Restoring Balance Chapter 5: The Soul Reaver, a legacy of kain fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the stuff from LoK. Adojan the Hylden, Zofia & Evike Audron, and Lorant & Cili *Neci walks up and taps her on the shoulder* Oh! and Neci, of the winged race, are all my brain children. ...The list is growing. ;-) *Neci smiles, nods once and leaves*

Authors notes: *Syvia walks in, carrying the storyline of Blood Omen 2 under her arm. She walks up to the vaguely constructed storyline Restoring Balance and sets BO2 down. She examines the storyline for a while. She pulls a roll of clear tape and a pair of scissors out of thin air, holds them both up and clicks the scissors meditatively.

Without warning Syvia starts cutting and taping the storylines of the first three Legacy of Kain games, the newest, and her own story additions. She cuts bits away and moves them over to make room for the events of BO2, she moves parts of her story around and takes other pieces out completely. Her hands blur and the air is filled with little slivers of dialogue and plot devices.

She stops, snips a stray description off of Restoring Balance, and steps back. Although made from many different storylines, the board is a seamless and comprehensive whole. She clicks the scissors again, examining the board, then she turns to the readers.*

Syvia- Okay, what that meant, was that there will be some material relevant to BO2 within this chapter, and possibly all the chapters after it. This will actually be what I think happened after the ending of BO2, which means it's mostly from my imagination, but from now on you should-

*******BE AWARE OF THE POSSIBLE BLOOD OMEN 2 SPOILERS*******

Aside from that- *Shouts* -Okay everyone, I'm going back to the events after SR2! You can all come back!!!!!!

Cili- They don't like us, do they?

Zofia- *comfortingly* It's not that, it's just that they don't quite know what's going on.

Lorant- That's no excuse!

Syvia- Calm down guys, it's to be expected. After all, they know Kain and Raziel and Mobius and the others better. You're the new characters. It shouldn't be surprising that people are more interested in the ones they know.

*They all grumble softly.*

Syvia- Hey, I like you. *smiles* *The four of them hug*

All readers- Awwwwww....

Syvia- (To the readers) Okay, knock it off silly people! In this chapter, Kain will make Vorador an offer he can't refuse, Raziel will gain more insight into the wraith blade and Mobius and Mortanius make plans to protect the Circle.

Kain- I hope you appreciate the effort I'm making not to do my Godfather impression.

Vorador- We are all very grateful.

Raziel- Am I included in this 'plan' of Mobius'.

*Mobius smiles evilly at him. Raziel shudders.*

Raziel- (To Syvia) I'm not going to like this, am I? *Syvia grins evilly at him. Everyone shudders.*

Chapter 4

The Soul Reaver

Nosgoth ~ 500 B. C. ~ The Living World

The world righted itself slowly as the teleportation spell ended. A quick glance about him told Kain that he and Vorador were within the Termogent Forest.

The atmosphere was lush with plant life. Everything in the swamp a different shade of green, even the stone walls of the ruins. Ravens cawed to each other from the tops of trees, their calls mixing with the whine of mosquitoes and the croaking of frogs. Kain's nose wrinkled at the mucky smell of stagnant water and mold. The decay of plants gave an underlying stench to the entire area.

What an appropriate- and painful- place for vampires to dwell, Kain thought wryly. Pond scum covered everything, masking most of the puddles. Tendrils of mold grew on the trees, hanging down and obscuring their true foliage. Dragonflies could be seen darting about above the water, iridescent wings moving so quickly that the insects' bodies were practically motionless. Water hung in the very air, making the swamp so damp that simply walking through it could irritate a vampire's skin.

It had taken the fledgling Kain several centuries to understand the reason Vorador built his dwelling in the swamp. He hadn't truly cared until the time had come to build his own seat of power. It was then he'd learned that by accepting one's weaknesses, one could turn them to an advantage.

Humans disliked the swamp, disliked traveling within it. The grimy water made them slow, distracted them, and the ruined buildings in which Vorador had built his mansion had high walls that were difficult to climb. A vampire would have little difficulty keeping above the swamp, and the soldiers that traversed it... if he were cautious.

