let's pretend Valgaav didn't die at the end of TRY. in this story, he isn't reborn, but survives in the body he is in. yup, the dragon-mazoku crossbreed.
waitasec...ah yes! I don't own Slayers. (I gotta add that, no?)
When penalty goes too far
set after TRY, right before Valgaav is about to be killed. Later in the story: Valgaav x Filia
chapter 1: light's end
'Light. Too much...light.'
Golden irises stared into the depths of the energy surrounding them. A pair of cat-like pupils shrank to the size of needles, aqua bangs surrounding a horn were waving around its possessor's face. A slow stream of blood flowed out of a painful wound on the battered Valgaav's chest.
He was ready to accept the death the light brought. In fact, he had wished for it since his master Gaav had died.
He wasn't afraid of death. 'Been there, done that...'
Despite of the pain the attack brought, he almost smiled. This would be the end of his miserable life. He had failed in every task he set himself. He couldn't prevent them from killing Gaav, he couldn't make them pay for it. He had even managed to let that piece of scum of a mazoku –Xellos- escape alive. At least, the Golden dragons got their punishment. Even if he'd rather have tortured that Filia a bit longer. She had looked so hurt when she found out about her race's history of destruction...just what she deserved, being the Golden she was.
His hurting wings slowly retreated inside his body, stopping the pain they caused every time he used them. This time, no curse crossed his mind when he thought of his mazoku side that rejected his original ancient body, making flight a true torture. He knew it had been his own choice to become partially mazoku, but he had never known what pain it would bring him before he turned into the being he was now. It wasn't Gaav's fault for not warning him about it. The mazoku probably hadn't thought of any possible rejection himself. The last thing he could do now to repay Gaav for is kindness, for his care, was dying.
Valgaav closed his eyes, relaxing in the light. He didn't feel it anymore, he embraced the feeling. It was what he was. Hurting, lonely, empty.
In the time the attack raged, destroying everything in its path, he had come to the very end of the darkness that had surrounded him for all those years. The vision of the friendly, caressing warmth his death would bring drew Valgaav to the brink of death. He was about to step into the light, when darkness claimed him once more.
The mazoku race wasn't going to release its prey so easily…
'No!'
Desperately, Valgaav tried to stop himself from defending his body. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Year after year, since Gaav's death, he had secretly wished that someone would come and take his life. But now, when he thought it would all be over soon, the godforsaken mazoku in him still fought to live. The mazoku part in him he tried to fight on every occasion, the part that Gaav had hated in himself, too. The piece of him that would live for the sake of living and hurting others and himself. The part that wouldn't allow simple happiness.
Horror-struck, Valgaav panicked. It was too late to gather his mind and fight the need to live, the need for vengeance. God, he didn't want to live with this ever-lasting hatred anymore! He cursed himself for letting his guard down while enjoying the light when the darkness was still near. But it was too late.
In the end, the survival-instinct of the mazoku was stronger than Valgaav's own will. It crushed the last opposition that could have made the difference between survival and death. It crushed Valgaav's mind like it had done so many times before, making the crossbreed unable to make his own decisions, preventing any attempt to regain his 'humanity', prone to hatred and despair. Using the little strength he had left, the demon in him made him cast a protecting spell in front of him.
The impact of Lina's attack against the shield catapulted him, like a leaf in a storm, far away from the battlefield. Finally out of range of the devastating energy-wave, he dispelled the shield and fell. Eyes closed, he tumbled through the heated air. His aqua hair rustled against his horn in the vortex his falling body caused. He could still feel the warmth and the energy of the attack he had been in a few moments earlier. It felt like leaving a comfortable and precious home to wander and get lost in the cold outside world. He didn't even try to cast a flying spell, and he wasn't high enough to draw out his wings once more. He couldn't care less about dying.
But when he saw the rocks approaching beneath him, fear replaced his death-wish. His serene state of mind was overtaken by sheer terror.
Too scared to fight his instincts, he transformed his left arm into dragon-form in a split second, ignoring the wave of pain it caused.
His quite healthy looking skin turned into black, leathery hide; muscles and bone stretched; his hand flexed when it transformed into a draconic claw, complete with sharp, intimidating talons.
A few metres above the rocky ground, he slashed his black talons into a stone spire to slow down his fall. It was a miracle that his arm wasn't pulled out of its socket, but the sudden force hurt none the less. His claws left a long slash mark on the spire as he struggled not to lose his grip on the hard surface. Even if his remaining speed wasn't deadly anymore, the impact with the ground was still great enough to make dust-clouds fly up. His feet were driven into the sand, his knees buckled under the pressure, but he stood.
Eventually, he sank to his knees, exhausted, drained. His talons made an awful shrieking noise as his hand slid down the spire, but Valgaav didn't hear it. The last thing that crossed his mind before he lost consciousness was absolute despair. He had been so close to fulfilling his destiny, but once again, it was taken from him. No one is immortal, so why, WHY didn't he die?
At least he was spared from having to answer his own question. Everything became black before his eyes, and he fell face first down to the ground. A bit of blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth, and the wound on his chest stained the ground crimson.
Too bad his injuries weren't fatal.
