The sun burned blazing bright high in the sky above it, out in the courtyard away from all the trees. A warm, beautiful, and sunny day. A day that sapped at its strength and weakened its power. It sat on a pile of wood and kindling. Six people stood around it in a circle, a winged woman, a short man, a red haired man, a black haired man, a kingly man, and plain man. They were the only people within sight. Six of them when the winged woman had only expected five of them. The kingly man had joined in their group at the last minute.
The red haired man held an old book in his hands, flipping the page. "First, we burn it. Then we wait until the evil lurches out of it to escape the heat. The evil requires a solid host to survive. The evil will try to latch onto us. The more of us around it, the more it will have to split itself in its attack, the weaker it will be. It will reveal an evil desire within you and compound it. Resist it by thinking of your most happiest memory. Hold onto that moment. When it gives up on you, it will release you. When there is no one it can latch onto nearby, it will give up, fade away, and die."
"Sounds simple enough," the black haired man answered. "Nanashi, the matches," he nodded towards the winged woman.
The winged woman stepped forward, pulling a set of matches out of her pocket. It took two matches for her to set the kindling beneath it ablaze. She then stepped back from there in a rush.
The heat blazed around it, underneath it. The heat was getting unbearable. The flames licked at the frayed edges. The loose thread caught fire first. Then it began to spread towards the center of the cloak. It shriveled up in the middle of the cloak, trying to hide away from the flames. It was no hope for it buried within. It let loose a piercing shirk that startled the winged woman and the plain man around them. Those two covered their ears to block out the sound, while the other four stood their ground, unwavering.
The red headed man held the book, warning, "it's going to come out soon. It will split itself into six parts and try to attack each on of us." He slammed the book shut and dropped it to the ground at his feet.
It screeched once more, fleeing from the cindered cloak and floating above the fire. It was much too hot there. There were six of them surrounding it. Any of them would be more habitable than the raging flames underneath. It screamed once, splitting into six parts, trying to find at least one of them to latch onto.
The first one was the kingly man. The beast of a man roared aloud, shaking his head like a wild dog. His mind stayed focused on his queen and wife, how much he loved her. He would not do.
The second one, the plain man, was focused on his thirst to prove himself. He was focused on his previous accomplishments in academics as a child, proud at how he was always seen as more knowable than his cousin and his lost older brother. His pride in himself in his own small way. He would not do.
The third one, the red haired man, his mind was blank, just peaceful. He only thought of his late mother. The memory was slightly bitter, but not bitter enough to latch onto. Try as it might, it could not get a hold of him. It had no choice but to let go.
The fourth one, the black haired man, thought of the day he met the red haired man, teasing and flirting with him. The red haired man showed only curiosity and no interest, but the black haired man had happily worn him down. Unlatchable.
The fifth, the short man, thought with pride about his years in the fighting pits, retiring undefeated; someone very few fighters, man or woman, could ever boast about. No one would be able to take those memories away. It was useless to try.
The last one, the winged woman, struggled. Her mind was wondering from memory to memory. She thought about her cousin that she grew up with, but the memory saddened her because she missed him and thought about seeking him out when this ordeal is over. Then she tried to think about a beautiful woman, but that woman had disappeared on her, so that memory made her upset. Then she thought of a tall, muscular man who cared for her, but he was sent away from her by the kingly man, which made her angry. Then she tried to think about the short man next to her, but she thought about what a wealthy man who had kidnapped him, making her feel vengeful. Then she thought about the fast friendship between the kingly man and the short man, making her jealous. She would do.
The winged woman dropped to her knees, hands over her ears, and cried out. She trembled as it latched onto her. She kept trying to shake it off, saying 'no' over and over again. Within her soul was an angelic weapon, but that was easy to suppress.
"Fight it off!" the kingly man growled at her.
"Think about something that brought you joy," the red haired man advised.
The winged woman thought about her hometown now, but how upset she had once been growing for being treated like a half demon most of her life. Her brain scrambled for some happy thought, any happy thought.
"Her wings and hair are turning grey," the plain man said in alarm.
It pushed farther into her, making her turn her mind away from fleetingly happy thoughts and towards thoughts that made her angry and upset. It brought the hatred she felt towards the wealthy man in her mind. It challenged her to want to kill him. She shook her head at the imagined thought of the wealthy man laying beneath her after she killed.
"No, I don't want that," she whined out.
'Liar,' it thought to her.
"Wind serpent, please," she begged her angelic weapon. She could feel it stirring deep in her soul, but could not reach it. "Get it out of me, please!"
"Her hair and wings are getting darker," the plain man observed in a frightened voice.
She raised her head up, staring at him. 'Tell him how you truly feel,' it told her. Her lips trembled, trying to resist the urge to lash out at him. 'Say it.'
