The muted monochrome void encompassed them both like the great sea, deafening in it's magnitude. To the human it felt as if the sheer pressure of the portal's gateway was crushing her; collapsing her ribs, squeezing her heart and lungs and she desperately, ever so desperately held her breath. The flesh of her knuckles – bone white – nails digging deeply into palms and a thin trickle of blood disappeared into the nothing; yet even still she gripped the ridged staff tighter. An explosion of fear erupted from the pit of her stomach as through the incomprehensible vastness of it all, twin orange eyes of him burned into her.
It was the first time Angor Rot's gaze landed on hers – attention undivided between troll and Trollhunters, now solely hers; and that was greater than any faux sense of water pressure the portal's single tone around her as he now saw and registered her existence. It was enough to send any lesser mortal reeling or to be reduced to a quivering mess, and Claire's reward for holding it for a second was roughened stone in the gut; forcing the wind out of her and her grip to falter.
Reality caught up with her ( the stone, Claire, the stone! ) and she reared back; striking the ancient assassin across the face with a hefty right hook. She noted in the half second they were both swept by the strange gravity of the plane that, for a being made of mostly rock it was more like the smooth surface; soft enough that her bones did not break nor any discomfort. Now floating and away from him, she tried to swim to the drifting staff.
Having her back turned to Angor was a fact that was bouncing in her mind; making her skin flush with fearful goosebumps and sweat to slick the palms of her hands. He still had the dagger laced with Creeper's Sun, a poison that could turn anything to stone – including her. She dreaded to know that there was more to the troll than at first glance; they had ( or more accurately, the Trollhunter ) experienced but a taste of his physical prowess. The extent of what he was capable of was still solidly unknown. What was holding him back from throwing the dagger?
He isn't interested in fighting you, she reminded herself. His game lie with Jim Lake Jr., the first human Trollhunter. A decidedly more interesting prey than a school-girl abnormally well-versed in Trollish culture. Perhaps she should never have set herself apart from the background noise that threatened the balance between hunter and game; for her actions would surely gain her some unwanted attention.
Claire's fingertips were inches away from the staff; yet just before she could snatch her ticket out of the portal's limbo, she was unceremoniously shoved down; silent gasp slipping from her. A blow that, under a proper field of gravity would certainly have broken her spine, yet they both aimlessly floated, the staff in sights. The fire in her lungs urged her to continue despite her blurring vision, and gathering her bearings she shot forward like a rocket in one powerful stroke, grasping the cane just before Angor did.
She could feel herself begin to tug upwards even before her subconscious powered the artefact, and she was allowed to stare hopelessly at the assassin's shrinking form before the staff guided her to safety, and within a blink she lay flat on the ground; ears pounding and gulping greedy breaths of air. The voices of her friends were but white noise against the backdrop of bodies rushing all around her, yet eventually her wits returned one by one.
She didn't get the killstone. Her gaze slowly dropped to the staff still tightly held like it was her life support – she failed, yet still managed to gain quite the powerful tool, and a powerful enemy.
The time he had to find out about the new prey entering his playing field was brief, but he was a master hunter, even if human game was new and exhilarating, it was different enough to hold his interest ( much to his targets misfortune, of course. ) and invest time in researching and studying this exciting development. Information was easy to come by to those who knew how to look for it – and the correct information at that – but nevertheless he gathered from sources first.
"Who is the Trollhunter's consort?"
He'd been nonchalantly carving another effigy for his golems when he asked the ringbearer. Angor Rot was not a troll to be caught off guard, though his carving knife did stall for half a second when the bearer ungracefully choked on his tea, clearly finding his innocuous question to be unexpected at least, and downright inappropriate at worst.
"I beg your pardon?" the changeling spoke, still buffering a cough or two and clearing his throat before it dawned on him what the ancient creature meant. It didn't escape Angor's notice ( nothing did, ) when a muted flash of protectiveness streaked across the impure's eyes. She was a student of his first and although he had no personal disagreement with her, or Tobias for that matter, the fact they stood with the young Atlas was … unfortunate, to say the least.
