Chapter 206: 206
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What does he think he is doing?
Azrael's chuckles rise into hysterics as we all stare at him, dumbfounded and quite unable to comprehend what exactly is so funny about the whole situation. But the mad, malicious spark in his eyes tells me that it is nothing good. Nothing ever is, coming from him.
And here I thought I had him, that everything was going to plan, that everything was under control- Ha! What wishful thinking that was. I guess nothing is ever so simple, somehow I always end up in a convoluted mess of bullshit.
When Azrael's laughs have finally died, a chilling silence is left in the room, stagnant in the rotting air that swamps us with the lingering smell of decay. For a minute, he chokes a little, blood coughing up from his lungs as he spits it onto the floor without another glance.
"You know, Serena," he says quietly now, his eyes trained on the floor, unseeing. Beside him, Soren bristles, readying his hand to lash out against Azrael's neck and snap it on the spot, but I raise my hand, quelling him to a stilled halt. Respectfully, Soren recedes, but his hand remains firmly in place a few inches behind his brothers neck, twitching with anticipation.
Something doesn't seem right.
"You were right, you've always been right," he says, a smile starting to creep onto his features, worming its way onto his face like a snake through the bracken. Meanwhile the coiling serpent at my feet tastes the air, hissing and spitting with flames of blazing gold, it's red eyes narrowed. A steady unease grows between us all, our bodies stilling to a rigid halt as our muscles tense in joint suspense over exactly what I had been right about.
Azrael continues, and all at once a knife appears in his sturdily bound hands. Freezing, I peer closer, a cold dread building inside of me. Not just any knife, that's…
"You could have killed me, and that illusion would have dissipated. Then it would all have been over. You would have been free. In fact you would never have to worry about me again," he chuckles, and all at once, I feel something tugging inside me, a horrible wrenching pain at my heart, Azrael's will striving to break free. Azrael's will bangs against my heart, once, then twice, like a bird on the bars of its cage, fluttering to break free. But on the third attempt, I feel something inside me crack as my body lurches forward to meet this new feeling, a ball of discomfort rising in my gut. A small gasp against my lips, drowned by Soren's cry of anguish.
And then, against all impossibility of the curse I put against him, Azrael's hand moves.
And that's when I realise.
The little nick of the knife at the side of my head. The blood that had trickled its way down the side of my face, blood that I had payed no attention to at the time. The way the knife completely vanished before the illusion exploded, as though pivoted by some other force altogether. How obstinate Azrael was about keeping us talking...
Sharply, I intake a breath, my knees crumbling as Azrael's will grinds against my own, imposing himself upon me as he lifts up a hand to wipe the sticky red substance over his finger. He inspects it for a moment, drawing it up to the light of the flame to watch it glisten on the end of his finger. Then, with a crude smile, he smudges it in a line across his neck. I almost choke.
Soren flies to my side, his eyes shifting to a dark crimson, his lips pulled back into a snarl before he scoops me up in his arms, clutching me close to his chest, like an alpha protective over his pack. But by then it is already too late. Azrael's work is already done.
My hold over Azrael breaks as I suddenly understand with a crashing realisation what has happened, a sob rising in dying in the back of my throat. How could I be so careless?
My blood was on that knife. My blood, a souls blood.
And one of the best ways to combat a souls power is…
"You need to be more careful with who you dish out your blood too, little girl," Azrael smirks, flexing out his arms, stiff and rigid from being held captive for so long. He flexes out his fingers, before lifting a hand up to ghost along his face, his touch light, fleeting. He winces as his fingers make contact with the ruined skin, grimacing at what he finds there, his hand coming away a bloodied red from the tortured flesh. But Azrael has no care for this, as a second later he waves a hand over the ruined side of his face, the air shimmering between us as a new mask remoulds over it- a perfect representation to how his face once was.
Then he looks back to me, and to Soren, his eyes glittering with malice.
"You should know well enough by now that a souls blood is a sure fire way to prevent their powers. You have certainly given me enough grief over it," he says, voice slipping into a low growl, eyes flickering to the pendant on my neck, before throwing me a sickly sweet smile that does not reach his eyes. Hurriedly, I move my hand to clutch my pendant, as though half expecting him to come over here and tear it right off me.
Soren too seems to have a similar train of thought, for as Azrael's eyes scan over my body hungrily, Soren's arms move to shield me from view. For once, I let myself lean into them.