The Termogent Forest would not change greatly in the next five centuries. The important question was; would Vorador? Kain turned, sheathing the Reaver within a strap of leather slung over his shoulder for that specific purpose. Vorador sheathed his own blade, but watched Kain closely, seeming to expect an attack.

The silver-haired vampire made a conscious effort not to smile. How strange it was now that their roles had been reversed. In this meeting, Kain was the elder of the two by at least three hundred years. Vorador was conscious of this, if only because a vampire did not develop cloven hands until well after six hundred years of un-life.

In their first meeting, Vorador had been alive for over two millennia. Kain, a vampire for less than two weeks, had posed little -if any- threat. Vorador had allowed him to walk boldly through the front door of his manor; to fight his way to the dining area as best he could.

Now that Kain was Vorador's equal in power, he saw the cautious side of the 'Father of Vampires'. Instead of teleporting straight to the manor, they had appeared outside of it. Instead of offering the first greeting, Vorador stood silently, waiting to see what Kain would do.

Things must not have changed greatly however, for though the ancient vampire was suspicious, perhaps even a bit fearful of Kain, he did not fly for the safety of his home. Kain imagined that Vorador was keeping him away from the manor to guard the pets he kept there.

In Kain's opinion, that had always been the green-skinned vampire's greatest weakness. He believed that Vorador cared too greatly for those around him. That fault had sent him into the Sarafan Stronghold this very day. In both timelines of Kain's memory, it had gotten him in trouble, gotten him killed.

Kain had felt distain for that trait in the past. Today hoped to use Vorador's overly strong emotions to his advantage.

What remained of the Sarafan forces were on alert. When The Pillars of Death and Time opened a door into the hallway, they found no less than a dozen soldiers waiting to escort them wherever they might be headed.

Already Malek seeks to redeem himself, Mortanius thought wryly. He strode down the hall beside Mobius, both of them heedless of the young soldiers trailing after them like lost children. Had a vampire actually attacked them, Mortanius imagined that he and Mobius would be the ones protecting the Sarafan, not the other way around.

The knights were looking around pensively, hands at the hilts of their swords, jumping if one of their company breathed too loudly. What was more, they were keeping a respectful three feet from the two sorcerers. Three feet that could have meant death to either of the Pillar Guardians, had the vampires actually been planning another attack... had Mobius and Mortanius not been the two strongest members of the circle.

Indeed we are the two strongest members of the Circle- but that status means little now that the full number is only three, Mortanius thought bitterly.

Mobius began speaking to him, his voice too soft for the knights to hear.

"We need protection from the vampires, Mortanius. We need it now and-"

"And it will come in the form of Pillar of Conflict," Mortanius interrupted just as softly.

"His Generals fell," Mobius returned bluntly. "Who is to say that Vorador will not launch another attack? Malek was unconscious when the battalion found him. Had they not appeared when they did, Vorador might have killed seven of the Circle instead of six."

"Vorador survived for over sixteen hundred years because he is not easily roused from his manor," the necromancer murmured. "In his mind, his sire has been avenged and we have learned a lesson. He will not come to finish us off.... Unless you have seen something?" Mobius did not respond to Mortanius' question, which had the desired effect of silencing the Time Streamer completely. Mobius guarded his knowledge jealously. It was a rare thing for him to volunteer information about the visions he saw in the streams of time.

"But you are correct that we require protection," Mortanius continued. "Now that Vorador has reminded the other vampires that we are, in fact, mortal, we need something that will frighten them into leaving us be."

"Which is?"

Mortanius ignored the question. "Who -or what- killed the Generals, Mobius?" he asked. Mobius' smirk did not go unnoticed. The Pillar of Death had made his choice in what to do with Malek, and had a sneaking suspicion that the Time Streamer knew what that choice was. However, Mortanius was reluctant to put words to his decision. It was necessity that demanded Malek's damnation... but that fact did not lessen the Necromancer's feelings of guilt. Mobius answered Mortanius' question, seeming to have decided to leave his fellow sorcerer be, for now.

"Malek spoke true," Mobius whispered. "The winged creature with blue flesh did indeed kill the Generals." His voice grew lower still. "As you realized earlier, the creature within the Ouroborous room was, and is, Raziel," Mobius said.