"Oh – you are referring to miss Nuñez. You may want to brush up on your linguistics, as I can assure you they are too young to even think about marriage. In any case, she is a straight A student of mine, with no competition of being the most competent of the young Atlas' band of friends. Her grasp on our culture -"
"Mine," interrupted Angor. "Not yours, half-breed."
The principals eyes twitched, the implication not lost on him. Reviled by his own kin, and always lying to mankind did not make for happy reminders. He briskly corrected himself. "On troll culture is remarkable. I do have to wonder why the sudden interest. I hope there is no need to remind you who is the Trollhunter and as clever as Claire is, she is not your target."
The troll was silent at first, fletching a useless piece of stone off from the rough form of the golem doll. The human girl became his target when she was impudent enough to believe herself worthy of Skathe-Hrün. The Shadowstaff in their disgustingly confusing language. Yet other possibilities swirled in his mind. The fleshbag clearly held some importance or influence over the Trollhunter and the rest of his friends, flesh and stone alike. From his observations, he could determine that James Lake Jr. was plagued with too much emotional investment. One of many instruments for Angor Rot to use.
Even still, there was one singular thought drifting in his mind that he could utilise the girl for his own needs. He had to know how involved with the Trollhunter she was – to use him as leverage against her to gain the ring and ultimately, his soul back.
Not a single moment had passed in his musings before he spoke up again, voice like dark carved onyx, rumbling like an aftershock that had struck fear into the hearts of human and trollkind alike. "The girl. This.. Claire Nuñez," His eyes narrowed a little at how unimpressive such a name sounded. Names had purpose. They had power.. and one with that name now held his staff. "Who is she to the Trollhunter?"
Strickler pursed his lips when it became apparent Angor hadn't dropped his bizarre line of questioning about the girl, though taking a moment to ponder he thought he understood where it was going. He agreed to let Angor work on his own terms to ensure the boy's death, so this must simply be a part of a plan he was concocting in the making. It was exhilarating to be able to witness a master assassin weave the threads of death, especially when it was happening right in front of him.
"They have grown rather close as of late, now that she is aware of the other world under her feet." he informs, placing his unfinished tea down to steeple his fingers, knowing that the inferna copula glinted in the light of his desk-lamp. "I cannot say for exact certainty the extent of their friendship, other than it is a recent development. The boy had been smitten with her for the majority of the school semester, and she hadn't even known much about him or even his full name until the twilight events of Bular's doom."
The changeling's brow perked when he heard Angor's discontent grumbling. He thought they had more than enough leverage with his fate tied to Barbara, whom was James' mother.
"But now.. she would do anything for him?"
"Within reason.." Strickler eyed him carefully. The conversation held a great distaste in his mouth, and he contemplated ordering the troll to focus on the Trollhunter. Anything that involved Claire extensively could somehow threaten his kin, NotEnrique during his tenure as pretending to be her baby brother. Instead, he settled for informing him under the guise of a reminder. "She cannot get her brother back from the Darklands without the Trollhunter nor the assistance of Trolls. It wouldn't be in her best interest to sacrifice her friendship or loyalty now."
A pause, before he added. "A pity she will never get her brother back, however. I cannot allow such harm to befall ..."
Angor Rot tuned out once the changeling had begun spewing his speech of his kind. He had no love for changelings, and to be bound to one because of the ring was humiliation of the greatest kind. He chipped away another flaw to his stone golem, with a gruesome grin settling over his stone face. Perhaps soon he would not have to worry about Stricklander and his petty powerplays. Soon, he could be free.
Claire felt like she was in a lucid dream. Ever since their excursion in the marshlands and being in that unfamiliar plane created by Angor's staff, she hadn't been able to shake the feeling of dizziness, nor the way of how his eyes pierced into her. Eventually, she sighed and muttered for her to get ahold of herself: what else could she have done? He was escaping with the killstone. He still had it, but at least she did secure them a weapon.
.. that she had no idea to use.
"Look on the bright side, Claire." she whispered under her breath, staring at the metal hilt of the staff which had retracted on it's own. "At least this means Angor doesn't have the teleporting staff anymore. Or whatever else it could do, and.. and I'm talking to myself."
