Chapter 208: 208
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So I lean forward, my eyes fixated on his tall, familiar form, willing for him to hear me as Azrael and Soren circle each other like wolves from two opposing packs, snarls ripping through the air between every well placed step...
But why, Soren? I call out desperately, wishing to be of some use and not just sit on the side-lines like a spare part waiting for the use it will never get. I can still fight with my sword- even my powers can't yet work on him- isn't only a matter of time until we remove my blood from his body and I can use them again!
Which is true, of course. There were many a day I'd practise with Ithuriel in the groves beneath the Illistrae clan battling make believe against vampires with silver swords until the council demanded our presence. Though my skills are certainly not as sharp as the angel warriors by any stretch of measure, that does not mean I can't hold my own.
And I am sure Soren knows all this- senses the thoughts rushing through my mind like a raging flood breaking through the land as I have often sensed the chaotic array of his late into the nights.
But for a short while, Soren doesn't answer, and for that while, I have my doubts that he will at all. He lets these thoughts fester, his expression grim and unfeeling as he lashes out towards Azrael- deliberately missing. For the tenses of his body tells me something else lies underneath, a fearful trepidation, or worry, that he cannot yet bring himself to suggest.
"What's the matter brother?" Azrael taunts, hopping around the room as though all this is one delightfully large game. "Something the matter? I have never seen you miss a shot."
"I was testing you reflexes so I can determine how long you will be squirming around for until I gut you like a fish," Soren says, no longer a snarl in his voice, but the deathly cold of his promise, icing the air with a fine mist of foreboding.
This time, Soren does not miss his shot. Such uncontained anger leaks out of his as he slashes his shadowed hands out to the white haired vampire in front of him that the air seems to ripple with the sheer force of it, as though he'd split a chasm into the void between us. His shadowy claws slash downwards, tearing a mighty gash over Azrael's arm.
Azrael's hand rolls off from his wrist with a sickening, wet, thud.
A howl of pain echoes through the air, sharp and almost canine as Azrael scoops up the remnant of his hand from the ground, cradling it between his hands. After all, he knows better than to leave blood around where anyone can find it. Nevertheless, it is a gruesome sight. While the empty stub of Azrael arm his healing fast, the blood clotting before my eyes on the site of the wound, heaving like maggots as the flow of blood is stemmed from streaming onto the floor by the fabric of his t-shirt, there is no way it will be fully healed any time soon. At the very least, it will take him half a day.
But in Azrael's favour, I think reluctantly, not helping but to be a little resentful about the fact. At least it will heal back. If I had cut his hand off with my silver sword it would never grow again.
"You fucker," Azrael whispers, continuing to circle Soren, but remaining largely hindered by his newly decapitated hand. But Soren isn't listening. This time, he appears to have heard my thoughts.
In the air between us there is almost an audible stutter, a block in words as he attempts to fill the gaps with something that I will understand. His hands roll with magic, his eyes at last whisking across me as he circles Azrael, his mouth pulled into a cold, hard frown. His eyes never leave his brother's form.
He wants to do unspeakable things to you, Serena. Soren says at last in my mind, his voice cold, yet barely a whisper, as though terrified to voice such words lest they come true. Soren makes another swipe at Azrael with his shadows, slicing a gash down Azrael's shoulder with an impassioned fury. This time Azrael tries to hide his wince.
He would lock you up for days, force himself upon you, use you in any way he sees fit. He'd drink from you, Serena, and make you drink from him too. He'd glamour you if he could, though thank hell he can't. His heart tells me so- and it is entirely corrupt. He wants to take you with him, Serena. He knows where the souls are, and he wants you to help him find pluck them from their people so that he might have them as his own. I cannot put you in such treacherous hands.
I pause for a minute, glancing between the two of them
And what about you, I say quietly into his mind. Do you know where the other souls are?
Another hit to Azrael, another pause, another long, dragging silence. A spluttering cough wriggles from Azrael's throat as Soren attempt to slice off where my blood is smeared over his neck, then:
Only one, but after today, that will not matter, Azrael will be dead.
