Chapter 205: 205
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At my words of praise, the little white fox behind me beams, his fur bristling with hues of pink and orange and red, a kaleidoscope of colours. It is somewhat spectacular that such a tiny little creature can hold such an immaculate array of powers, but I am promptly reminded that this is no ordinary woodfox. After all, trapped in the body of this fluffy forest creature is the soul of a warrior, and angel whose life's training has revolved around the destruction of vampires and the ways of the sword, he would not be succumbed so easily to a mere illusion.
It is clear as I look over to the white haired vampire before me that the same thoughts are crossing his mind, the cogs turning behind his eyes as he struggles to comprehend the sheer impossibility of the situation. To him, Ithuriel is simply another woodfox, meek under most circumstances, aside from their admirable ability to ward off vampires at a moments notice. He is, at best, entirely perplexed.
"I have heard they can stop almost anything in its tracks," I add with a sly look in Azrael's direction. A little trickly of blood trails down the side of my head: the remains of where the knife nicked my skin. It is an unnerving sensation, but I am content enough in knowing the wound will quickly heal.
"They are excellent in defense- I believe some of the folk even use them directly against vampires," I add, beaming to the little fox on the ground, whose fur bristles with pride, ears twitching to attention. Azrael only hisses, a soured look pressing in his sallowed cheeks. Clearly, he is far from happy with the situation. Mostly because it means his life is on the line once more.
I am sorry that I could not be of service earlier, Ithuriel apologises with a weak smile, the shame evident in his voice. My body was weak, perhaps none of this would have happened if I were stronger, I have failed you.
Looking down to the little fox, I lend myself a moment to reach down and scratch between his ears gently.
You haven't failed me, Ithuriel. I assure him, giving him one last tap on the head. You have done more than enough. All I ask is that you keep this illusion held. There is one last thing I need to do.
With a final nod, Ithuriel resumes his attention to the illusion that wobbles frozen before us. Bright sparks eject from the tiny woodfox's fur, his eyes glimmering with a newfound determination that is sparked by my words. Thankfully, Ithuriel's beam of magic holds the illusion in place, the effort of doing so clearly visible as it quivers through his body, the small fox grunting with the strain of holding such an empowered object in place. But nevertheless, he does it, stilling the illusion to a grinding halt.
From in the corner of the shadows, Kal creeps forward slightly, his eyes trained on the little fox, widened in amazement, as though he can't quite believe what he is seeing. There is a faint flush on his face, a breathless expression, a murmur on his lips that I can't quite hear. But Ithuriel seems to, and perhaps I am imagining things, but I could have sworn that the light surrounding my best friend glows just a fraction brighter. And that is all the strength he needs.
Satisfied with Ithuriel's condition being stable, I circle once more over the illusion, careful to take my time in my observations, prodding for weak spots.
"As lovely as this illusion is," I say sarcastically, running my fingers down the empty air in the space between us. "I do not particularly need to be seeing two Azrael's now, do I? One is quite bad enough, even if they are a sight for sore eyes."
"Funny," Azrael spits with as much sarcasm as bitterness, his mouth pulling taught. But I have no more time for idle chit chat.
Flames splutter and burst at my finger tips, roaring into life as they spill down like a liquid from my palm. Glossy and sheik they wreath across the floor in a serpentine manner, spitting golden light into every orifice of the room. The flames coil and burn, moulding into the shape of the one thing that first came to my mind: a giant, hideous, snake.
Taking a step back to admire my handiwork, I nod to myself, reaching down to stroke the top of the snakes head that stands to attention, flaming tongue flickering out to taste the embittered air. Flames flare at my touch, the snakes eyes glowering as it watches my every move with a curious sideways glance.
"My wife has done a lovely job on that one, don't you think, brother?" Soren presses lightly, continuing to circle Azrael with claws out and magic brewing at his fingertips, shadows sliding off his skin like water off a ducks back. "She has quite a talent for creating... realistic creatures," he adds, throwing me a wink before positioning himself behind Azrael, all the bloody spikes rolling into formation around the air, pinpointed at his heart. Naturally, Azrael does not say a word.
"I thought it was quite fitting," I add, throwing back a devious grin to the white haired vampire, whose crimson eyes are so intense it feels as though he wishes to drill holes right into my back. Knowing him, I am sure that is exactly what he would like to do.
