~*~
Ian still sat in his car long after arriving at the mansion. Lazar's words were unrelenting as it ran through his mind. Could he really break free from Irons? Would Sara ever accept him as her protector if nothing more? Could it all truly be possible? The significance of his words held hope. Something Ian had longed for as far as he could remember. Especially after those first few beatings or 'lessons' as Irons would say. He had wished and dreamed of another life outside of the one he had now. As the years went on, along with the punishments, his hope diminish to a tiny speck of light hidden deep in the depths of his darken and tormented soul. Obscured behind the layers of self-doubting, repulsion, and insecurity. Imbedded over the years thanks to Irons constant reminder that he could never be a normal man.
It was until the moment he had seen her that the light started to grow. The rays of hope breaching beyond the barrier not only through his soul but also through his entire being, his entire way of living. For once making him doubt his liege to Irons. Going up against years of training and teachings. Remembering how he had gone against Irons orders and instead learned to listen to his instincts, to his heart.
.. When in doubt look inside yourself.
Lazar told Ian to look inside his mind and heart. The image of Sara's face flashed the moment he closed his eyes. Her beauty etched deep into his memory. Perhaps it was possible. Lazar was right he had been confusing his loyalty to Irons with gratitude. After all it was Irons that made him the dangerous assassin that he was. A lethal and loyal warrior. But it was Sara who made him more then just that. He was her protector, her wielder knight. She may not want to accept it now but he was going convince her. Ian Nottingham was good at persuasion. He had a new purpose in life. To live and protect the wielder of the Witchblade. This time not willing to die for her but instead fight to live and stand by her side. The two small scars on his left wrist throbbed lightly. The feeling he felt earlier crawled up his arm and bathed his body in a warm afterglow.
'I suppose the Witchblade agrees with me.' He mused as he stroked the faint scars with a leather-clad finger. Ian soon opened his eyes and got out of the car.
Immediately as he stepped over the threshold a surge of apprehension ran through his body. The throb in his left wrist no longer warm and comforting was unexpectedly cold. Could it mean that Irons knows about his visit with Sara? Should he prepare for yet another beating? As he neared the doubled doors that lead to the den he could hear voices carry through the slight opening. Ian moved closer but hesitated to enter. His eyes widen when one of the voices he recognized was his own.
"When will I fight?"
Irons grinned as he recalled the same question asked by then a much younger Nottingham. He eyed his servant as he stood in front of the fireplace, in the middle of the den. Still like Ian but yet this one held confidence as he held his head up. Irons' response was the same as it was those many years ago.
"Soon enough." Irons, with cane in hand, began to circle his new servant. " Now tell me what do these words have in common: Intimidation ... temptation ... abandonment ... rejection ... opposition ... Titillation ... enigma ... seduction?"
As Irons stood behind his servant and swung his cane over Nottingham's shoulder. With lighting speed, much like Ian, Nottingham crossed his arms at the shoulder and trapped the weapon with his elbows. Behind him Irons smirked and nodded obviously approving of Nottingham's exceptional skill. Irons continued to twirl the cane in his hand as he made his way in front of Nottingham.
"Is the picture getting clearer?"
"These are all stratagems for controlling Sara Pezzini." Irons took the handle of the cane and tucked it under Nottingham's chin.
Cerulean and caramel eyes boar into each other. Irons looked into the dark abysmal depths of Nottingham's eyes and saw an empty void. 'Had Immo been right about this one? Should he be worried about Nottingham's so called aggression levels?' Irons thought. No, perhaps not an empty void there was something flickering behind those eyes. But in the blink of an eye Irons couldn't recognized what he had seen.
"For containing her. I had envisioned a scenario in which Sara would become a member of our family and you could serve us both." Nottingham grinned at the idea of them being a 'family'.
Irons lowered the cane and turned to walk away. A bit unnerved by Nottingham's wicked grin. He cast aside the feeling and continued to speak.
"However, Sara Pezzini is a lioness. Fascinating as a zoological specimen, but worthless as a pet. And yet ... invaluable for the blood that courses through her veins." Irons thoughts had wondered he didn't hear the door open.
."Ian, are you so willing to leave your Lady's Sara's side? To leave her vulnerable against the evil elements that is after the Witchblade? Are you willing to break the vow you've made lifetimes ago to serve the wielder? Do you want your Lady to meet her untimely demise, alone?".
"And it's her blood you covet." Ian's seething voice echoed in the den as he walked in. Finally having heard enough of Irons' plans for Lady Sara. It didn't take much more convincing for Ian to chose. The fire in the great hearth burned and crackled. Mimicking the sounds of the connection between Ian and Irons finally breaking.
Ian focused on both men as he made his way towards them. Making sure to keep his distance from them. Ian glared at that the mirror image of himself. Who was this person who stood before him with his face? A twin brother? Nottingham glared at his predecessor, the corners of his mouth rising into an evil smirk. Ian's face remained stoic but his heart was beating against his chest.
"I'm so glad you could join us this evening, Ian. I would like to introduce your successor." Irons stood beside Nottingham. His right hand heavily patted the shoulder of the other. Irons leaned slight on the cane he held. His eyes never leaving Ian. Wanted to observe any reaction. Unfortunately he didn't expect the condescending smile on Ian's face.
"So this abomination is want you and Dr. Immo have been hiding deep in the bowels of the mansion. A replicate of me? A clone?" Irons could feel the tension in Nottingham's shoulder pulsating under his hand. With a hard squeeze from Irons Nottingham obediently stood frozen. Even from the distance that set them apart Ian could see the rage running through the clone's eyes.
