death. "Your commands do not extend to my illusions, Soren. He can do whatever I want, so long as I can maintain it by myself."
"Then it's obvious," Soren growls, shooting forward, his hand outstretched until finally landing a grip on Azrael's throat. A soft, wet choking noise erupts from his throat, followed by a series of muffled gasps around the room. But when Soren's hand around Azrael's neck tightens, he does not flinch. Perhaps by now he is used to the pain.
"Soren, don't!" I warn, but in his haze of anger, he barely hears me.
Rage radiates off Soren's body like nuclear fallout, permeating the air with a blackened mist that shimmers between us, screening him from view. With the gaping black wings of his back, the towering shadow of his body and the terrifying bloodlust in his usually gentle eyes, he looks the picture of a nightmare, a sleep demon, ready to scoop up your soul from oblivion in one swipe of his knife like claws. He is proven himself very capable of doing exactly that, so for Azrael's demise, it is merely a matter of time.
The next words that come from Soren's lips are so haunting they send shivers down my spine.
"I shall kill you, and your little puppet will die on the spot," Soren hisses against Azrael's skin, his hands continuing to tighten is a pure, seething anger and unadulterated rage. Azrael does not flinch.
"How can you be so sure?" he chuckles, eyes gleaming. Azrael gestures over to me, to where I am held captive by a creature I cannot see, but understand its terror enough from the fear that trickles across Kal's face from the other side of the room. Desperately, Dawn clutches onto his hand beside him, terrified of the consequences of letting go as she stares down this creature. She is already tormented enough by the vicous ways of the white haired vampire as it is. She would not be getting involved. Yet still the little fox endeavours to creep across the room.
"Who is to say," he adds, giving me a pointed look with his eyes, "That my illusion will carry out its command even in my death?" he grins, straining against the bonds, until realising he is getting nowhere, his face falling. The fact that he cannot yet move is obviously bothering him. But thus far it is the only triumph I have over him, and I damn well am going to keep it. In the meantime, I need to find some way to get myself out of this illusion's grip, or at least any way that does not entail me blowing everyone up into cinders and littering the skies with ashes. That seems much too… chaotic.
A little white fox creeping up beside me alerts me to my senses. For a moment, I glance down, before swiftly returning my gaze to Azrael, unwilling to draw attention to Ithuriel by my side.
"You are bluffing," I but in, drawing the two Princes attention to me. I need to buy myself time, and if there is one thing I am good at, its going to be that. A small white figure brushes as my calves, too small to be noticed through the screen of blackened smoke that floats through the room, blanketing our vision. "As soon as you die your soul would leave your body, the orders would be nullified, and your powers, until it finds a new host. You could do me no harm."
"Do you want to test that theory?" Azrael offers, then choking a little as Soren squeezes his neck further.
"Don't toy with me Azrael. And don't you dare touch my wife. You scratch even an ounce of her body and I will give you a fate worse than death, I can assure you that," he growls, motioning with his other hand as the spindles of blood weave themselves around Azrael, pinpointing him for all sides.
Nonchalantly, Soren glances to the ground, his eyes brushing over Delina's form, weak and crumbled, but still breathing. Gently, he nudges her with his foot, clicking his tongue sadly.
"I can't believe she still cares for you, after all this, in her heart she loves you. And you go and screw her over by taking her blood to make another illusion. And now you direct that illusion at my wife.. Disgusting."
It doesn't take me long to figure it out. As the dagger presses up further against my throat, a cool rush of air brushed over my skin, and a cold, foreign touch. Hairs prickle on the back on my neck as I attempt to glance round behind me, but my efforts are swiftly cut short, quite literally, but the press of a knife.From across the room, Soren's voice slinks across the darkened air, chilling the room."You so much as lay a cut on her throat and I will personally make your demise as grim as your nightmares, I am only warning you once, Azrael.""Well," Azrael snickers, his eyes still trained on me, flashing a deep ruby red. "Considering you all already plan to kill me, I might as well go out in style."But the warning must have had some effect, as the pressure against my neck gradually eases, allowing a gasping breath to push through my lungs. Nobody in the room moves."Don't you ever get tired of making illusions," I growl after a short silence, but there is a nervous edge to my voice that makes me seem far less imposing than I hoped for. Opposite me, Azrael's sharp teeth form a glittering grin as blood dribbles down the corner of his mouth, trailing a line down to his chin until I become faintly aware of the drip drip of blood on the floor. His eyes never leave mine, just as the dagger never leaves my throat. After a meagre amount of deliberation over my question, Azrael answers with a cheeky grin:"Only if I do not have enough energy to create them, then I get rather exhausted," he reports, eyes smouldering.A little taken aback, I stare at him for a moment. Suffice to say, I did not expect him to take a question like that for such face value. In fact, I barely expected an answer at all.But nevertheless the dagger continues to press at my throat, digging into the pale flesh of my skin as the illusion persists. From the look that ripples across Soren's face, I can tell that he is inches away from tearing up Azrael, and whatever illusion stands behind me, into thousands of little pieces. Unfortunately, the only thing stopping him is the knife at my throat.Being a vampire, I am reminded of the fact that even if I did have my neck slit, it would not kill me- at least not permanently. I am sure Soren knows this, yet the