The two sorcerers made their way through the Stronghold, towards the relevant room. "One soul within is the original; the soul of the Sarafan so recently murdered. Nearly a thousand years from now, that soul will be raised as a vampire. A thousand years after that, he will be executed- thrown into a whirlpool called, by the vampires of his time, the 'Lake of the Dead'. In a quest for revenge against his murderer, Raziel shall be lured back into Nosgoth's past. His mind had been poisoned against us. First by the vampires who raised and then destroyed him, and a second time by Janos Audron. He saw the Sarafan kill Audron- followed them here, and murdered them all." Mobius paused, considering. "That is where events currently stand."

"Raziel was the instrument of his own demise?" Mortanius asked incredulously.

"He burned for centuries in that lake- went mad during the process..." Mobius's voice took on a wistful note and the sorcerer sighed. "He also lived for centuries as a vampire, Mortanius. It is not surprising that he would be taught to hate the Sarafan order, what he once was."

Mortanius wondered idly why Mobius tried to fool him with these false emotions. He was not, after all, like one of the Sarafan Knights; who never looked past the tips of their own swords, or Malek; who was not devious enough to think Mobius might be hiding his true feelings.

Perhaps the Time Streamer was so used to acting that he did so unconsciously.

"In an effort to bring strength to the Sarafan Order in our time of need you must take hold of Raziel's soul and fuse it into the sword the Generals stole from the Vampire Audron," Mobius said intently.

"Fuse his soul into the sword?" Mortanius echoed softly. "In the remote possibility that Raziel had not gone mad during his time in this Abyss you speak of, he surely would in being bonded with the blade." He said slowly, thinking. Mobius was not telling him everything... the Time Streamer never did.

"But it will occur, Mortanius. The creature that is now Raziel has come into our time from the future, with half of his soul in the form of a Spectral blade."

"Half of his soul?" Mortanius repeated curiously. Suddenly Mobius wouldn't look at him. Had the Time Streamer said something he shouldn't have? "This is a monstrous course of action, Mobius," Mortanius continued. "To use one of the Generals so cruelly- no matter what he has become-"

"It is no more monstrous than fusing Malek's soul into a suit of magically forged armor," Mobius hissed.

Mortanius stiffened, but kept walking. The Time Streamer had indeed foreseen the course of action Mortanius had considered. To think that the he would actually do it.... The Pillar of Death shuddered inwardly.

"And have you seen the Sarafan rise up in rebellion at the cruelty I inflict upon their commander?" Mortanius whispered bitterly.

"Malek was at fault for the deaths of six circle members, Mortanius," the other sorcerer murmured somberly, his voice a perfect imitation of sorrow. The Sarafan behind them exchanged looks. Some nodded slightly, others bowed their heads. "He admits his guilt," Mobius' voice dropped and he continued in a nearly inaudible whisper, "and will accept whatever punishment we deem appropriate." They were both silent for a time.

"Do you plan to oppose me in this, Mortanius?" the Time Streamer pressed.

"I plan to take any action necessary to keep Nosgoth alive," the Pillar of Death responded. Mobius nodded once in return. "But this future Raziel? What need is there for that?"

"He must be contained, Mortanius," Mobius said intently. Mortanius' eyes narrowed slightly, the only evidence of his puzzlement. The Time Streamer actually sounded worried. "He is completely mad and incredibly dangerous. He penetrated the defenses of the Stronghold and killed the Generals. Were he given the opportunity, he would do the same to the rest of us and revive Janos Audron."

Mortanius stopped and turned to face the other sorcerer. Behind them, the Sarafan knights stopped in their tracks and looked about nervously. "What has the last Ancient to do with this?"

Mobius ignored him. "I require you to hold him in the Physical Realm long enough for him to come in contact with the Reaver... to be impaled upon it."

"A fine plan, Mobius, if not for one slight problem," Mortanius said wryly. The Pillar of Time looked at him quizzically. "Did you fail to consult the Time Streams, Mobius?" he asked mockingly, earning a glare from the other sorcerer. "The Reaver was stolen mere hours ago by Vorador and the vampire you claim I created."