Shaking her head, she vowed she needed to have some girl time to herseslf, possibly with Darci as well. It was long overdue since she met up with her female friends and there had been far too many unanswered calls and texts on her behalf. She knew she had to meet with them at least once before any more suspicion grew. Although that wasn't to say she hadn't enjoyed the time spent with Jim, or even Tobias. If her friends asked her at the start of the school year if she could see her spending so much time with them she'd have called them crazy.
A fond smile tugged at her lips as she thought of Jim. Who, even beyond his cute, dorky smile, his infectuous charm: had a good heart. She truly believed his promise that he'd get her bro-
Wait. Did she just think his smile was cute? She definitely needs some time to herself.
Feeling marginally better at her playful chastising about Jim, she slugged up the steps of her home towards her bedroom. She knew her parents were already fast asleep as caring for a baby often drained their energy. A scowl broke over her face at the thought of NotEnrique. At least he hadn't harmed either parent, merely just kept them exhausted during the rare times they didn't ask her to babysit. If he hurt them.. that would be the last straw for her.
Even if it seemed that he genuinely enjoyed playing the part of being a baby. Or more specifically being with a family... No, she dismissed the idea.
Opening her room, she shuddered the second she stepped in. It felt like a blizzard had passed inside, given how cold it was. The window was shut, the curtains drawn, however. Claire thought little of it and shut the door with the nudge of her foot as she stepped towards her bed, collapsing onto it. A second of respite passed when her thoughts once again nagged at her regarding the marshlands and her brief trip in the world between worlds.
"Ugh." she proclaimed, gaze drawing from the ceiling to glare at the handle of the staff, shaking it to no avail. "What was I even thinking? Yeah, run at the troll assassin that even AAARRRGGHH! couldn't hold off."
She held her cold glare to the staff, before it wandered towards the dark black-blue bruise on her knuckles. She gasped softly, then groaned shortly after. Right, she'd punched Angor's cheek. It was still stone, no matter how unlike it felt at the time. Maybe the void messed up her reception to the pain. With a huff, she rose from the bed towards her dressed, staring gloomily at the reflection of herself, whom held a look just as sour.
"You can't get Enrique back without your limbs.. or life," she told, her reflection mimicking her words back silently. "So tomorrow you're going to the Forge to figure this dumb staff out. You're not letting Jim fight all your battles."
Claire finished her peptalk with conviction, nodding slowly when she was satisfied. Setting the metal hilt onto the desk, she unclipped her hair and let it free, wiped what minimal makeup was applied with a cotton pad until something in the mirror caught her eye. They had since adjusted in the lowlight of her room, yet she could've sworn something glinted. Perhaps a car drove by with the lights on? A very.. silent car..?
Anticipation crawled on the back of her neck like the unsettling cold of her room, one hand drifting to the hilt slowly, fingers curling around it. She ignored the fact it felt different under her trepidation, like a distant hum of power she couldn't quite tap. Claire remained completely still, inspecting the mirror for movements behind her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just a typical girl's room with a dark figure that possessed burning orange eyes in the corner of-
A startled yelp of fear ripped from her throat as she swung round, staff hilt in hand. The spike of fear powered the staff, letting the structure spring forth, completed. Claire thought with apprehension that at least it worked when it was needed, even if the staff felt like it was feeding off of her fear. If that abated it or fuelled it, she isn't sure. She pointed the prongs at Angor Rot, breathing uneven as a million things ran into her mind, yet the splutter of indignation was the one that slipped out quite loudly; "What – the hell!"
"Claire, honey.. ?" a tired voice drifted from out of her room. Her mother's. Claire swallowed thickly, eyes never once leaving the troll's form as he stepped surprisingly silent forth, advancing like a panther that sized it's next kill. She forced her voice to be as composed as it could be before speaking tentatively, though it wavered a little.
"I'm fine mom!" she followed Angor with the staff, stepping away to follow his prowling circle before he could close the distance. The dagger laced with poison was at his hip. It wouldn't take much effort for him to draw it and strike now, but the fact that he waited weighed on her. Perhaps he was just letting her stew in her fear. " – I'm just, watching a scary movie. I'll, uh, turn it off and go to bed now. Love you."
She heard distinct mumbling of the same sentiment, a bead of sweat trickling from her forehead at the sight of the assassin's fanged grin. He didn't seem afraid of the staff that she pointed at him. Why would he be? She didn't know how to use it.