fear in his eyes is unmistakable: Soren is not letting me get killed on any account, even if I do so happen to come back to life. In the time of my unconsciousness, Azrael could do anything and everything he wanted me and everyone else- regarding that Soren is unable to stop him. But then my eyes trail down, settling upon the object lodged in Azrael's chest.A flicker of relief runs through me, the burden of dying eased from my mind.Fortunately for me, the blood spikes skewering against Azrael's skin give him enough sense to realise that trying to hurt me in any way would be temperamental to his health, and that in doing so, he would end up just as dead on the floor as I would be. Azrael is mad, but not suicidal. He knows when his limits have been reached. And so we stand there, glaring each other down across the floor, waiting for each other to move."Azrael, you know you cannot hurt her, you would only end up killing yourself, don't be rash," Soren repeats, stepping closer towards me, surprisingly unafraid. I have never heard such anger in his voice, such rage, enough to send the whole room reverberating with a chilling darkness, A slithering cold starts to edge its way into my veins, sending my blood running and icy cold. From across the room, Kal and Ithuriel watch on, twin expressions of terror distorting their features. But there is a look in Ithuriel's two tones eyes, a feeling or emotion that I can't quite place- or am too panicked to try to- enough to make his feelers glow and pulse, the fur hackles on his back raise. The little fox gets up and starts to plod over slowly, each step clearly an effort. Like a game of sly fox, he creeps around. Then Azrael's voice that brings me back to attention."I know very well that you glamoured me not to hurt her, brother" Azrael spits, fading off into a series of coughs when the blood needles pack closer around his body. Soren's magic continues to press inwards, casting a strain on Azrael's features. In response, the knife on my neck tightens. "But," he adds, grinning when Soren anxiously but obviously bitterly moves the blood spikes back a few inches, giving space for Azrael to breathe. The white haired vampire relaxing marginally, pleased to not be faced by the imminent release of death. "Your commands do not extend to my illusions, Soren. He can do whatever I want, so long as I can maintain it by myself.""Then it's obvious," Soren growls, shooting forward, his hand outstretched until finally landing a grip on Azrael's throat. A soft, wet choking noise erupts from his throat, followed by a series of muffled gasps around the room. But when Soren's hand around Azrael's neck tightens, he does not flinch. Perhaps by now he is used to the pain."Soren, don't!" I warn, but in his haze of anger, he barely hears me. Rage radiates off Soren's body like nuclear fallout, permeating the air with a blackened mist that shimmers between us, screening him from view. With the gaping black wings of his back, the towering shadow of his body and the terrifying bloodlust in his usually gentle eyes, he looks the picture of a nightmare, a sleep demon, ready to scoop up your soul from oblivion in one swipe of his knife like claws. He is proven himself very capable of doing exactly that, so for Azrael's demise, it is merely a matter of time.The next words that come from Soren's lips are so haunting they send shivers down my spine."I shall kill you, and your little puppet will die on the spot," Soren hisses against Azrael's skin, his hands continuing to tighten is a pure, seething anger and unadulterated rage. Azrael does not flinch."How can you be so sure?" he chuckles, eyes gleaming. Azrael gestures over to me, to where I am held captive by a creature I cannot see, but understand its terror enough from the fear that trickles across Kal's face from the other side of the room. Desperately, Dawn clutches onto his hand beside him, terrified of the consequences of letting go as she stares down this creature. She is already tormented enough by the vicous ways of the white haired vampire as it is. She would not be getting involved. Yet still the little fox endeavours to creep across the room."Who is to say," he adds, giving me a pointed look with his eyes, "That my illusion will carry out its command even in my death?" he grins, straining against the bonds, until realising he is getting nowhere, his face falling. The fact that he cannot yet move is obviously bothering him. But thus far it is the only triumph I have over him, and I damn well am going to keep it. In the meantime, I need to find some way to get myself out of this illusion's grip, or at least any way that does not entail me blowing everyone up into cinders and littering the skies with ashes. That seems much too chaotic.A little white fox creeping up beside me alerts me to my senses. For a moment, I glance down, before swiftly returning my gaze to Azrael, unwilling to draw attention to Ithuriel by my side."You are bluffing," I but in, drawing the two Princes attention to me. I need to buy myself time, and if there is one thing I am good at, its going to be that. A small white figure brushes as my calves, too small to be noticed through the screen of blackened smoke that floats through the room, blanketing our vision. "As soon as you die your soul would leave your body, the orders would be nullified, and your powers, until it finds a new host. You could do me no harm.""Do you want to test that theory?" Azrael offers, then choking a little as Soren squeezes his neck further."Don't toy with me Azrael. And don't you dare touch my wife. You scratch even an ounce of her body and I will give you a fate worse than death, I can assure you that," he growls, motioning with his other hand as the spindles of blood weave themselves around Azrael, pinpointing him for all sides.Nonchalantly, Soren glances to the ground, his eyes brushing over Delina's form, weak and crumbled, but still breathing. Gently, he nudges her with his foot, clicking his tongue sadly."I can't believe she still cares for you, after all this, in her heart she loves you. And you go and screw her over by taking her blood to make another illusion. And now you direct that illusion at my wife.. Disgusting."