"A snake for the treacherous vampire Prince," I muse, before adding: "You have made yourself quite the legacy," I snicker, trailing a hand up towards the illusion, and all at once, the flaming snake coils into action.
With a taunting slowness it winds itself up the illusion, scorch marks trailing in its wake, the smell of burning blood pin pricking the air with its dizzying fumigation. There is no verbal communication between the snake and I, only a series of instructions that are whispered through my mind, and that is all it needs.
The illusion does not scream (perhaps because it can not), which makes the whole scene rather all the more unnerving. Instead a terrified look spikes its face, an outlandish mixture of horror and blind terror, its eyes dulling as the fire sinks into its skin Still the snake coils higher and higher. Even the bond at my chest stops tugging momentarily to watch this spectacle, Azrael's good eye running over the ruined mess of his work, watching the illusion crumble into sheets of ash and golden flame, toppling over like a stack of cards.
Then Azrael turns away, utterly speechless with the growing realisation that death will soon befall him. The illusion's knife is last to drop to the ground, then all at once, it disappears. Good riddance.
And then from within the crumbles of ash, it bursts- completely and utterly, shattering into thousands of speckled pieces of dust and debris, leaving nothing but my flaming snake in its place, who pauses for a moment to assess its work, before moving to coil around my foot, sitting there proudly.
Ithuriel stumbles back from his position, no longer rooted on the spot, the bright radiance of his antenna dying down to a simmering, low, buttery light, a clearly exhausted look shivering across his two toned eyes. The little white fox heaves downwards, his body collapsing onto the grimy floor, matting his fur with clumps of dust and bloody debris- not that he really seems to care. He heaves a sigh, succumbing to exhaustion that has worn away at his already wearied will.
I start to move towards him, then stop abruptly, watching another lean, black figure slink round the shadows of the room. My heart drops a little. Edging his way towards my fallen friend, Kal' s arms outstretch as he scoops Ithuriel off the ground, cradling him softly in black gloved hands. Wordlessly, Kal meets my eyes, issuing a brief nod, before tiptoeing back round to Dawn, fondly picking out the clumping bits of unwanted debris from Ithuriel's fur.
Reluctantly, I turn my attention back towards Azrael. Guilt weighs at my consciousness like a weight on a chain, guilt for not being able to be there for Ithuriel as much, guilt for being a bad friend. Recently, having been so obsessed with this soul business, not to mention getting turned, it seems as though I have hardly seen Ithuriel at all. So I suppose it is only natural that to an extent, Kal would take my place. Of course, that is not to say that I do not cherish and love Ithuriel, but times have changed, and so have relations, and there is a distance between us- small, but not unnoticeable, that wasn't there before.
Azrael's laugh knocks me from my daze.
I spin my head around violently, my eyebrows raised.
There is Azrael, bleeding and bruised, face ruined, illusion destroyed, and he has the nerve to laugh at me? At Soren? What does he think he is doing?
Something doesn't seem right.
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At my words of praise, the little white fox behind me beams, his fur bristling with hues of pink and orange and red, a kaleidoscope of colours. It is somewhat spectacular that such a tiny little creature can hold such an immaculate array of powers, but I am promptly reminded that this is no ordinary woodfox. After all, trapped in the body of this fluffy forest creature is the soul of a warrior, and angel whose life's training has revolved around the destruction of vampires and the ways of the sword, he would not be succumbed so easily to a mere illusion.
It is clear as I look over to the white haired vampire before me that the same thoughts are crossing his mind, the cogs turning behind his eyes as he struggles to comprehend the sheer impossibility of the situation. To him, Ithuriel is simply another woodfox, meek under most circumstances, aside from their admirable ability to ward off vampires at a moments notice. He is, at best, entirely perplexed.
"I have heard they can stop almost anything in its tracks," I add with a sly look in Azrael's direction. A little trickly of blood trails down the side of my head: the remains of where the knife nicked my skin. It is an unnerving sensation, but I am content enough in knowing the wound will quickly heal.
"They are excellent in defense- I believe some of the folk even use them directly against vampires," I add, beaming to the little fox on the ground, whose fur bristles with pride, ears twitching to attention. Azrael only hisses, a soured look pressing in his sallowed cheeks. Clearly, he is far from happy with the situation. Mostly because it means his life is on the line once more.