Vorador stared at the other vampire, unable to decide what came next. The other wouldn't do anything, only stand there, and so they stared at each other.

Vorador had seen displays like this before, between young vampires of similar ages. They were territorial, those fledglings, and jealous of each other's power. When two vampires who were similar in power met for the first time, often a duel took place to determine who was stronger. Some ended in death. Vorador was unsure who would win if this vampire wanted a fight, but that idea mattered little when compared with the thought that this vampire actually seemed older than he was, which was, or should have been, impossible.

The green-skinned vampire went to speak, but the other beat him to it.

"I would speak to you of your sister, Zofia," he said.

Vorador had expected several different greetings, but that was not one of them. His eyes went wide, then narrowed. "How do you know that name?" he asked.

"I can bring her back, Vorador," the silver-haired vampire said, ignoring the question.

For a moment, the ancient vampire's slowly beating heart actually stopped. Only hours ago his Sire had been murdered, causing him to run headfirst into the lion's den on a quest for revenge. He had only escaped because of the help this unknown vampire had provided, and now this same stranger was offering something that was impossible, had to be impossible. Yet... whoever he was, he was speaking the truth.

"I suggest you explain yourself, vampire, and quickly," Vorador growled softly. "You gave me aid in fighting the Sarafan, and I thank you for it. But that act does not give me sufficient cause to trust you. You hold the Reaver in your possession and do not seem to plan on relinquishing it... not that I would do so, were I in your position," he admitted.

"You are the only other vampire I've met to come close to me in age," Vorador continued, "yet I had it on very good authority that I was the first vampire made, as well as the creator of every vampire who came after.

"Now, as I am quite certain that the beings who made me were the only ones capable of such an act, and quite certain that I am not the one who made you, I find no explanation of your existence."

"Allow me to enlighten you," the other vampire said. He raised a hand to his left ear and tore something from it. The vampire tossed it to Vorador, who snatched it out of the air.

He glanced at it for a second. Vorador's eyes darted to the other vampire, then back to the object in his hand. The ring-

"There you are," Neci said proudly, holding up the ring. It shone darkly in the well-contained firelight of the forge. Vorador took it and examined the ornament with interest. Lorant, standing nearby, was not impressed.

"That is all?" he asked incredulously. "One ring from the teeth of nearly a hundred wolves? Next you shall tell me you want more bones to make the blade I wanted."

"Well, as a matter of fact..."

Lorant's groaned at Neci's amused smile. "I have brought you five skeletons already," the young warrior said irritably. Lorant turned to Vorador. "This is the difference between a Master smith and an apprentice."

"When the apprentice is the only smith willing to craft your sword," Vorador chuckled, "it is unwise to insult him."

Neci's smile held as he spoke again. "If you know so much about forging weapons, Lorant, tell me of a Master's work that did not require the bones of at least five creatures."

Vorador continued to examine his new ring as Lorant stamped off, grumbling quietly.

"It is somewhat large, Neci," Vorador murmured, twirling the ring around his thumb. There was room for another finger within the band.

"Because it was created for large fingers," Neci said. He took the ring back and briefly slipped it on his own finger, demonstrating the perfect fit. The young Ancient produced a thin leather tie and threaded the ornament through it. "Wear it as a necklace until yours grow big enough."

"How do you know they will ever be big enough?" Vorador asked, grinning slightly. Neci looked at the vampire appraisingly, some strange hidden knowledge in his eyes.

"We know," the smith assured him.

Lorant ran back to them with a triumphant look on his face. "The Reaver was created from the bones of only one being," he said proudly.

Neci looked sharply at the young warrior. Lorant suddenly realized what he had said and looked away, ashamed he had spoken of such an event so callously. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, but still indignant.

"I think I could make ten blades from what I have already given you."

Neci gave him a dirty look. "If you believe you can do so well, you are welcome to take up a hammer and make your own sword."

"You said this ring would be magic," Vorador interrupted, rubbing it between his fingers. "What does it do?"