"No matter, my grievances shall soon be forgotten. For it seems the tables have turned now, hmm? You can't touch me, Serena," he smirks widely.
Fearfully I press my back against Soren, my hands reaching for my sword. From the corner of the shadows, Kal reaches out his hands, a black globular fire coiling at his fingertips as he stands to attention, his magic directed at Azrael. Even the wearied Ithuriel is on high alert, his bushy tail bristled in alarm, a snarl ripping from his throat. Bracing himself, Kal stands between them, gritting his teeth.
"Don't you dare try anything, Azrael," he growls, wings beating against the blackness, but the wobble in his voice is telling, and Azrael knows it. Kal is just as afraid as the rest of us.
"Don't try to defy me, you stupid boy," Azrael snaps, his fingers clenching by his sides. "You know what happens if you do."
Beside Kal, Ithuriel whines, whimpering as he paws his head, infiltrated by the invasive grasp of the white haired prince. The whines only drone louder as his mind is swarmed with noise and thoughts and hands that grasp at the deepest and darkest fears that lie dormant in his mind. But Kal, despite his warnings, only rears his flames higher, the light twisting and squirming in the palm of his hands as he takes a step forward in front of Ithuriel, blocking Azrael from his sight.
At long last, Ithuriel's cries die down.
"You will not touch him," Kal whispers, his black eyes watery with something that might be tears, his face a deadpan expression of rage as Kal launches the black fire in Azrael's direction, hissing his loathing with the effort of doing so.
Azrael barely flinches as it comes towards him, watching with a passive, if not bored expression as the black fires hurtling with a speeding darkness towards him. And then, inches from his face, he raises a hand, and all at once, those fires fizzle into a smoky submission of empty air. Kal's magic disperses in the air between us.
"I told you," Azrael growns, making a twisting motion with his hand, his eyes flaring. "Not to defy me."
Ithuriel's whines become deafeningly louder, causing both Kal and I to scream out in helpless rage. I wreathe against Soren's grasp, but his hands hold me tight, like a rigid stone foundation entrapping me in its grasp. His eyes are fixed on Kal, his voice barely a whisper as he lowers his mouth to my ear and breathes:
"Wait, Serena, look."
Dawn clutches herself around the whimpering Ithuriel, his twin coloured eyes alight with pain. But then his eyes focus on what is in front of him, and all at once those whimpers start to die away, like a voice in the storm, whisked by the wind. Something shifts in his expression. A lingering pain and... something else. Something new.
Kal's body begins to pulsate with light. A black, ethereal glow of vivid darkness, an abyss surrounding his form, covering every limb, pooling from every orifice like water from a river trickling into the open sea. It clogs our vision of him, and leaves Azrael- temporarily, stammering in confusion, taking a step back, a strange, luminescent aura ghosting around his form, barely visible, but just about there- a shield against magic.
Under the blanket of darkness, Kal's form continues to grow, moulding into shadows and inky apparitions, towering up and up until finally, he is standing three meters tall- except it isn't the human Kal any more.
This Kal is a huge, black dragon.
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What does he think he is doing?
Azrael's chuckles rise into hysterics as we all stare at him, dumbfounded and quite unable to comprehend what exactly is so funny about the whole situation. But the mad, malicious spark in his eyes tells me that it is nothing good. Nothing ever is, coming from him.
And here I thought I had him, that everything was going to plan, that everything was under control- Ha! What wishful thinking that was. I guess nothing is ever so simple, somehow I always end up in a convoluted mess of bullshit.
When Azrael's laughs have finally died, a chilling silence is left in the room, stagnant in the rotting air that swamps us with the lingering smell of decay. For a minute, he chokes a little, blood coughing up from his lungs as he spits it onto the floor without another glance.
"You know, Serena," he says quietly now, his eyes trained on the floor, unseeing. Beside him, Soren bristles, readying his hand to lash out against Azrael's neck and snap it on the spot, but I raise my hand, quelling him to a stilled halt. Respectfully, Soren recedes, but his hand remains firmly in place a few inches behind his brothers neck, twitching with anticipation.
Something doesn't seem right.
"You were right, you've always been right," he says, a smile starting to creep onto his features, worming its way onto his face like a snake through the bracken. Meanwhile the coiling serpent at my feet tastes the air, hissing and spitting with flames of blazing gold, it's red eyes narrowed. A steady unease grows between us all, our bodies stilling to a rigid halt as our muscles tense in joint suspense over exactly what I had been right about.