I try to continue the conversation, but Soren gives me a sharp look and quickly I fall into a submissive silence. And so I am left to watch the battle, curled up in Kal's tail with a growing sensation of unease flooding into my mind.
Yet there is something that doesn't quite feel right about the whole situation, a nagging sensation in the back of my mind that makes my skin prickle with apprehension. Azrael is hurt, decapitated, and one wrong move away from dying, and yet I cannot shake the feeling that Soren is not the one who will come out victorious today. There is something in the way Azrael moves, the calm fluidity of his gestures, his motions, that would seem to imply he does not care, a nonchalance on his face that suggests a situation far from the one that he has stuck himself in. Of course, it is most inconvenient for him to have his hand lopped off, but in the scheme of things, Azrael seems remarkably unfazed. It is almost terrifying.
My mind reeling, I attempt to nit pick for answers as I watch the two brothers circle each other, each move wearing away at Azrael's body as more and more flesh is torn from his broken form.
Looking down, I allow myself a moment to scan over the blood pendant slung around my neck, watch the volatile motion of the liquid inside its cage, thrashing and pounding at the glass, surging to be released from its prison. Perhaps I cannot fight, but I am not useless yet. Clutching my pendant between my fingers, I raise my head to Kal, pinpointing my gaze upon the large black dragon.
Kal, I say in my mind, hoping desperately he can hear me. Kal I need you to do something for me. Please, it's important.
At this, Kal looks down, his black eyes gleaming against the half light of the room as he tears his gaze away from the two figures circling each other at the centre of the room. Even if he is a dragon, Kal somehow manages to pull off his characteristic look of sarcastic inquisition, nostrils flaring with a puff of smoke as he bows his head towards me, inspecting.
What do you need, Serena? He prompts with a musing flash of long, dragon teeth, his eyes trailing to where I clutch the pendant tightly between my fingers, shielding it from view. Taking a moment to shift my gaze swiftly back to the two Princes, their bodies rigid, claws out, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I still have a bit of time. A bit, but not enough. Whatever Azrael is up to, he will not wait until his body is completely destroyed. Turning back to Kal, I call:
I know you said you can only make people invisible for a limited time, but what about objects?
The skin on the forehead of the dragon raises. A puff of smoke exudes from his mouth.
Well, he explains, leaning further down, but not enough so to attract the attention of either of the two vampires before us. Objects work on a far different spectrum to people, they are far less pliable, much less subject to change. While I could make a person invisible for several minutes, an object can stay invisible for several months.
Several months… I think to myself, clutching my pendant tighter still, feeling the pulse of life against my palm. Several months is perfect. That is, if I am right about what I suspect.
Alright Kal, I say, raising my head once more. Gently, I lift up the pendant to him. I need you to make this invisible for me. Don't ask questions, just do it.. And discreetly, if you please.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
So I lean forward, my eyes fixated on his tall, familiar form, willing for him to hear me as Azrael and Soren circle each other like wolves from two opposing packs, snarls ripping through the air between every well placed step...
But why, Soren? I call out desperately, wishing to be of some use and not just sit on the side-lines like a spare part waiting for the use it will never get. I can still fight with my sword- even my powers can't yet work on him- isn't only a matter of time until we remove my blood from his body and I can use them again!
Which is true, of course. There were many a day I'd practise with Ithuriel in the groves beneath the Illistrae clan battling make believe against vampires with silver swords until the council demanded our presence. Though my skills are certainly not as sharp as the angel warriors by any stretch of measure, that does not mean I can't hold my own.
And I am sure Soren knows all this- senses the thoughts rushing through my mind like a raging flood breaking through the land as I have often sensed the chaotic array of his late into the nights.
But for a short while, Soren doesn't answer, and for that while, I have my doubts that he will at all. He lets these thoughts fester, his expression grim and unfeeling as he lashes out towards Azrael- deliberately missing. For the tenses of his body tells me something else lies underneath, a fearful trepidation, or worry, that he cannot yet bring himself to suggest.
"What's the matter brother?" Azrael taunts, hopping around the room as though all this is one delightfully large game. "Something the matter? I have never seen you miss a shot."