Neci smiled again, eager to explain his latest masterpiece. "You must paint the ring with your blood and speak an incantation I shall teach you. Afterwards, none will be able to steal the ring from you; the only way for another to obtain it is for you to give the ring freely. Once given to another, that person can use it to call you to their location. Were this person to die, the ring would eventually find its way back to you, or you to it."

Vorador raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and examined the ring more carefully.

"There is a side effect, however, as you will be required to aid this person for so long as they need you. Were I you, I would give it only to someone I trusted, or to someone who's need was very great."

"I will remember, Neci. It is a very fine ring."

The apprentice weapon-smith shrugged, smiling at the praise.

Vorador raised his eyes to the other vampire.

"This will take some time to explain," the silver-haired one said.

"You have just acquired my undivided attention," Vorador murmured.

Raziel slowly became aware of a soft murmuring that echoed through his consciousness, reaching out to soothe his churning mind. He opened his eyes to look at the Reaver, its misty length rippling with sliver rings of light.

They emanated from the tip of the sword, traveling downward. When they reached his arm, they were absorbed into his hand and the murmuring grew slightly louder before dropping in volume once again.

Was it trying to speak with him?

Raziel unclenched his hand slowly and brought the Reaver close to his face. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the awareness that was the wraith blade.

-Silence... darkness... soothing... stability... being... encompassed-

Raziel started and held his arm as far from his body as possible. The blade knew only perception, feeling and sensation, and this was how it could communicate. The wraith blade continued its murmuring, which seemed to be an attempt to calm him- it had the opposite effect. Reluctantly Raziel held the blade close to his forehead once again and closed his eyes, focusing on the pulsating energy that flowed over his arm.

:What do you want of me?: Raziel whispered to it, trying to make his thoughts known.

-Safety... existence... passivity... unity-

The spirit energy that was the Reaver crept down his arm, spread itself out over his life-essence. Raziel shuddered as the blade embraced him completely, permeating his very being. At that moment Raziel could feel the Reaver's consciousness as clearly as he did his own perceptions.

He had known the blade was its own entity, with its own will and its own awareness. This was the first time he realized the blade had its own agenda.

-Unity-

The blade was his own soul. It had recognized him, itself, from the moment they had joined together in the Sanctuary of the Clans.

-Tearing... absence... fear... falling-

In the absence of the Reaver's physical self, the wraith blade felt naked, unprotected, torn in half. Raziel's soul was a poor substitute, as he possessed no true body, only had substance while in the Physical Realm. The wraith wanted to reconnect with what it had once been- would do so at any cost, and as Raziel was bound to it, the wraith wished to take him in as well.

:No...: Raziel whispered, suddenly understanding. :You disconnected from me once. Go back into the blade if you wish, but leave me behind.: The Reaver's energy collected into a sphere within Raziel's wasted chest, a pulsating, living energy... he shuddered convulsively as the blade began to mimic a heartbeat.

-...Unity...-

It wanted him as well, and would not be reasoned with. From the blade's point of view, Raziel belonged to it, just as the Reaver Blade did. Raziel shuddered again as the wraith blade traveled the length of his being from the crown of his head to the tips of his cloven feet. The sensation came again. Unity.

Suddenly Raziel remembered the moment in the Sanctuary of the Clans with painful clarity-

He reached out for the blade, hovering before him in the still air. His hand was only inches away, and it leapt at him, twisting and writhing like a live thing on his arm. The Elder God was speaking, but he could not hear the words over the wailing in his mind. The pain was spectacular, and yet- there was the sense of being given back something he had not been aware he was missing. It was the feeling of a key fitting into a lock, or pieces of a puzzle sliding into place.

Through the lull of memory he sensed a feeling of satisfaction in the awareness of the other being. It reached out, closing itself around his mind- trying to take possession of him-

:NO!: he shouted. Raziel thrust the wraith's 'self' as far away from his own as he possibly could and opened his eyes. The glow collected again around his emaciated chest, resembling a breastplate constructed of magic energy.

Gently but firmly the wraith blade touched his mind once again. Raziel was reminded of what he had felt when the wraith blade had left him.

-Emptiness... longing... hunger... need-

He gave a small, pained cry, but reached for his anger, pulling to him like a shield.