Azrael continues, and all at once a knife appears in his sturdily bound hands. Freezing, I peer closer, a cold dread building inside of me. Not just any knife, that's…
"You could have killed me, and that illusion would have dissipated. Then it would all have been over. You would have been free. In fact you would never have to worry about me again," he chuckles, and all at once, I feel something tugging inside me, a horrible wrenching pain at my heart, Azrael's will striving to break free. Azrael's will bangs against my heart, once, then twice, like a bird on the bars of its cage, fluttering to break free. But on the third attempt, I feel something inside me crack as my body lurches forward to meet this new feeling, a ball of discomfort rising in my gut. A small gasp against my lips, drowned by Soren's cry of anguish.
And then, against all impossibility of the curse I put against him, Azrael's hand moves.
And that's when I realise.
The little nick of the knife at the side of my head. The blood that had trickled its way down the side of my face, blood that I had payed no attention to at the time. The way the knife completely vanished before the illusion exploded, as though pivoted by some other force altogether. How obstinate Azrael was about keeping us talking...
Sharply, I intake a breath, my knees crumbling as Azrael's will grinds against my own, imposing himself upon me as he lifts up a hand to wipe the sticky red substance over his finger. He inspects it for a moment, drawing it up to the light of the flame to watch it glisten on the end of his finger. Then, with a crude smile, he smudges it in a line across his neck. I almost choke.
Soren flies to my side, his eyes shifting to a dark crimson, his lips pulled back into a snarl before he scoops me up in his arms, clutching me close to his chest, like an alpha protective over his pack. But by then it is already too late. Azrael's work is already done.
My hold over Azrael breaks as I suddenly understand with a crashing realisation what has happened, a sob rising in dying in the back of my throat. How could I be so careless?
My blood was on that knife. My blood, a souls blood.
And one of the best ways to combat a souls power is…
"You need to be more careful with who you dish out your blood too, little girl," Azrael smirks, flexing out his arms, stiff and rigid from being held captive for so long. He flexes out his fingers, before lifting a hand up to ghost along his face, his touch light, fleeting. He winces as his fingers make contact with the ruined skin, grimacing at what he finds there, his hand coming away a bloodied red from the tortured flesh. But Azrael has no care for this, as a second later he waves a hand over the ruined side of his face, the air shimmering between us as a new mask remoulds over it- a perfect representation to how his face once was.
Then he looks back to me, and to Soren, his eyes glittering with malice.
"You should know well enough by now that a souls blood is a sure fire way to prevent their powers. You have certainly given me enough grief over it," he says, voice slipping into a low growl, eyes flickering to the pendant on my neck, before throwing me a sickly sweet smile that does not reach his eyes. Hurriedly, I move my hand to clutch my pendant, as though half expecting him to come over here and tear it right off me.
Soren too seems to have a similar train of thought, for as Azrael's eyes scan over my body hungrily, Soren's arms move to shield me from view. For once, I let myself lean into them.
"No matter, my grievances shall soon be forgotten. For it seems the tables have turned now, hmm? You can't touch me, Serena," he smirks widely.
Fearfully I press my back against Soren, my hands reaching for my sword. From the corner of the shadows, Kal reaches out his hands, a black globular fire coiling at his fingertips as he stands to attention, his magic directed at Azrael. Even the wearied Ithuriel is on high alert, his bushy tail bristled in alarm, a snarl ripping from his throat. Bracing himself, Kal stands between them, gritting his teeth.
"Don't you dare try anything, Azrael," he growls, wings beating against the blackness, but the wobble in his voice is telling, and Azrael knows it. Kal is just as afraid as the rest of us.
"Don't try to defy me, you stupid boy," Azrael snaps, his fingers clenching by his sides. "You know what happens if you do."
Beside Kal, Ithuriel whines, whimpering as he paws his head, infiltrated by the invasive grasp of the white haired prince. The whines only drone louder as his mind is swarmed with noise and thoughts and hands that grasp at the deepest and darkest fears that lie dormant in his mind. But Kal, despite his warnings, only rears his flames higher, the light twisting and squirming in the palm of his hands as he takes a step forward in front of Ithuriel, blocking Azrael from his sight.
At long last, Ithuriel's cries die down.
"You will not touch him," Kal whispers, his black eyes watery with something that might be tears, his face a deadpan expression of rage as Kal launches the black fire in Azrael's direction, hissing his loathing with the effort of doing so.