I am sorry that I could not be of service earlier, Ithuriel apologises with a weak smile, the shame evident in his voice. My body was weak, perhaps none of this would have happened if I were stronger, I have failed you.
Looking down to the little fox, I lend myself a moment to reach down and scratch between his ears gently.
You haven't failed me, Ithuriel. I assure him, giving him one last tap on the head. You have done more than enough. All I ask is that you keep this illusion held. There is one last thing I need to do.
With a final nod, Ithuriel resumes his attention to the illusion that wobbles frozen before us. Bright sparks eject from the tiny woodfox's fur, his eyes glimmering with a newfound determination that is sparked by my words. Thankfully, Ithuriel's beam of magic holds the illusion in place, the effort of doing so clearly visible as it quivers through his body, the small fox grunting with the strain of holding such an empowered object in place. But nevertheless, he does it, stilling the illusion to a grinding halt.
From in the corner of the shadows, Kal creeps forward slightly, his eyes trained on the little fox, widened in amazement, as though he can't quite believe what he is seeing. There is a faint flush on his face, a breathless expression, a murmur on his lips that I can't quite hear. But Ithuriel seems to, and perhaps I am imagining things, but I could have sworn that the light surrounding my best friend glows just a fraction brighter. And that is all the strength he needs.
Satisfied with Ithuriel's condition being stable, I circle once more over the illusion, careful to take my time in my observations, prodding for weak spots.
"As lovely as this illusion is," I say sarcastically, running my fingers down the empty air in the space between us. "I do not particularly need to be seeing two Azrael's now, do I? One is quite bad enough, even if they are a sight for sore eyes."
"Funny," Azrael spits with as much sarcasm as bitterness, his mouth pulling taught. But I have no more time for idle chit chat.
Flames splutter and burst at my finger tips, roaring into life as they spill down like a liquid from my palm. Glossy and sheik they wreath across the floor in a serpentine manner, spitting golden light into every orifice of the room. The flames coil and burn, moulding into the shape of the one thing that first came to my mind: a giant, hideous, snake.
Taking a step back to admire my handiwork, I nod to myself, reaching down to stroke the top of the snakes head that stands to attention, flaming tongue flickering out to taste the embittered air. Flames flare at my touch, the snakes eyes glowering as it watches my every move with a curious sideways glance.
"My wife has done a lovely job on that one, don't you think, brother?" Soren presses lightly, continuing to circle Azrael with claws out and magic brewing at his fingertips, shadows sliding off his skin like water off a ducks back. "She has quite a talent for creating... realistic creatures," he adds, throwing me a wink before positioning himself behind Azrael, all the bloody spikes rolling into formation around the air, pinpointed at his heart. Naturally, Azrael does not say a word.
"I thought it was quite fitting," I add, throwing back a devious grin to the white haired vampire, whose crimson eyes are so intense it feels as though he wishes to drill holes right into my back. Knowing him, I am sure that is exactly what he would like to do.
"A snake for the treacherous vampire Prince," I muse, before adding: "You have made yourself quite the legacy," I snicker, trailing a hand up towards the illusion, and all at once, the flaming snake coils into action.
With a taunting slowness it winds itself up the illusion, scorch marks trailing in its wake, the smell of burning blood pin pricking the air with its dizzying fumigation. There is no verbal communication between the snake and I, only a series of instructions that are whispered through my mind, and that is all it needs.
The illusion does not scream (perhaps because it can not), which makes the whole scene rather all the more unnerving. Instead a terrified look spikes its face, an outlandish mixture of horror and blind terror, its eyes dulling as the fire sinks into its skin Still the snake coils higher and higher. Even the bond at my chest stops tugging momentarily to watch this spectacle, Azrael's good eye running over the ruined mess of his work, watching the illusion crumble into sheets of ash and golden flame, toppling over like a stack of cards.
Then Azrael turns away, utterly speechless with the growing realisation that death will soon befall him. The illusion's knife is last to drop to the ground, then all at once, it disappears. Good riddance.
And then from within the crumbles of ash, it bursts- completely and utterly, shattering into thousands of speckled pieces of dust and debris, leaving nothing but my flaming snake in its place, who pauses for a moment to assess its work, before moving to coil around my foot, sitting there proudly.
