Fire and Shadows by Owlyn
Disclaimer: I do not own witchblade or any of its wonderful characters, only the idea I've placed them in.
Feedback: Definitely! Reviews are my cure for writer's block. Also if u have any suggestions I'd love to hear them.(if they end up in print u will be given full credit)
Key for understanding my fanfic symbols * = flash back, thoughts don't have any symbols because it interrupts the flow of the story.(sry if that is inconvienent)
"Smack!" Sara's fist met the blood red punching bag in a whirl of barely contained fury. Sweat dripped into her eyes; carelessly she swiped a glove across her face and steadied herself against the bag. It was a testament to the exhaustion two hours of beating the hell out of an inadiment object brings that she could no longer stand up straight. Unfortunately, the session had done nothing to dispel her pent up rage and infuriating feelings of helplessness. Both were still energetically taunting her with flashes of last night's events.
* A man who was, yet wasn't her father approached from the corner of the late Mr. Iron's contemporary/medieval residence. With horror and disgust fighting for dominance on her face she could only look on as cherished childhood memories were destroyed. This vacant stranger with his twisted plans could not be the same beloved father who took her to park on Sundays. Then, next thing she knew the stranger she refused to acknowledge as her father had his arms around her neck. Clearly she wouldn't be around muck longer to contemplate the mystery of his resurrection if she didn't fight back. "Thunk!" in her battle-fogged mind she dimly registered that with her hit the face had changed.she was once again staring into Kenneth Iron's glacier cold eyes. She was beginning to understand that in the Witchblade's world there were no rules and death was merely an inconvience to those wishing to kill her. In her peripheral vision she noticed a figure that reeked of evil. " As if it's volcanic eyes weren't obvious enough", she had time to think sarcastically before Irons attacked. *
Jerked out of her reverie by the fact that those same eyes were facing her right now she instinctively hit. "Ouch! Dammit, what was that?!" I guess even the witchblade can't protect you from Hell's prying eyes. If someone had told me a week ago that I would meet the Devil I would have collapsed laughing and asked if they thought I was a bad person or something. What a strange burn too. It almost looks like miniature flames. The distinctive click of a door opening made her look up from examining her scorched knuckles.
"Pez, are you ok? I heard a crash and thought that psycho V was back." Danny spoke while slowly replacing his gun.
"What, oh I'm fine."
"Damn girl, you might be fine but that punching bag sure ain't." Danny laughed somewhat unnerved. He knew Sara was stronger than she looked, but strong enough to break a sturdy iron chain? That's my partner: full of surprises.
In the shadows another man pondered that same question. Dressed all in black only the luminous red eyes had noticed him, that and the witchblade. At the moment it was pulsating a strange green. Lady Sara why will you not believe in the witchblade? It is trying to warn you, for your assumptions are only partially correct. The Devil is not the only or the most powerful evil that wants you dead. You have fought him since his birth, for that was why the witchblade, you were created. You have killed him before, when he was still mortal enough to die; but to conquer him, that can only be done if you accept our combined destinies.
"How the hell did it get all the way over there? No wonder I feel more relaxed." She quipped. I wonder how long the interrogation will last this time? He better make it brief 'cause I just heard movement in that corner. My favorite stalker wait, I mean my only stalker. Great, now I'm reduced to arguing with myself!
"I don't know Pez, might want to work on that anger management a little. See you tomorrow." Danny concluded. Her mind is obviously on something else or someone else from the way she's almost smiling. I'll just have to get the truth out of her tomorrow morning when she's still half asleep. In record time he was out of the dungeon of a gym and striding purposefully down the hall.
"He's gone, you can come out now." Sara said impatiently.
"Sara, you have been branded by an evil far older and more powerful than that which you recently battled." Ian answered, his gaze flicking quickly to the blemish on her otherwise pristine skin then back to her emerald eyes. Her skin always seems to glow with an inner light, even when irritated and tired she still has an otherworldly beauty. With great reluctance he drew his mind back to the matter at hand, he was not here to admire her but to warn her.
"Come on, cut the crap. What's going on, suddenly two glowing eyes are adorning my punching bag and next thing I know this is on my hand!" She gestured at the sick, but beautiful design with the impatience born out of fatigue.
"Sara you must concentrate on listening instead of sparring for once. The witchblade is trying to warn you, even though he has been responsible for it's ultimate betrayals. It was through him that the witchblade abandoned Joan of Arc. For He stole what the witchblade needs to survive: her, your hope. It is up to you to defeat him once and for all in this lifetime. You may not get another chance." His normally warm hazel eyes now darkening with urgency and worry. She has to understand the power of this new threat, this old evil. How can she accept our destiny when she won't even listen to me?
