A/N: Sorry for the long wait. RL has been hectic and my muse refused to
cooperate. This chapter is a bit shorter then my others and I do apologize
for that. So please just bear with me. =)
~*~
The image of John's lifeless body lying on the cold concrete floor had disappeared along with everything else around her. The momentum of the vision Sara had been succumbing to had, without warning, drastically changed, leaving her in an abyss of darkness. Sorrow and pain that she endured during the visions still lingered in her heart. Yet stuck in this void she couldn't help but feel the intensity of her anguish build, grow in size. Sara felt as if she was sharing her lonely torture with someone else. But whom could it be with?
Sara's eyes widen and her lips parted as she gasped from Ian's touch. The stone of the blade glowed brightly on her wrist. The instant Ian placed his bare hands on Sara's face he knew the visions the blade had been showing her had changed. Closing his eyes Ian tried to pierce the veil of the senses and focus in on Sara's visions. Unfortunately the Witchblade had a better idea. It purposely left him out, still refusing to let him in. He was unsure what the blade could be showing Sara but he needed to trust his instincts and believe in the Witchblade. He knew the blade would let him in but for the time being he was content to stay by his lady's side, helplessly watching.
Sara could feel the vortex of agony pulling at her, trying to suck her in deeper into the shadows. Without hesitation her hand ran down along her arm, stopping, as her fingers grazed against the cold feel of metal and stone. Like a switch being turned on; a faint light began to flicker out in the distance. Lighting an alternate path she hadn't realized existed until now, beckoning for her to follow. With a shaky breath Sara began to move towards the light.
Her heart began to beat faster and her legs felt heavy with each step closer. She couldn't understand the overwhelming fear inside as she closed in on the light. Turing around she eyed the darkness. Should she turn back? Return to something that was familiar, something thing she knew well and had trained to live with since the death of her father. Something she had to endure since the lost of Maria, Danny, and John? Deep down she had been afraid to continue on because she was unsure what held for her beyond the light. Yet at the same time she knew she couldn't stay behind. She needed to go on feeling that there was something more waiting for her. Maybe the answers she longed to find? She shut her eyes against the temptation, turned around, and continued on her path.
However the anguish she felt refused to ebb the closer she got to the light. Though her legs no longer felt heavy she slowed her pace; a little afraid on what she would find at the end. Finally she came upon a door, slightly cracked open. Sara could hear faint voices coming from the room but was incapable of distinguishing what was said. Sara looked down at the dormant bracelet; indicating that there was nothing to fear. Sara hesitantly placed her palm on the door, pushing it open and walked in.
From the quick assessment upon entering the large room Sara knew she was at the Midtown museum. More specifically the Joan of Arc collection hall, the very same room she had obtained the Witchblade and encountered, for the first time, Ian Nottingham.
She made her way around the displays of ancient objects from the era, weapons, armories, and artworks. Before making her way to the casing that held the Witchblade Sara spied a painting that stopped her in her tracks. The woman was clad in armor; in her left hand she held a banner and in her right was the Witchblade itself in its gauntlet form. The face may have been hers but Sara knew it was the same woman from the periculum, Joan of Arc.
Sara's eyes widen as she watch the picture fade away, leaving the canvas blank and dark. She leaned in closer, peering at the once empty canvas as images slowly began to form. Finally the mysterious shadow that took the place of Joan in the painting was none other than Ian Nottingham. Sara was unable to understand why the blade chose to show images of him but willing stood motionless as she watched. Sara eyes narrowed on the images recalling what she had seen that night in the interrogation room. Each imaged replayed as if the blade was starting where they had left off. Only to fast forward to all that she had seen of him so far and continued from there.
Like a movie being played with no happy ending and the main character was no hero. The blade flashed remnants of Nottingham's obscure lifestyle, a collage of violence, pain, and death. There was not doubt in Sara's mind the kind of man Ian Nottingham really was. The swiftness and skills he possessed as he took out each one of Gallo's men.
Blindly jumping off a building rooftop only to land gracefully like a cat as he chased after Moby. The inexplicable way he dodged and caught bullets with his bare hands before maliciously taking out his own men one by one.
Lastly, his extraordinary yet intimidating fighting ability as he easily beat the crap out of her partner, Jake. Nearly killing him if she hadn't intervene. He had told her it was a 'debt of honor', but she unsure where the honor was in almost killing Jake. Sara could feel the anger rise in her again. With all these 'supernatural' abilities he was still unable to help her save Danny and John. And could not apprehend why he continues to stay with Irons. The images only proved her point about Ian Nottingham. He wasn't only a freak; he was a dangerous psychotic, a man she could not trust with her life.
Ian tried to push the uncomfortable feeling of being fixed in his kneeling position over the past half hour. His limbs began to scream out in pain, his arms felt heavy, and sweat poured down his body as he strain not to move. Refusing to break contact with Sara; Ian simply shifted his weight back and forth, coaxing his body to relax. With a deep sigh Ian closed his eyes only to be assailed with horrified images of himself. He quickly opened his eyes. His chest heaved up and down from his labored breathing.
'Was that what the Witchblade had been showing Sara this whole time?' He wondered.
Ian returned his gaze back on Sara only to see what he had feared. Pure hatred was reflected in those fiery emerald eyes. He felt her jaw clench under his palms and he ran his thumbs over the purse of her lips. The feel of her resentment ran through his body the same time he felt his heart sink lower.