Azrael barely flinches as it comes towards him, watching with a passive, if not bored expression as the black fires hurtling with a speeding darkness towards him. And then, inches from his face, he raises a hand, and all at once, those fires fizzle into a smoky submission of empty air. Kal's magic disperses in the air between us.
"I told you," Azrael growns, making a twisting motion with his hand, his eyes flaring. "Not to defy me."
Ithuriel's whines become deafeningly louder, causing both Kal and I to scream out in helpless rage. I wreathe against Soren's grasp, but his hands hold me tight, like a rigid stone foundation entrapping me in its grasp. His eyes are fixed on Kal, his voice barely a whisper as he lowers his mouth to my ear and breathes:
"Wait, Serena, look."
Dawn clutches herself around the whimpering Ithuriel, his twin coloured eyes alight with pain. But then his eyes focus on what is in front of him, and all at once those whimpers start to die away, like a voice in the storm, whisked by the wind. Something shifts in his expression. A lingering pain and... something else. Something new.
Kal's body begins to pulsate with light. A black, ethereal glow of vivid darkness, an abyss surrounding his form, covering every limb, pooling from every orifice like water from a river trickling into the open sea. It clogs our vision of him, and leaves Azrael- temporarily, stammering in confusion, taking a step back, a strange, luminescent aura ghosting around his form, barely visible, but just about there- a shield against magic.
Under the blanket of darkness, Kal's form continues to grow, moulding into shadows and inky apparitions, towering up and up until finally, he is standing three meters tall- except it isn't the human Kal any more.
This Kal is a huge, black dragon.
What does he think he is doing?Azrael's chuckles rise into hysterics as we all stare at him, dumbfounded and quite unable to comprehend what exactly is so funny about the whole situation. But the mad, malicious spark in his eyes tells me that it is nothing good. Nothing ever is, coming from him.And here I thought I had him, that everything was going to plan, that everything was under control- Ha! What wishful thinking that was. I guess nothing is ever so simple, somehow I always end up in a convoluted mess of bullshit.When Azrael's laughs have finally died, a chilling silence is left in the room, stagnant in the rotting air that swamps us with the lingering smell of decay. For a minute, he chokes a little, blood coughing up from his lungs as he spits it onto the floor without another glance. "You know, Serena," he says quietly now, his eyes trained on the floor, unseeing. Beside him, Soren bristles, readying his hand to lash out against Azrael's neck and snap it on the spot, but I raise my hand, quelling him to a stilled halt. Respectfully, Soren recedes, but his hand remains firmly in place a few inches behind his brothers neck, twitching with anticipation.Something doesn't seem right."You were right, you've always been right," he says, a smile starting to creep onto his features, worming its way onto his face like a snake through the bracken. Meanwhile the coiling serpent at my feet tastes the air, hissing and spitting with flames of blazing gold, it's red eyes narrowed. A steady unease grows between us all, our bodies stilling to a rigid halt as our muscles tense in joint suspense over exactly what I had been right about.Azrael continues, and all at once a knife appears in his sturdily bound hands. Freezing, I peer closer, a cold dread building inside of me. Not just any knife, that's"You could have killed me, and that illusion would have dissipated. Then it would all have been over. You would have been free. In fact you would never have to worry about me again," he chuckles, and all at once, I feel something tugging inside me, a horrible wrenching pain at my heart, Azrael's will striving to break free. Azrael's will bangs against my heart, once, then twice, like a bird on the bars of its cage, fluttering to break free. But on the third attempt, I feel something inside me crack as my body lurches forward to meet this new feeling, a ball of discomfort rising in my gut. A small gasp against my lips, drowned by Soren's cry of anguish.And then, against all impossibility of the curse I put against him, Azrael's hand moves.And that's when I realise. The little nick of the knife at the side of my head. The blood that had trickled its way down the side of my face, blood that I had payed no attention to at the time. The way the knife completely vanished before the illusion exploded, as though pivoted by some other force altogether. How obstinate Azrael was about keeping us talking...Sharply, I intake a breath, my knees crumbling as Azrael's will grinds against my own, imposing himself upon me as he lifts up a hand to wipe the sticky red substance over his finger. He inspects it for a moment, drawing it up to the light of the flame to watch it glisten on the end of his finger. Then, with a crude smile, he smudges it in a line across his neck. I almost choke. Soren flies to my side, his eyes shifting to a dark crimson, his lips pulled back into