"Whoa, rewind, who's out to kill me now? Is Irons planning on resurrecting himself or will my supposed dead father make another appearance? Or better yet is it the devil again, 'cause I really feel like kicking his ass." Sara adopted her old mocking tone, but in truth he was starting to freak her out a little. All that stuff about the witchblade betraying Joan really hit home.
For lack of a better method of communicating his urgency he reached out and captured the hand bearing both the burn and the witchblade. Gently he traced the outlines of the small eternal flames; at least they would remain with her for all of this lifetime. Emboldened by her startled intake of breath he considered confessing his feelings, but aborted the words before they were ever spoken: now was neither the time nor the place.
"Lady Sara you must understand, to speak his name is to summon him. He cloaks himself in shadow and only the glow of his yellow eyes under the full moon reveals him. He hears and sees everything."
Damn, I wish he would stop that. It's making me dizzy with the added bonus of being extremely distracting and right now I need to concentrate on remaining upright. I must be really beat if he's having this kind of effect on me. Come on Pezzini get a hold of yourself, this is Nottingham remember. It had been a long day and she was tired of all the games, usually she played along but right now she just wanted to go home and get some sleep. Breathing deeply twice Sara managed to make a suitably biting response.
"So I can just yell out 'hey dude stop playing hide and seek' and he'll appear?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized that that had been a really stupid thing to say. An arrow made entirely fashioned out of sapphire blue flames that hurtled toward them punctuated her realization. Attempting to track its flight she saw that Ian was its target. It flew faster than any bullet Sara had ever seen and would be deadlier. Before her mind could rationalize what she was about to do Sara's reflexes took control. Trusting to the witchblade for protection in the form of full body armor she threw self into its path.
When the flaming arrow was seconds away from her Sara found herself incased in thick, iron armor from head to toe. Then time stopped and the unthinkable happened. With an agonizing slowness armor segments slid back down her body and were swallowed by the churning red stone that formed the witchblade's eye.
The impact was excruciating, like hot needles combined with ice. Almost instantaneously she was transported into a waking vision of Joan of Arc burning at the stake. The witchblade had resumed enough control of itself in order to distance Sara from the pain.
Ian watched in horror as the arrow entered the chest of his beloved. With the knowledge that comes of being connected to the Blade for centuries he felt it's struggle. Obviously He had managed to check its desire to protect the Wielder. The arrow slowly burnt itself out inside of her until only a few embers remained. Before she could collapse to the floor in a crumpled heap he easily caught her lithe form.
Luckily for Sara the Blade was rallying and as a conciliatory gesture it placed her in a vision. This vision, he could sense, was meant to last an hour. By then the pain would have subsided from unbearable to simply agonizing. Fighting through his internal fog was another knowledge. The knowledge that Sara had, without thinking, literally thrown herself in the path of death, his death. With him out of the way He would have been able to dominate and kill Sara in a matter of days. All of these realizations made him light headed and therefore it took some moments for him to realize that a police gym was the worst place to be right now. Still holding Sara in his arms he carefully examined the shadows, only to catch a fleeting glance of a smoky tendril oozing out through a crack in a nearby brick wall. Reverently he proceeded to gently lift Sara up and carry her out the door.
Once outside Ian faced a dilemma, where to take Sara. He knew of no hospital on Earth that could treat his lady's burns. Why didn't I drive to the station for once! Maybe a taxi? No, the driver would notice and ask inconvenient questions. Thank God Sara is light, 'cause it looks like I'm gonna be carrying her eight blocks. Oh, Sara I wish I could take away some of your pain.
Halfway to her apartment she started to shiver. When he finally gave into the need to remove his glove to feel her forehead she had a high fever. Gingerly he brushed her lustrous chestnut hair out of her face. While doing that his eyes were reluctantly drawn to the gash on her chest near the base of her neck. It was a bloody hole, about four inches long he estimated. The edges of the fabric nearest to it were singed the black of charcoal. At last he reached her apartment and searched through her coat for the keys. In the top pocket he found them and opened the door.
Inside everything was serene and quiet, an ironic contrast with the inhabitant's personality. Upon reaching the middle of the apartment he settled his burden comfortably, or as comfortably as possible when you're recovering from severe burns, on the couch.
"No don't leave me! Not now, I need you!" Sara cried deep in a vision of horrors past. Ian was unsure if she was talking about him or the witchblade, but soothed her nonetheless.
"Sara, I'm right here. Only say the word and we could be inseparatible." A feeling of intense déjà vu overcame him as he remembered another time when he had made a similar offer.
Fighting her way out of the vision Sara won the battle for a brief moment and replied, "Yes. I would like that very much, Ian." Before once again returning to being burned at the stake, only this time she felt a sense of calm as Ian took her in his arms.