"I was testing you reflexes so I can determine how long you will be squirming around for until I gut you like a fish," Soren says, no longer a snarl in his voice, but the deathly cold of his promise, icing the air with a fine mist of foreboding.
This time, Soren does not miss his shot. Such uncontained anger leaks out of his as he slashes his shadowed hands out to the white haired vampire in front of him that the air seems to ripple with the sheer force of it, as though he'd split a chasm into the void between us. His shadowy claws slash downwards, tearing a mighty gash over Azrael's arm.
Azrael's hand rolls off from his wrist with a sickening, wet, thud.
A howl of pain echoes through the air, sharp and almost canine as Azrael scoops up the remnant of his hand from the ground, cradling it between his hands. After all, he knows better than to leave blood around where anyone can find it. Nevertheless, it is a gruesome sight. While the empty stub of Azrael arm his healing fast, the blood clotting before my eyes on the site of the wound, heaving like maggots as the flow of blood is stemmed from streaming onto the floor by the fabric of his t-shirt, there is no way it will be fully healed any time soon. At the very least, it will take him half a day.
But in Azrael's favour, I think reluctantly, not helping but to be a little resentful about the fact. At least it will heal back. If I had cut his hand off with my silver sword it would never grow again.
"You fucker," Azrael whispers, continuing to circle Soren, but remaining largely hindered by his newly decapitated hand. But Soren isn't listening. This time, he appears to have heard my thoughts.
In the air between us there is almost an audible stutter, a block in words as he attempts to fill the gaps with something that I will understand. His hands roll with magic, his eyes at last whisking across me as he circles Azrael, his mouth pulled into a cold, hard frown. His eyes never leave his brother's form.
He wants to do unspeakable things to you, Serena. Soren says at last in my mind, his voice cold, yet barely a whisper, as though terrified to voice such words lest they come true. Soren makes another swipe at Azrael with his shadows, slicing a gash down Azrael's shoulder with an impassioned fury. This time Azrael tries to hide his wince.
He would lock you up for days, force himself upon you, use you in any way he sees fit. He'd drink from you, Serena, and make you drink from him too. He'd glamour you if he could, though thank hell he can't. His heart tells me so- and it is entirely corrupt. He wants to take you with him, Serena. He knows where the souls are, and he wants you to help him find pluck them from their people so that he might have them as his own. I cannot put you in such treacherous hands.
I pause for a minute, glancing between the two of them
And what about you, I say quietly into his mind. Do you know where the other souls are?
Another hit to Azrael, another pause, another long, dragging silence. A spluttering cough wriggles from Azrael's throat as Soren attempt to slice off where my blood is smeared over his neck, then:
Only one, but after today, that will not matter, Azrael will be dead.
I try to continue the conversation, but Soren gives me a sharp look and quickly I fall into a submissive silence. And so I am left to watch the battle, curled up in Kal's tail with a growing sensation of unease flooding into my mind.
Yet there is something that doesn't quite feel right about the whole situation, a nagging sensation in the back of my mind that makes my skin prickle with apprehension. Azrael is hurt, decapitated, and one wrong move away from dying, and yet I cannot shake the feeling that Soren is not the one who will come out victorious today. There is something in the way Azrael moves, the calm fluidity of his gestures, his motions, that would seem to imply he does not care, a nonchalance on his face that suggests a situation far from the one that he has stuck himself in. Of course, it is most inconvenient for him to have his hand lopped off, but in the scheme of things, Azrael seems remarkably unfazed. It is almost terrifying.
My mind reeling, I attempt to nit pick for answers as I watch the two brothers circle each other, each move wearing away at Azrael's body as more and more flesh is torn from his broken form.
Looking down, I allow myself a moment to scan over the blood pendant slung around my neck, watch the volatile motion of the liquid inside its cage, thrashing and pounding at the glass, surging to be released from its prison. Perhaps I cannot fight, but I am not useless yet. Clutching my pendant between my fingers, I raise my head to Kal, pinpointing my gaze upon the large black dragon.
Kal, I say in my mind, hoping desperately he can hear me. Kal I need you to do something for me. Please, it's important.