:I shall not go willingly into the sword,: he hissed at the wraith. A wave of red light overtook the green for a moment before dissipating. Other sensations swept through Raziel.

-The warmth of blood and the screaming of the soul- torn from its physical tether- there was another, a wielder- so close- so close- beyond reach of the blade- safe- sating their debilitating hunger by feeding from the souls of its enemies- enough- it was enough- filling the emptiness-

:I do not wish to become like you,: Raziel thoughts grated over the perceptions forced upon him by the wraith blade.

-Unity... inevitable... unavoidable-

Rage burned within him, overtaking all other emotions. The wraith's awareness withdrew, collecting about his arm once again, its murmur softening to a more normal volume. Raziel rose to his feet and paced the room, once... twice... abruptly he screamed in frustration and began slashing at one of the marble columns, making absolutely no mark on its twisted surface.

Raziel did not truly have a body, and so could not become physically tired, but eventually his fighting spirit dwindled, his anger burned down, and he sank back to the floor. The wraith took that moment of weakness and pushed itself again into Raziel's mind.

-Unavoidable-

The feeling was repeated, lapping at Raziel's consciousness like waves on a rock in the ocean. The rock could hold strong for centuries, but would eventually be worn down by the constant rolling of water against stone.

Raziel felt a sense of pleasure radiate from the blade's awareness before it drew back from his mind, satisfied in the knowledge that Raziel could not stand against it forever. The wraith blade continued humming softly, and, sick with anger at his helplessness, the Soul Reaver did his best to ignore the sound.

Mortanius had entered the Spectral Realm out of the sight of the former Sarafan, and therefore was able to observe Raziel without being noticed. The Pillar of Death examined the wraith kneeling within the circle of the winged snake. That was indeed the correct term for what he saw. The Raziel before him should not have been any more than a vampire wraith, if perhaps stronger than most, yet- he had power unlike any spirit Mortanius had ever seen.

It seemed that Mobius had indeed been keeping something from him, or perhaps, although it was unlikely, the Time Streamer had not realized Raziel's soul had been twinned. The soul had created a copy of itself. That explanation was the only one that made sense.

Other vampiric souls may have indeed gone mad from the torture of death by water, but Raziel's soul had replicated, the original making a copy to bear their physical pain while the body they inhabited had dissolved. The sacrificial half of his soul was mad indeed, and held the aspect of a sword. Mortanius sensed that imprisonment had only augmented its madness. The result of this was that the original soul had retained enough presence of mind to use what powers remained from his un-life and the powers that had been developed due to his condition.

This soul, both aspects of it, could devour other souls, just as any vampire wraith could, but Raziel could also manifest in the Material Realm and manipulate objects in that plane of existence. Such a power, Mortanius had only observed in demons. He was a mixture of things, surely. The Guardian of Death pondered the creature before him.

Suddenly he sensed the presence of another being. A small blue globe hovered in the Spectral Plane, weaving lazily between the columns circling the edge of the room. Raziel...

Some indefinite period of time later the blade finally quieted and Raziel was left alone with his despair. Finally he acknowledged his role in the game that was Nosgoth.

Raziel heard a voice as the Chronoplast slowly released him. His feet touched solid ground and a figure stepped through the swirling clouds of magic that surrounded him.

"Raziel- redeemer and destroyer- pawn and messiah... welcome time spanned soul, welcome- to your destiny."

He laughed scornfully to himself. Two of the titles Mobius had given him fit quite well. He had destroyed many... and he now realized how lowly a pawn he truly was. What of the others? Perhaps he had saved a few of the humans in Nosgoth's future, but he had redeemed no one. He would redeem no one. Mobius would have him trapped in the Reaver before he had the chance.

And what will you do now, Pawn? he asked himself. Will you sit here and wait complacently for the Time Streamer to come and finish what the Reaver started?

If Mobius can even enter the spectral realm... but even if he cannot, he will find you eventually; he and the Demon who calls himself a God. Then the cycle will be completed.

"It will not happen," he murmured. "Not before I redeem myself by returning Janos' heart."