Disclaimer: I do not own witchblade or any of its wonderful characters, only the idea I've placed them in.
Feedback: Definitely! Reviews are my cure for writer's block. Also if u have any suggestions I'd love to hear them.(if they end up in print u will be given full credit)
Key for understanding my fanfic symbols * = flash back, thoughts don't have any symbols because it interrupts the flow of the story.(sry if that is inconvienent)
"Smack!" Sara's fist met the blood red punching bag in a whirl of barely contained fury. Sweat dripped into her eyes; carelessly she swiped a glove across her face and steadied herself against the bag. It was a testament to the exhaustion two hours of beating the hell out of an inadiment object brings that she could no longer stand up straight. Unfortunately, the session had done nothing to dispel her pent up rage and infuriating feelings of helplessness. Both were still energetically taunting her with flashes of last night's events.
* A man who was, yet wasn't her father approached from the corner of the late Mr. Iron's contemporary/medieval residence. With horror and disgust fighting for dominance on her face she could only look on as cherished childhood memories were destroyed. This vacant stranger with his twisted plans could not be the same beloved father who took her to park on Sundays. Then, next thing she knew the stranger she refused to acknowledge as her father had his arms around her neck. Clearly she wouldn't be around muck longer to contemplate the mystery of his resurrection if she didn't fight back. "Thunk!" in her battle-fogged mind she dimly registered that with her hit the face had changed.she was once again staring into Kenneth Iron's glacier cold eyes. She was beginning to understand that in the Witchblade's world there were no rules and death was merely an inconvience to those wishing to kill her. In her peripheral vision she noticed a figure that reeked of evil. " As if it's volcanic eyes weren't obvious enough", she had time to think sarcastically before Irons attacked. *
Jerked out of her reverie by the fact that those same eyes were facing her right now she instinctively hit. "Ouch! Dammit, what was that?!" I guess even the witchblade can't protect you from Hell's prying eyes. If someone had told me a week ago that I would meet the Devil I would have collapsed laughing and asked if they thought I was a bad person or something. What a strange burn too. It almost looks like miniature flames. The distinctive click of a door opening made her look up from examining her scorched knuckles.
"Pez, are you ok? I heard a crash and thought that psycho V was back." Danny spoke while slowly replacing his gun.
"What, oh I'm fine."
"Damn girl, you might be fine but that punching bag sure ain't." Danny laughed somewhat unnerved. He knew Sara was stronger than she looked, but strong enough to break a sturdy iron chain? That's my partner: full of surprises.
In the shadows another man pondered that same question. Dressed all in black only the luminous red eyes had noticed him, that and the witchblade. At the moment it was pulsating a strange green. Lady Sara why will you not believe in the witchblade? It is trying to warn you, for your assumptions are only partially correct. The Devil is not the only or the most powerful evil that wants you dead. You have fought him since his birth, for that was why the witchblade, you were created. You have killed him before, when he was still mortal enough to die; but to conquer him, that can only be done if you accept our combined destinies.
"How the hell did it get all the way over there? No wonder I feel more relaxed." She quipped. I wonder how long the interrogation will last this time? He better make it brief 'cause I just heard movement in that corner. My favorite stalker wait, I mean my only stalker. Great, now I'm reduced to arguing with myself!
"I don't know Pez, might want to work on that anger management a little. See you tomorrow." Danny concluded. Her mind is obviously on something else or someone else from the way she's almost smiling. I'll just have to get the truth out of her tomorrow morning when she's still half asleep. In record time he was out of the dungeon of a gym and striding purposefully down the hall.
"He's gone, you can come out now." Sara said impatiently.
"Sara, you have been branded by an evil far older and more powerful than that which you recently battled." Ian answered, his gaze flicking quickly to the blemish on her otherwise pristine skin then back to her emerald eyes. Her skin always seems to glow with an inner light, even when irritated and tired she still has an otherworldly beauty. With great reluctance he drew his mind back to the matter at hand, he was not here to admire her but to warn her.
"Come on, cut the crap. What's going on, suddenly two glowing eyes are adorning my punching bag and next thing I know this is on my hand!" She gestured at the sick, but beautiful design with the impatience born out of fatigue.
"Sara you must concentrate on listening instead of sparring for once. The witchblade is trying to warn you, even though he has been responsible for it's ultimate betrayals. It was through him that the witchblade abandoned Joan of Arc. For He stole what the witchblade needs to survive: her, your hope. It is up to you to defeat him once and for all in this lifetime. You may not get another chance." His normally warm hazel eyes now darkening with urgency and worry. She has to understand the power of this new threat, this old evil. How can she accept our destiny when she won't even listen to me?