At this, Kal looks down, his black eyes gleaming against the half light of the room as he tears his gaze away from the two figures circling each other at the centre of the room. Even if he is a dragon, Kal somehow manages to pull off his characteristic look of sarcastic inquisition, nostrils flaring with a puff of smoke as he bows his head towards me, inspecting.
What do you need, Serena? He prompts with a musing flash of long, dragon teeth, his eyes trailing to where I clutch the pendant tightly between my fingers, shielding it from view. Taking a moment to shift my gaze swiftly back to the two Princes, their bodies rigid, claws out, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I still have a bit of time. A bit, but not enough. Whatever Azrael is up to, he will not wait until his body is completely destroyed. Turning back to Kal, I call:
I know you said you can only make people invisible for a limited time, but what about objects?
The skin on the forehead of the dragon raises. A puff of smoke exudes from his mouth.
Well, he explains, leaning further down, but not enough so to attract the attention of either of the two vampires before us. Objects work on a far different spectrum to people, they are far less pliable, much less subject to change. While I could make a person invisible for several minutes, an object can stay invisible for several months.
Several months… I think to myself, clutching my pendant tighter still, feeling the pulse of life against my palm. Several months is perfect. That is, if I am right about what I suspect.
Alright Kal, I say, raising my head once more. Gently, I lift up the pendant to him. I need you to make this invisible for me. Don't ask questions, just do it.. And discreetly, if you please.
So I lean forward, my eyes fixated on his tall, familiar form, willing for him to hear me as Azrael and Soren circle each other like wolves from two opposing packs, snarls ripping through the air between every well placed step...But why, Soren? I call out desperately, wishing to be of some use and not just sit on the side-lines like a spare part waiting for the use it will never get. I can still fight with my sword- even my powers can't yet work on him- isn't only a matter of time until we remove my blood from his body and I can use them again!Which is true, of course. There were many a day I'd practise with Ithuriel in the groves beneath the Illistrae clan battling make believe against vampires with silver swords until the council demanded our presence. Though my skills are certainly not as sharp as the angel warriors by any stretch of measure, that does not mean I can't hold my own.And I am sure Soren knows all this- senses the thoughts rushing through my mind like a raging flood breaking through the land as I have often sensed the chaotic array of his late into the nights. But for a short while, Soren doesn't answer, and for that while, I have my doubts that he will at all. He lets these thoughts fester, his expression grim and unfeeling as he lashes out towards Azrael- deliberately missing. For the tenses of his body tells me something else lies underneath, a fearful trepidation, or worry, that he cannot yet bring himself to suggest."What's the matter brother?" Azrael taunts, hopping around the room as though all this is one delightfully large game. "Something the matter? I have never seen you miss a shot.""I was testing you reflexes so I can determine how long you will be squirming around for until I gut you like a fish," Soren says, no longer a snarl in his voice, but the deathly cold of his promise, icing the air with a fine mist of foreboding. This time, Soren does not miss his shot. Such uncontained anger leaks out of his as he slashes his shadowed hands out to the white haired vampire in front of him that the air seems to ripple with the sheer force of it, as though he'd split a chasm into the void between us. His shadowy claws slash downwards, tearing a mighty gash over Azrael's arm.Azrael's hand rolls off from his wrist with a sickening, wet, thud.A howl of pain echoes through the air, sharp and almost canine as Azrael scoops up the remnant of his hand from the ground, cradling it between his hands. After all, he knows better than to leave blood around where anyone can find it. Nevertheless, it is a gruesome sight. While the empty stub of Azrael arm his healing fast, the blood clotting before my eyes on the site of the wound, heaving like maggots as the flow of blood is stemmed from streaming onto the floor by the fabric of his t-shirt, there is no way it will be fully healed any time soon. At the very least, it will take him half a day.But in Azrael's favour, I think reluctantly, not helping but to be a little resentful about the fact. At least it will heal back. If I had cut his hand off with my silver sword it would never grow again."You fucker," Azrael whispers, continuing to circle Soren, but remaining largely hindered by his newly decapitated hand. But Soren isn't