"I'll never- I don't-" she bit her tongue in resistance, not wanting to speak. "I don't want to marry you," she panted out. It tried to push her add 'ever,' but she shook her head, refusing.
She would not hurt the plain man like that. She lacked the desire for that. She thought about her new healer friend, how motherly and protective she was to her. She clung to that woman's comfort and how she called her 'sweetness.' It was loosening its grip on her. It would have to dig deeper if it was going to claim her.
"Stand down," the black haired man instructed. "The color change has stopped."
"It's dark grey. It might only be stalled," the kingly man strained out. "She's an angel, so we can't take any chances."
She looked up at the kingly man, eyes narrowing at him on her own free will. He had conjured up a bow and arrow from his own energy. At close range, she could tell he aimed at her heart. The dwelling up hatred she felt towards him was purely her own creation. He took away one of her lovers, he had told her in so many words she was a disappointment, and she was worried now he might, one way or another, take the short man away from her.
'Kill him,' it told her. 'You know you want to. Kill him before he can kill you.'
She reached for her wind serpent, but it was not about to let her unleash that. That might try to force it out. She gave up reaching for her wind serpent. She had a knife on her hip, given to her by the short man. She could use that.
She drew the knife, but then paused. The short man had given this knife. Her uncle made it for her. Her uncle had tried to save her from the wealthy man. She stayed her hand, holding it listlessly in the air.
"Shoot her!" the plain man told the kingly man. The kingly man stayed stock still.
"No!" the black haired man told the kingly man. The kingly man stayed stock still.
The plain man pointed out, "her hair and wings have gone completely black! The evil that was inside the cloak got her! She can't come back from that. She drew her knife and looks like she kill, for Great Mother's sake."
The black haired man came over to her and knelt in front of her at eye level. "You have to resist it," he begged her.
'Stab him, he's in your way,' it advised her.
"No," she whispered at both of them. Her right hand shook.
If she stabbed the black haired man, the kingly man would shoot her. Instead, she raised her left fist, punching the black haired man in the gut before her. She caught the black haired man by surprise, knocking the wind out of him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the red haired man and the short man exchange a wordless glance. The red haired man nodded. He stepped over to the black haired man, pulling him up to his feet. "Yasha, stand aside," he advised.
"He'll kill her," the black haired man wheezed out. "She's got to resist it."
"She's gone, even her eyes are gone pitch black," the plain one said. "Just shoot her, Hayate, and be done with it."
She turned back to the kingly man. He did not want to kill her, she could see it in his eyes. She smirked up at him boldly. Then she frowned grumpily as the short man stepped between her line of sight and the kingly man. She began resisting again, based on her feelings for the short man. She liked him, in more ways than one. She wanted him out of her way just now though. She rolled up onto the balls of her feet, standing a head taller than the short man.
"Get out of my way," she barked at him in a harsh voice. He stood his ground.
'Stab him,' it advised her. She refused, not out of fear, but out of desire to not hurt him. Her hand clutched tightly to her knife in her hand. It was align with her gut.
The short man spoke, "you want to kill the king." It was not a question. "That's it, that's the worse it could manage to bring out of you." She snarled at him, insulted by him. "Something supposedly so evil that not only could you not resist it, but you would it goad you into trying to do something so stupid. I thought you were smarter than that."
The insults stung. They made her want to drop the knife in her hand. It felt her desire to kill the kingly man ebbing away. "I..." she stuttered out.
The shorter man stepped right in front of her. Her wretched her right wrist. He was not trying to make her drop the knife, but rather pressed the blade against the space between his rib cage. He made her hold her hand there, even as she tried to pull it away. With his free hand, he reached up and clasped her behind the neck so she could not get away from him. She whimpered meekly.
"You want death? You want someone to die?" he asked right in her face. "You want to kill the king? You kill me first," he challenged.
Her hand trembled on the knife hilt. 'Do it,' it advised. 'Do you really think he could ever be yours? The king will just take him away from you, too.'
'Mistress,' she heard her wind serpent barely whisper in the back of her mind. She thought about the wind serpent, how she acquired, how it had helped her and protected her. She reached for it, trying to pull it back to her.
"What are you waiting for?!" the short man shouted in her face.
She could not decide, she wanted it, but surely had to resist it. She screamed, hand tightening on the hilt of the knife so hard it hurt. Then she let it go, letting it fall to the ground between the two of them. It bounced uselessly on the ground. The short man breathed a sigh of relief in front of her. She collapsed against him, shaking. He guided her to sink down to the ground with him and away from the knife. The black haired man ran over to them, kicking the knife way from them.
'Useless!' it roared at her, leaving her body.
It floated above her, the air was much too cold and much too thin. It needed something solid to inhabit lest it dissipate to nothing in the air. Yet dissipation came suddenly when a series of arrows volleyed through it, forcing its black and cloudy form to float apart until it was rendered nothingness.