"Whoa, rewind, who's out to kill me now? Is Irons planning on resurrecting himself or will my supposed dead father make another appearance? Or better yet is it the devil again, 'cause I really feel like kicking his ass." Sara adopted her old mocking tone, but in truth he was starting to freak her out a little. All that stuff about the witchblade betraying Joan really hit home.
For lack of a better method of communicating his urgency he reached out and captured the hand bearing both the burn and the witchblade. Gently he traced the outlines of the small eternal flames; at least they would remain with her for all of this lifetime. Emboldened by her startled intake of breath he considered confessing his feelings, but aborted the words before they were ever spoken: now was neither the time nor the place.
"Lady Sara you must understand, to speak his name is to summon him. He cloaks himself in shadow and only the glow of his yellow eyes under the full moon reveals him. He hears and sees everything."
Damn, I wish he would stop that. It's making me dizzy with the added bonus of being extremely distracting and right now I need to concentrate on remaining upright. I must be really beat if he's having this kind of effect on me. Come on Pezzini get a hold of yourself, this is Nottingham remember. It had been a long day and she was tired of all the games, usually she played along but right now she just wanted to go home and get some sleep. Breathing deeply twice Sara managed to make a suitably biting response.
"So I can just yell out 'hey dude stop playing hide and seek' and he'll appear?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized that that had been a really stupid thing to say. An arrow made entirely fashioned out of sapphire blue flames that hurtled toward them punctuated her realization. Attempting to track its flight she saw that Ian was its target. It flew faster than any bullet Sara had ever seen and would be deadlier. Before her mind could rationalize what she was about to do Sara's reflexes took control. Trusting to the witchblade for protection in the form of full body armor she threw self into its path.
When the flaming arrow was seconds away from her Sara found herself incased in thick, iron armor from head to toe. Then time stopped and the unthinkable happened. With an agonizing slowness armor segments slid back down her body and were swallowed by the churning red stone that formed the witchblade's eye.
The impact was excruciating, like hot needles combined with ice. Almost instantaneously she was transported into a waking vision of Joan of Arc burning at the stake. The witchblade had resumed enough control of itself in order to distance Sara from the pain.
Ian watched in horror as the arrow entered the chest of his beloved. With the knowledge that comes of being connected to the Blade for centuries he felt it's struggle. Obviously He had managed to check its desire to protect the Wielder. The arrow slowly burnt itself out inside of her until only a few embers remained. Before she could collapse to the floor in a crumpled heap he easily caught her lithe form.
Luckily for Sara the Blade was rallying and as a conciliatory gesture it placed her in a vision. This vision, he could sense, was meant to last an hour. By then the pain would have subsided from unbearable to simply agonizing. Fighting through his internal fog was another knowledge. The knowledge that Sara had, without thinking, literally thrown herself in the path of death, his death. With him out of the way He would have been able to dominate and kill Sara in a matter of days. All of these realizations made him light headed and therefore it took some moments for him to realize that a police gym was the worst place to be right now. Still holding Sara in his arms he carefully examined the shadows, only to catch a fleeting glance of a smoky tendril oozing out through a crack in a nearby brick wall. Reverently he proceeded to gently lift Sara up and carry her out the door.
Once outside Ian faced a dilemma, where to take Sara. He knew of no hospital on Earth that could treat his lady's burns. Why didn't I drive to the station for once! Maybe a taxi? No, the driver would notice and ask inconvenient questions. Thank God Sara is light, 'cause it looks like I'm gonna be carrying her eight blocks. Oh, Sara I wish I could take away some of your pain.
Halfway to her apartment she started to shiver. When he finally gave into the need to remove his glove to feel her forehead she had a high fever. Gingerly he brushed her lustrous chestnut hair out of her face. While doing that his eyes were reluctantly drawn to the gash on her chest near the base of her neck. It was a bloody hole, about four inches long he estimated. The edges of the fabric nearest to it were singed the black of charcoal. At last he reached her apartment and searched through her coat for the keys. In the top pocket he found them and opened the door.
Inside everything was serene and quiet, an ironic contrast with the inhabitant's personality. Upon reaching the middle of the apartment he settled his burden comfortably, or as comfortably as possible when you're recovering from severe burns, on the couch.
"No don't leave me! Not now, I need you!" Sara cried deep in a vision of horrors past. Ian was unsure if she was talking about him or the witchblade, but soothed her nonetheless.
"Sara, I'm right here. Only say the word and we could be inseparatible." A feeling of intense déjà vu overcame him as he remembered another time when he had made a similar offer.
Fighting her way out of the vision Sara won the battle for a brief moment and replied, "Yes. I would like that very much, Ian." Before once again returning to being burned at the stake, only this time she felt a sense of calm as Ian took her in his arms.