~*~
The image of John's lifeless body lying on the cold concrete floor had disappeared along with everything else around her. The momentum of the vision Sara had been succumbing to had, without warning, drastically changed, leaving her in an abyss of darkness. Sorrow and pain that she endured during the visions still lingered in her heart. Yet stuck in this void she couldn't help but feel the intensity of her anguish build, grow in size. Sara felt as if she was sharing her lonely torture with someone else. But whom could it be with?
Sara's eyes widen and her lips parted as she gasped from Ian's touch. The stone of the blade glowed brightly on her wrist. The instant Ian placed his bare hands on Sara's face he knew the visions the blade had been showing her had changed. Closing his eyes Ian tried to pierce the veil of the senses and focus in on Sara's visions. Unfortunately the Witchblade had a better idea. It purposely left him out, still refusing to let him in. He was unsure what the blade could be showing Sara but he needed to trust his instincts and believe in the Witchblade. He knew the blade would let him in but for the time being he was content to stay by his lady's side, helplessly watching.
Sara could feel the vortex of agony pulling at her, trying to suck her in deeper into the shadows. Without hesitation her hand ran down along her arm, stopping, as her fingers grazed against the cold feel of metal and stone. Like a switch being turned on; a faint light began to flicker out in the distance. Lighting an alternate path she hadn't realized existed until now, beckoning for her to follow. With a shaky breath Sara began to move towards the light.
Her heart began to beat faster and her legs felt heavy with each step closer. She couldn't understand the overwhelming fear inside as she closed in on the light. Turing around she eyed the darkness. Should she turn back? Return to something that was familiar, something thing she knew well and had trained to live with since the death of her father. Something she had to endure since the lost of Maria, Danny, and John? Deep down she had been afraid to continue on because she was unsure what held for her beyond the light. Yet at the same time she knew she couldn't stay behind. She needed to go on feeling that there was something more waiting for her. Maybe the answers she longed to find? She shut her eyes against the temptation, turned around, and continued on her path.
However the anguish she felt refused to ebb the closer she got to the light. Though her legs no longer felt heavy she slowed her pace; a little afraid on what she would find at the end. Finally she came upon a door, slightly cracked open. Sara could hear faint voices coming from the room but was incapable of distinguishing what was said. Sara looked down at the dormant bracelet; indicating that there was nothing to fear. Sara hesitantly placed her palm on the door, pushing it open and walked in.
From the quick assessment upon entering the large room Sara knew she was at the Midtown museum. More specifically the Joan of Arc collection hall, the very same room she had obtained the Witchblade and encountered, for the first time, Ian Nottingham.
She made her way around the displays of ancient objects from the era, weapons, armories, and artworks. Before making her way to the casing that held the Witchblade Sara spied a painting that stopped her in her tracks. The woman was clad in armor; in her left hand she held a banner and in her right was the Witchblade itself in its gauntlet form. The face may have been hers but Sara knew it was the same woman from the periculum, Joan of Arc.
Sara's eyes widen as she watch the picture fade away, leaving the canvas blank and dark. She leaned in closer, peering at the once empty canvas as images slowly began to form. Finally the mysterious shadow that took the place of Joan in the painting was none other than Ian Nottingham. Sara was unable to understand why the blade chose to show images of him but willing stood motionless as she watched. Sara eyes narrowed on the images recalling what she had seen that night in the interrogation room. Each imaged replayed as if the blade was starting where they had left off. Only to fast forward to all that she had seen of him so far and continued from there.
Like a movie being played with no happy ending and the main character was no hero. The blade flashed remnants of Nottingham's obscure lifestyle, a collage of violence, pain, and death. There was not doubt in Sara's mind the kind of man Ian Nottingham really was. The swiftness and skills he possessed as he took out each one of Gallo's men.
Blindly jumping off a building rooftop only to land gracefully like a cat as he chased after Moby. The inexplicable way he dodged and caught bullets with his bare hands before maliciously taking out his own men one by one.
Lastly, his extraordinary yet intimidating fighting ability as he easily beat the crap out of her partner, Jake. Nearly killing him if she hadn't intervene. He had told her it was a 'debt of honor', but she unsure where the honor was in almost killing Jake. Sara could feel the anger rise in her again. With all these 'supernatural' abilities he was still unable to help her save Danny and John. And could not apprehend why he continues to stay with Irons. The images only proved her point about Ian Nottingham. He wasn't only a freak; he was a dangerous psychotic, a man she could not trust with her life.
Ian tried to push the uncomfortable feeling of being fixed in his kneeling position over the past half hour. His limbs began to scream out in pain, his arms felt heavy, and sweat poured down his body as he strain not to move. Refusing to break contact with Sara; Ian simply shifted his weight back and forth, coaxing his body to relax. With a deep sigh Ian closed his eyes only to be assailed with horrified images of himself. He quickly opened his eyes. His chest heaved up and down from his labored breathing.
'Was that what the Witchblade had been showing Sara this whole time?' He wondered.
Ian returned his gaze back on Sara only to see what he had feared. Pure hatred was reflected in those fiery emerald eyes. He felt her jaw clench under his palms and he ran his thumbs over the purse of her lips. The feel of her resentment ran through his body the same time he felt his heart sink lower.