listening. This time, he appears to have heard my thoughts. In the air between us there is almost an audible stutter, a block in words as he attempts to fill the gaps with something that I will understand. His hands roll with magic, his eyes at last whisking across me as he circles Azrael, his mouth pulled into a cold, hard frown. His eyes never leave his brother's form.He wants to do unspeakable things to you, Serena. Soren says at last in my mind, his voice cold, yet barely a whisper, as though terrified to voice such words lest they come true. Soren makes another swipe at Azrael with his shadows, slicing a gash down Azrael's shoulder with an impassioned fury. This time Azrael tries to hide his wince.He would lock you up for days, force himself upon you, use you in any way he sees fit. He'd drink from you, Serena, and make you drink from him too. He'd glamour you if he could, though thank hell he can't. His heart tells me so- and it is entirely corrupt. He wants to take you with him, Serena. He knows where the souls are, and he wants you to help him find pluck them from their people so that he might have them as his own. I cannot put you in such treacherous hands.I pause for a minute, glancing between the two of themAnd what about you, I say quietly into his mind. Do you know where the other souls are?Another hit to Azrael, another pause, another long, dragging silence. A spluttering cough wriggles from Azrael's throat as Soren attempt to slice off where my blood is smeared over his neck, then:Only one, but after today, that will not matter, Azrael will be dead.I try to continue the conversation, but Soren gives me a sharp look and quickly I fall into a submissive silence. And so I am left to watch the battle, curled up in Kal's tail with a growing sensation of unease flooding into my mind.Yet there is something that doesn't quite feel right about the whole situation, a nagging sensation in the back of my mind that makes my skin prickle with apprehension. Azrael is hurt, decapitated, and one wrong move away from dying, and yet I cannot shake the feeling that Soren is not the one who will come out victorious today. There is something in the way Azrael moves, the calm fluidity of his gestures, his motions, that would seem to imply he does not care, a nonchalance on his face that suggests a situation far from the one that he has stuck himself in. Of course, it is most inconvenient for him to have his hand lopped off, but in the scheme of things, Azrael seems remarkably unfazed. It is almost terrifying.My mind reeling, I attempt to nit pick for answers as I watch the two brothers circle each other, each move wearing away at Azrael's body as more and more flesh is torn from his broken form.Looking down, I allow myself a moment to scan over the blood pendant slung around my neck, watch the volatile motion of the liquid inside its cage, thrashing and pounding at the glass, surging to be released from its prison. Perhaps I cannot fight, but I am not useless yet. Clutching my pendant between my fingers, I raise my head to Kal, pinpointing my gaze upon the large black dragon.Kal, I say in my mind, hoping desperately he can hear me. Kal I need you to do something for me. Please, it's important.At this, Kal looks down, his black eyes gleaming against the half light of the room as he tears his gaze away from the two figures circling each other at the centre of the room. Even if he is a dragon, Kal somehow manages to pull off his characteristic look of sarcastic inquisition, nostrils flaring with a puff of smoke as he bows his head towards me, inspecting.What do you need, Serena? He prompts with a musing flash of long, dragon teeth, his eyes trailing to where I clutch the pendant tightly between my fingers, shielding it from view. Taking a moment to shift my gaze swiftly back to the two Princes, their bodies rigid, claws out, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I still have a bit of time. A bit, but not enough. Whatever Azrael is up to, he will not wait until his body is completely destroyed. Turning back to Kal, I call:I know you said you can only make people invisible for a limited time, but what about objects?The skin on the forehead of the dragon raises. A puff of smoke exudes from his mouth.Well, he explains, leaning further down, but not enough so to attract the attention of either of the two vampires before us. Objects work on a far different spectrum to people, they are far less pliable, much less subject to change. While I could make a person invisible for several minutes, an object can stay invisible for several months.Several months I think to myself, clutching my pendant tighter still, feeling the pulse of life against my palm. Several months is perfect. That is, if I am right about what I suspect.Alright Kal, I say, raising my head once more. Gently, I lift up the pendant to him. I need you to make this invisible for me. Don't ask questions, just do it.. And discreetly, if you please.