a snarl before he scoops me up in his arms, clutching me close to his chest, like an alpha protective over his pack. But by then it is already too late. Azrael's work is already done. My hold over Azrael breaks as I suddenly understand with a crashing realisation what has happened, a sob rising in dying in the back of my throat. How could I be so careless?My blood was on that knife. My blood, a souls blood.And one of the best ways to combat a souls power is"You need to be more careful with who you dish out your blood too, little girl," Azrael smirks, flexing out his arms, stiff and rigid from being held captive for so long. He flexes out his fingers, before lifting a hand up to ghost along his face, his touch light, fleeting. He winces as his fingers make contact with the ruined skin, grimacing at what he finds there, his hand coming away a bloodied red from the tortured flesh. But Azrael has no care for this, as a second later he waves a hand over the ruined side of his face, the air shimmering between us as a new mask remoulds over it- a perfect representation to how his face once was.Then he looks back to me, and to Soren, his eyes glittering with malice."You should know well enough by now that a souls blood is a sure fire way to prevent their powers. You have certainly given me enough grief over it," he says, voice slipping into a low growl, eyes flickering to the pendant on my neck, before throwing me a sickly sweet smile that does not reach his eyes. Hurriedly, I move my hand to clutch my pendant, as though half expecting him to come over here and tear it right off me.Soren too seems to have a similar train of thought, for as Azrael's eyes scan over my body hungrily, Soren's arms move to shield me from view. For once, I let myself lean into them."No matter, my grievances shall soon be forgotten. For it seems the tables have turned now, hmm? You can't touch me, Serena," he smirks widely.Fearfully I press my back against Soren, my hands reaching for my sword. From the corner of the shadows, Kal reaches out his hands, a black globular fire coiling at his fingertips as he stands to attention, his magic directed at Azrael. Even the wearied Ithuriel is on high alert, his bushy tail bristled in alarm, a snarl ripping from his throat. Bracing himself, Kal stands between them, gritting his teeth."Don't you dare try anything, Azrael," he growls, wings beating against the blackness, but the wobble in his voice is telling, and Azrael knows it. Kal is just as afraid as the rest of us."Don't try to defy me, you stupid boy," Azrael snaps, his fingers clenching by his sides. "You know what happens if you do."Beside Kal, Ithuriel whines, whimpering as he paws his head, infiltrated by the invasive grasp of the white haired prince. The whines only drone louder as his mind is swarmed with noise and thoughts and hands that grasp at the deepest and darkest fears that lie dormant in his mind. But Kal, despite his warnings, only rears his flames higher, the light twisting and squirming in the palm of his hands as he takes a step forward in front of Ithuriel, blocking Azrael from his sight. At long last, Ithuriel's cries die down."You will not touch him," Kal whispers, his black eyes watery with something that might be tears, his face a deadpan expression of rage as Kal launches the black fire in Azrael's direction, hissing his loathing with the effort of doing so.Azrael barely flinches as it comes towards him, watching with a passive, if not bored expression as the black fires hurtling with a speeding darkness towards him. And then, inches from his face, he raises a hand, and all at once, those fires fizzle into a smoky submission of empty air. Kal's magic disperses in the air between us."I told you," Azrael growns, making a twisting motion with his hand, his eyes flaring. "Not to defy me."Ithuriel's whines become deafeningly louder, causing both Kal and I to scream out in helpless rage. I wreathe against Soren's grasp, but his hands hold me tight, like a rigid stone foundation entrapping me in its grasp. His eyes are fixed on Kal, his voice barely a whisper as he lowers his mouth to my ear and breathes:"Wait, Serena, look."Dawn clutches herself around the whimpering Ithuriel, his twin coloured eyes alight with pain. But then his eyes focus on what is in front of him, and all at once those whimpers start to die away, like a voice in the storm, whisked by the wind. Something shifts in his expression. A lingering pain and... something else. Something new.Kal's body begins to pulsate with light. A black, ethereal glow of vivid darkness, an abyss surrounding his form, covering every limb, pooling from every orifice like water from a river trickling into the open sea. It clogs our vision of him, and leaves Azrael- temporarily, stammering in confusion, taking a step back, a strange, luminescent aura ghosting around his form, barely visible, but just about there- a shield against magic.Under the blanket of darkness, Kal's form continues to grow, moulding into shadows and inky apparitions, towering up and up until finally, he is standing three meters tall- except it isn't the human Kal any more.This Kal is a huge, black dragon.