Not it's powers at least. She thought. But that workshop at school with the quarterstaff is going to pay off..
"Claire," the troll began and she hated the way his voice sounded like he was executing an order for her death. He might as well be, given his presence. Angor stopped his circling to take a direct step forth, though halted amusingly when she shoved the staff forward defensively. Any closer and she might've gored him.
"Don't you dare take one step closer. Or even say my name, because it's beyond creepy." She let her gaze wonder just half a moment to the phone on her bed. If she could contact Jim..
"What will you do?" Claire's lips pulled back into a snarl of discontent when she noted that he sounded amused in asking so, even more when he added after a pause; "Claire." He stopped in the centre of her room, even as she continued to circle uncertainly. He followed her with unblinking eyes, tenor a rumbling, earthly tremor of hatred and spite. "You don't know how to use the Skathe-Hrün. Tell me, do you even know why it was summoned when you turned to face me?"
Why hadn't he attacked her yet? Her brows furrowed, taking her step back towards the bed. "You're a troll of ancient magic and power. This staff is probably of the same origin, so who knows? Maybe it popped out because it sensed you, or something."
"A reasonable deduction.." Had she been a Troll, her logic on what little knowledge she had to go on would've made her an good tracker. But he was the difference between great and excellent. "But wrong. You're afraid, girl. Your fear called to the staff. Empowered it. Your negative emotions is it's fuel."
She said nothing, adjusting her grip on the staff as she contemplated his words. She didn't know why he was telling this to her, other than to rub it in her face that she didn't know before claiming another trophy from his hunt of the Trollhunters. Indeed, the staff felt different in her hands than when she had been composed, like a silent wailing in her ears to give into her dread and let hopelessness overshadow her. Deciding she'd rather not be idle to figure out why he was taking so long to do anything, she made a dive for her bed.
Her fingertips barely brushed the touchscreen of her phone when Angor lunged forward to seize her arm. She saw the lockscreen ask for her password before the device's power saving kicked in. Cursing under her breath, she felt herself be pulled back and away. Struggling against his grip was a fool's errand, but she wouldn't be limp as he dragged her. She kicked behind her to no avail, but it was only when the butt of the staff ploughed into his gut did she hear a grunt and feel his grip weaken.
Claire made a break for her phone again, this time managing to grab it in the short time it took for Angor to recover. Her fingers fumbled to input the password, but cried out in alarm when the assassin struck the phone out of her hands and seized her throat. The staff clattered to the floor as she dug her nails into his hand, clawing at him. He applied just a touch more pressure to her windpipe to quell her attempts, granting her relief when she stopped. She gasped for air, but his grip wasn't any less painful.
"Think, girl!" he growled, shaking her just a touch as he did so. "If I wanted you dead right now, you would've been so long before you had the chance to think about the ramifications of gaining my attention."
"Then why haven't you killed me?!" she hissed back in turn, legs weakly kicking out from under her. She was thankful he hadn't done so, but it hadn't done much to ease her fear. "What do you want?"
Angor tossed her unceremoniously to the wall. Her back hit it and an elongated groan of pain left her when she thumped to the floor, head nearly hitting the frame of her bed. She used it to help herself up, grimacing when he picked up the staff.. only to then toss it towards her. She blinked owlishly, reflex alone catching it and leaning heavily on it as supporting her own weight earned much protest from her spine. The troll scrutinized her intensely, before his grin slowly returned. The fear accumulated into bedrock into her stomach when he spoke.
"We share a common goal … revenge."
A/N: Yes, after much time in hiatus, I am writing a new story. I enjoyed the second season of Trollhunters a lot, and I'm glad that from the looks of things we'll be getting S3. In any case, this story actually begin many months ago when I watched the first season. I got so far as Strickler's and Angor's conversation before I stopped. So the writing might seem a little disconnected because of that. Given the implications of the S2 ending (I won't spoil!) then, I think it's fitting that these characters should interact. This is set during Season 1, after Claire obtains the Shadowstaff. Eventual spoilers. This is also kind of an AU past that episode as well.
All I can say is.. don't expect a consistent updating schedule. I am notoriously slow. - Guixi