He stood, having decided at last on a course of action. It was then that a fuzzy blue glow appeared in Raziel's peripheral vision. The Soul Reaver flinched in surprise, jumped to his feet with the wraith blade humming in anticipation of an attack.

The soul receded, startled. Raziel lowered the Reaver and studied the blazing globe, confused.

There was no grinning skull within the fire, which branded the soul as human. But a human soul seldom lingered in one area of the Spectral Realm, being constantly chased by sluagh or vampire wraiths.

This soul had not been here long enough to incur the scavengers' attention, which meant it was his own soul, newly fled from its human body. For some reason, the wrath upon his arm took no interest in it. Hatred and disgust burned within the Soul Reaver as he remembered the... creature he had been as a human. Suddenly the recently human entity seemed to recognize him, the pale blue fires surrounding it rose in ire and the soul drifted closer in an attempt to seem threatening. Raziel laughed. Even in death, the Sarafan Raziel retained his boundless arrogance.

"So here we are," Raziel murmured, repeating the words the Sarafan had said to him just moments before. "A bit overconfident were we?" he asked mockingly. "Although I admit, you were correct," Raziel said, his eyes crinkling in the manner of a smirk, "you were not as easy prey as your brethren."

The soul rippled in anger. Raziel laughed and continued to taunt his former self.

"Is there a word to describe the hatred you bear me?" he murmured. "I do not think there is... but know that I return the sentiment." His harsh laugh sounded once again. "You shall hate me even more once you realize what I truly am." Raziel stared at his own soul, hanging in the stillness, and an idea, generated from the depths of his self-loathing, formed in the back of Raziel's mind.

"I have the chance right now," he murmured. "Were I to consume you..." his voice grew soft in its intensity, "I could effect a tear in the skein of history so great that it would pull the very fabric of Nosgoth apart." He chuckled harshly. "Would they not be surprised? Kain... the Elder God... Mobius. I would have beaten them after all. I am too vital to History's plan, after all, to be lightly destroyed." Raziel's laughter was soft, dark in its humor, as he put a hand to the edge of his clan drape.

"If any Power loyal to History is near," he breathed, "let them act now, or cease to exist." Raziel grasped the reddish-brown cloth and pulled.

He wondered how far he would be allowed to go. Would the soul be saved a finger's width from his throat? Would a demon leap out at him when it was inches away? The Soul Reaver did not honestly believe he would be allowed to destroy Nosgoth, and so he began to tug at the soul, his own soul, as he pulled the cloth down.

The human entity rippled in alarm as it drifted towards Raziel, caught in the inexorable pull of the Soul Reaver's power. Raziel tasted his own essence -warm with the promise of life and pure in its knowledge. He felt his former 'self' for an instant before the world around him cried out in agony and a slicing pain lanced through him. Raziel convulsed, in agony, but continued to pull. He almost believed he could hear the world tearing at the seams -or was it the tearing of his own existence?

The ultimate act of defiance, Raziel, he thought to himself, and the ultimate act of revenge. There will no longer be a Nosgoth to be saved. The fatal paradox... if you can carry through it. The pain was excruciating, ripping into him with more force than the claws of a thousand Black Demons. Yet he pulled, and the soul drifted closer. The world rippled- he felt his existence, his 'self' fading. A wave of fear rolled over him, and then it stopped. It all stopped.

He stopped, staggered weakly back from the soul as the pain ended. Raziel looked up at the human soul, which flew from him, and stifled a cry of horror and at what he had almost done. The core of him shuddered in fear of the near brush Nosgoth had had with non-existence. He turned blindly away, and froze, looking into blazing eyes that matched his own.

"A bold move, my boy, but a foolish one," a deep voice rumbled.

"While one can take one's own life, it is impossible to take one's own soul, Raziel," Mortanius continued. The Pillar of Death was impressed. While it would have been impossible for Raziel to negate existence, he had shown amazing endurance in being able to go so close to the act. This fact, more than anything else, convinced Mortanius that the one before him had once been the Sarafan Inquisitor. "You overdid it just a bit, I think. Trying to destroy Nosgoth in order to remove yourself from it, were you?"

Mortanius watched as the Soul Reaver's eyes narrowed and the young one backed away from him. "How else would I succeed?" Raziel murmured.