Ithuriel stumbles back from his position, no longer rooted on the spot, the bright radiance of his antenna dying down to a simmering, low, buttery light, a clearly exhausted look shivering across his two toned eyes. The little white fox heaves downwards, his body collapsing onto the grimy floor, matting his fur with clumps of dust and bloody debris- not that he really seems to care. He heaves a sigh, succumbing to exhaustion that has worn away at his already wearied will.
I start to move towards him, then stop abruptly, watching another lean, black figure slink round the shadows of the room. My heart drops a little. Edging his way towards my fallen friend, Kal' s arms outstretch as he scoops Ithuriel off the ground, cradling him softly in black gloved hands. Wordlessly, Kal meets my eyes, issuing a brief nod, before tiptoeing back round to Dawn, fondly picking out the clumping bits of unwanted debris from Ithuriel's fur.
Reluctantly, I turn my attention back towards Azrael. Guilt weighs at my consciousness like a weight on a chain, guilt for not being able to be there for Ithuriel as much, guilt for being a bad friend. Recently, having been so obsessed with this soul business, not to mention getting turned, it seems as though I have hardly seen Ithuriel at all. So I suppose it is only natural that to an extent, Kal would take my place. Of course, that is not to say that I do not cherish and love Ithuriel, but times have changed, and so have relations, and there is a distance between us- small, but not unnoticeable, that wasn't there before.
Azrael's laugh knocks me from my daze.
I spin my head around violently, my eyebrows raised.
There is Azrael, bleeding and bruised, face ruined, illusion destroyed, and he has the nerve to laugh at me? At Soren? What does he think he is doing?
Something doesn't seem right.
At my words of praise, the little white fox behind me beams, his fur bristling with hues of pink and orange and red, a kaleidoscope of colours. It is somewhat spectacular that such a tiny little creature can hold such an immaculate array of powers, but I am promptly reminded that this is no ordinary woodfox. After all, trapped in the body of this fluffy forest creature is the soul of a warrior, and angel whose life's training has revolved around the destruction of vampires and the ways of the sword, he would not be succumbed so easily to a mere illusion.It is clear as I look over to the white haired vampire before me that the same thoughts are crossing his mind, the cogs turning behind his eyes as he struggles to comprehend the sheer impossibility of the situation. To him, Ithuriel is simply another woodfox, meek under most circumstances, aside from their admirable ability to ward off vampires at a moments notice. He is, at best, entirely perplexed. "I have heard they can stop almost anything in its tracks," I add with a sly look in Azrael's direction. A little trickly of blood trails down the side of my head: the remains of where the knife nicked my skin. It is an unnerving sensation, but I am content enough in knowing the wound will quickly heal."They are excellent in defense- I believe some of the folk even use them directly against vampires," I add, beaming to the little fox on the ground, whose fur bristles with pride, ears twitching to attention. Azrael only hisses, a soured look pressing in his sallowed cheeks. Clearly, he is far from happy with the situation. Mostly because it means his life is on the line once more.I am sorry that I could not be of service earlier, Ithuriel apologises with a weak smile, the shame evident in his voice. My body was weak, perhaps none of this would have happened if I were stronger, I have failed you.Looking down to the little fox, I lend myself a moment to reach down and scratch between his ears gently.You haven't failed me, Ithuriel. I assure him, giving him one last tap on the head. You have done more than enough. All I ask is that you keep this illusion held. There is one last thing I need to do.With a final nod, Ithuriel resumes his attention to the illusion that wobbles frozen before us. Bright sparks eject from the tiny woodfox's fur, his eyes glimmering with a newfound determination that is sparked by my words. Thankfully, Ithuriel's beam of magic holds the illusion in place, the effort of doing so clearly visible as it quivers through his body, the small fox grunting with the strain of holding such an empowered object in place. But nevertheless, he does it, stilling the illusion to a grinding halt.From in the corner of the shadows, Kal creeps forward slightly, his eyes trained on the little fox, widened in amazement, as though he can't quite believe what he is seeing. There is a faint flush on his face, a breathless expression, a murmur on his lips that I can't quite hear. But Ithuriel seems to, and perhaps I am imagining things, but I could have sworn that the light surrounding my best friend glows just a fraction brighter. And that is all the strength he needs.Satisfied with Ithuriel's condition being stable, I circle once more over the illusion, careful to take my time in my observations, prodding for weak spots. "As lovely as