ET SUSTINEMUS
...
I must note before I begin as always that my interpretation of Kayle has been built from scratch and is individual. She operates on different rules than any other Kayle I have encountered and has a constructed background and reasoning. Please don't steal it; if you're curious about her you are more than welcome to ask me questions. I am mostly available on my Tumblr blog, under the same name.
Let my blade speak the law.
...
She had not been in their realm long before they sought her out, stepping silently in her burning footsteps; it only took perhaps four days before the rumours flew across the land as swift as her wings.
She knows they follow, but they dance in companionable silence for a long time, throughout the whole day as she burns her way through sin. It is not until she stands alone on a barren field that they approach.
She, of course, speaks first before he does, voice falling like bells layered upon each other, melodic and soothing and enticing in its comfort. "You do not take the souls," Lamb notes curiously, a child examining a new playmate.
"I do not need them," the angel replies. She still does not turn to face them. Her shoulders are heavy, her gleaming armour dripping the blood of the fallen, and the plumes of her helmet drift in the wind with the torn banners of the dead. "It is not my place. I am justice, not death. I am salvation and freedom, not an end."
"You are wise not to encroach," mercy replies, approving, and justice herself turns to face the twin deaths at last. "I would not dream of it," she murmurs, voice light and amused, and she does not flinch an inch when the darker death swoops forward to sniff at her, all cruel teeth and ravenous hunger.
You smell different, he snarls after a long minute. "She lies outside our jurisdiction," his other half sings. "She is beautiful, is she not? Look at all of that desperate hope and unending strength."
Not forever, he rumbles. She could be, if she wants.
"Yes," the Judicator admits, slowly. "I could die, if I wished. But my work will continue a long time yet."
Will you let us hunt you when your work is done? Wolf says, curious. You are a strange thing. Not a prey-thing. You smell of ash and so much brightness I wish to sneeze.
"I will certainly consider it," she answers. "Though I belong to other laws of death first."
"You take our hunts before their time," Lamb says. It is not angry, just a statement. But you do not leave us to go hungry, Wolf adds. Why?
"I am sorry," she sighs. "But I must fulfill my purpose, too."
Lamb laughs at that, sparkling and delighted. We do not mind, Wolf rumbles low in his throat. It is your right.
"Forces above mortality are all intertwined in the weft and weave of fate," Lamb affirms. Tilting her head to consider the newcomer, she says, "It seems we all hide our true faces. May we see you, Justice?"
She hesitates, then nods, and she lifts her shining helm. A crown of fire far brighter than the galaxies swirling in their eyes burns clear above her, and her face is more human than the rest of them combined. As is her heart—for after all, to err is human. To be able to weigh it properly, even more so. Her features are weary, sharp, but beautiful, and her hair is as golden and shining as her intentions. She burns with her fervor, unending. Undying.
Death and Justice simply stand for a long time. Watching. Waiting. Learning.
And then Death inclines both its heads, Justice bows low and deep, and they part in silence.
They will meet time and time again.