Mortanius was intrigued. It was interesting, he thought, that such a monumental act had been nothing more than a suicide attempt.

"Did you not say you planned to restore Janos Audron?" Mortanius asked softly.

Raziel's hands clenched. "How long have you been standing there, Necromancer?"

The Pillar of Death smiled imperceptibly. So Raziel knew him, but probably not due to his own memories. "Long enough."

"And you did not attempt to stop me?"

"As I said- it would have been impossible-"

"Why?"

"You do not possess the amount of power needed to reverse existence," Mortanius answered harshly. "Nor does any creature on Nosgoth." The truth of Mortanius' words carried a force that was almost physical blow. Raziel took several steps away from him and leaned back against a column, seeming to need the support.

"What do you want of me?" Raziel murmured. "Or perhaps I know already..." he said, looking up at Mortanius. "You are the sword-smith who will make me into this," Raziel hissed, brandishing the wraith blade coiled around his arm.

Mortanius did not deny the boy's claim. "Do I dare request that you come along quietly?"

"That would depend on where you wish to lead me," Raziel answered in a flippant tone.

Mortanius's smile grew ever so slightly. Perhaps this Raziel had more in common with the Sarafan than he had suspected. "Although I would owe a debt of gratitude to whomever dispatched the Time Streamer, I cannot allow Mobius' death at this time."

Raziel drew the wraith blade into a guard position. Mortanius' voice grew softer as he continued. "That means I must concede to and aid his proposal."

Mortanius gathered his power, expecting Raziel to attack. The boy did not disappoint him. The Pillar of Death remained still as the winged soul drew back his blade and lunged forward. Mere inches away from the Necromancer, Raziel was caught by the web of power. It twisted around him, seizing his muscles and freezing him in place. Mortanius shook his head slightly and walked around the former Sarafan. So many similarities this one had with his former self.

He could sense Raziel straining against the web, trying desperately to move his own body. It was a futile effort. Mortanius was the Pillar of Death, and Raziel was just another kind of spirit. There was no way for him to escape, and Raziel realized that. Mortanius recognized the attack for what it had been; the death throes of a wounded soldier. Reflexive, involuntary actions that were not expected to accomplish anything.

"Are you so unconcerned with the lives of Nosgoth that you would side with Mobius?" Raziel whispered. Mortanius turned to look at the boy. He caused the web to dissipate and the wraith's cloven feet dropped to the floor.

"If I were not, the Time Streamer would have tasted my power long ago."

The Soul Reaver chuckled. "A power struggle amongst the Elder God's servants. How fortunate for those of us on the other side." Mortanius looked at him, mildly confused, but did not say anything.

"How do you plan to do it?" Raziel whispered, his tone almost afraid.

"Quickly, with as little pain as is possible," Mortanius murmured.

"Why do you not just kill me?" Raziel asked, his tone was scornful, but almost pleading. "Are you not the Pillar of Death? I should think you could kill anything." The last comment was half sarcastic, half imploring.

Mortanius understood death more intimately than any other being could wish to. He understood the fear of it, as well as the wish for it, and did not fault any creature for their preference. The Pillar of Death gave Raziel a searching look. If it were within my power, he wondered to himself, would I grant him his wish? Mortanius sighed. The answer was 'yes'.

"For the sake of Nosgoth, I cannot," the necromancer murmured. And for lack of knowledge, I truly cannot. The boy's shoulders dropped slightly. "Until we regain the Reaver, another place has been prepared for you." Raziel turned and the Necromancer stared into glowing blue eyes.

"So my torment is to be prolonged," he whispered. It seemed to Mortanius that Raziel's next question was involuntary. "Where?"

"The Eternal Prison."

====================================

Syvia- *to the readers* Morbid ending, I know. But you're still interested, right?

Raziel (plaintively)- Syvia, did I wrong you in another life?

Syvia- *she sighs and squeezes Raziel's shoulder* Raz, that's exactly the kind of thing Mobius would do to you. I'm just writing it as it would actually happen. *He walks away dejectedly. Syvia sighs and turns to the readers* Reviews anyone?