this illusion is," I say sarcastically, running my fingers down the empty air in the space between us. "I do not particularly need to be seeing two Azrael's now, do I? One is quite bad enough, even if they are a sight for sore eyes.""Funny," Azrael spits with as much sarcasm as bitterness, his mouth pulling taught. But I have no more time for idle chit chat.Flames splutter and burst at my finger tips, roaring into life as they spill down like a liquid from my palm. Glossy and sheik they wreath across the floor in a serpentine manner, spitting golden light into every orifice of the room. The flames coil and burn, moulding into the shape of the one thing that first came to my mind: a giant, hideous, snake.Taking a step back to admire my handiwork, I nod to myself, reaching down to stroke the top of the snakes head that stands to attention, flaming tongue flickering out to taste the embittered air. Flames flare at my touch, the snakes eyes glowering as it watches my every move with a curious sideways glance."My wife has done a lovely job on that one, don't you think, brother?" Soren presses lightly, continuing to circle Azrael with claws out and magic brewing at his fingertips, shadows sliding off his skin like water off a ducks back. "She has quite a talent for creating... realistic creatures," he adds, throwing me a wink before positioning himself behind Azrael, all the bloody spikes rolling into formation around the air, pinpointed at his heart. Naturally, Azrael does not say a word."I thought it was quite fitting," I add, throwing back a devious grin to the white haired vampire, whose crimson eyes are so intense it feels as though he wishes to drill holes right into my back. Knowing him, I am sure that is exactly what he would like to do. "A snake for the treacherous vampire Prince," I muse, before adding: "You have made yourself quite the legacy," I snicker, trailing a hand up towards the illusion, and all at once, the flaming snake coils into action.With a taunting slowness it winds itself up the illusion, scorch marks trailing in its wake, the smell of burning blood pin pricking the air with its dizzying fumigation. There is no verbal communication between the snake and I, only a series of instructions that are whispered through my mind, and that is all it needs.The illusion does not scream perhaps because it can not, which makes the whole scene rather all the more unnerving. Instead a terrified look spikes its face, an outlandish mixture of horror and blind terror, its eyes dulling as the fire sinks into its skin Still the snake coils higher and higher. Even the bond at my chest stops tugging momentarily to watch this spectacle, Azrael's good eye running over the ruined mess of his work, watching the illusion crumble into sheets of ash and golden flame, toppling over like a stack of cards.Then Azrael turns away, utterly speechless with the growing realisation that death will soon befall him. The illusion's knife is last to drop to the ground, then all at once, it disappears. Good riddance.And then from within the crumbles of ash, it bursts- completely and utterly, shattering into thousands of speckled pieces of dust and debris, leaving nothing but my flaming snake in its place, who pauses for a moment to assess its work, before moving to coil around my foot, sitting there proudly.Ithuriel stumbles back from his position, no longer rooted on the spot, the bright radiance of his antenna dying down to a simmering, low, buttery light, a clearly exhausted look shivering across his two toned eyes. The little white fox heaves downwards, his body collapsing onto the grimy floor, matting his fur with clumps of dust and bloody debris- not that he really seems to care. He heaves a sigh, succumbing to exhaustion that has worn away at his already wearied will. I start to move towards him, then stop abruptly, watching another lean, black figure slink round the shadows of the room. My heart drops a little. Edging his way towards my fallen friend, Kal' s arms outstretch as he scoops Ithuriel off the ground, cradling him softly in black gloved hands. Wordlessly, Kal meets my eyes, issuing a brief nod, before tiptoeing back round to Dawn, fondly picking out the clumping bits of unwanted debris from Ithuriel's fur.Reluctantly, I turn my attention back towards Azrael. Guilt weighs at my consciousness like a weight on a chain, guilt for not being able to be there for Ithuriel as much, guilt for being a bad friend. Recently, having been so obsessed with this soul business, not to mention getting turned, it seems as though I have hardly seen Ithuriel at all. So I suppose it is only natural that to an extent, Kal would take my place. Of course, that is not to say that I do not cherish and love Ithuriel, but times have changed, and so have relations, and there is a distance between us- small, but not unnoticeable, that wasn't there before.Azrael's laugh knocks me from my daze.I spin my head around violently, my eyebrows raised.There is Azrael, bleeding and bruised, face ruined, illusion destroyed, and he has the nerve to laugh at me? At Soren? What does he think he is doing?Something doesn't seem right.