"Ah, but you see Ian, he, is so much more superior then you. His very skill far exceeds yours. And he is solely loyal to me." Ian caught the look on the clone's face as his eyes quickly glanced side ways towards Irons. Ian doubted that Irons had much control over this one. Which only made the clone much more dangerous.
Perhaps Irons was right and the clone's skills far exceeded Ian's. 'No' Ian thought. The only difference between the two was the control they had over their emotions. Without control this clone was far from dangerous. Ian cursed at himself at the thought he was going to willing give up his life only to leave Sara alone to deal with this maniac on the loose. "His devotion to me will not falter unlike you." Irons grinned.
"Let me deal with this weakling traitor, master." Nottingham's hands were ready balled up into fist. His body ridged with adrenaline coursing through his body. Nottingham was ready to fight and all Irons had to do was say the word. Irons held the clone back with one arm crossed over his chest.
"No, you have your orders. Go and continue your vigilance over Sara Pezzini." Ian's eyes went wide with fear. Irons smiled at the obvious reaction from Ian. Before Nottingham left Irons added, "Remember you are not to make contact with her until I say."
With a loud groan Nottingham left the den through the other side entrance that lead to the back of the mansion. But not before provoking Ian with an evil smile and commenting, "Don't worry Ian I'll watch her well."
Ian was conflicted to follow the clone or to stay and finish his confrontation with Irons. Apparently his decision was made for him. His legs were rooted in place and he couldn't move. As much as he longed to be by Sara's side, Ian knew this was important. Besides Ian had a feeling that Sara, even with the clone loose, was safe for now. He watched as the clone disappeared, leaving him alone with Irons. Ian's doubts were slowly rising as he stared at the man who raised him since he was a child.
Irons spared Ian a glance before making his way to his favorite throne like chair. He sat down, crossed his legs at the knees, laying the cane across his lap, and stared up at the man before him. 'Interesting' Irons thought. Immediately he could see the changes in his once loyal servant. Ian's arms lazily against his sides, head no longer bowed down, and his eyes daringly locked with his. Both men glared at each other the only sound that echoed was coming from the fire. Taking a deep breath Irons tilted his head slight and spoke.
"I truly had hoped that Sara would become a part of our family, Ian. But as you know Sara's tenacious individuality conflicted with what I had envisioned to be a worthy wielder."
"You mean you had hoped that the current wielder, Sara Pezzini, would have been more docile and susceptible. You never expected her to be strong willed and stubborn. You never expected a woman who was daring and fearless. A woman who had turned down and rejected you at every turn."
Irons were already seething as he sat there listening to Ian. His lips pursed together, jaw clenched together, and the hand that languidly rested on the armrest of the chair made it's to grasp the handle of the cane. The site of Irons worked up was quite amusing to Ian. Irons always the calm and cool collective businessman was being provoked with words uttered by his servant. Irons tried to play Ian's game with words of his own.
"As I seem to recall I was not the only one rejected by the fair Sara. How is she by the way Ian? Did you two have nice chat when you went to see her this evening?" It was Irons turn to gloat in Ian's obvious discomfort.
"Though the Lady Sara does not accept me now she will in time. For I plan to serve my mistress well until this life is over." Ian lifted his head higher. His voice full of pride and respect.
"What makes you think she will accept you, boy?!" Irons held a firm grip of his cane as he got up from his chair and stood in front of Ian.
"The Witchblade." Irons cut in before Ian could continue.
"The Witchblade?" Irons snorted, absently rubbing the mark of the blade on his right hand ".Do not assume what the Witchblade wants Ian."
"You know less then you think you do" Ian too inadvertently stroked the two scars the Witchblade had left. Irons unaware of Ian's bond with the blade continued to speak.
"So it is the Witchblade and Sara that you serve?" Irons shook his head and a light chuckle left his lips. "It is written that no man can serve two masters, Ian."
Ian nodded his head, "I agree. I was mistaken to think I could have proven the exception." Ian lowered his eyes and bowed his head.
"And now you've seen the errors in your ways and you agonize between your devotion to me and your ... passion for Sara Pezzini?"
"At first yes but now." Ian's voice trailed off, as he shook his head no.
"Please do enlighten me, Ian." Irons stared at the top of Ian's head.
"I was distraught at first. Confused really with feelings I've never felt before. Due to my training these emotions were foreign to me. I could not apprehend what were transpiring, let alone conduct in a manner that would not conflict with what I had been taught, with what I was ordered to do. The contradiction as I aided one master yet compromised the safety of the other. Consequently my failure was inevitable. I had even contemplated to consult my solace in the embrace of death. That was until."
"Until what?!" Irons asked.
Ian looked up from his bowed head. His gaze locked with Irons eyes. "An intervention."
Irons tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. His grip on the cane tightens along with his jaw. 'Intervention? By whom? By what?' Irons questions were soon answered as Ian spoke.
"The Witchblade gave me a taste of a life outside of this. It opened my eyes to the path I was destined to follow. A path along side the wielder. It was then I soon realized I was not serving two masters but one. The Witchblade and the wielder are but one entity. One does not exist without the other. Therefore I do not agonize over my devotion between you or Sara. For I serve but one, Sara Pezzini." His tone of voice echoed with complete awe and reverence
"Your precious Lady Sara hates you. She sees you as freak. What makes you believe she would want you by her side?"
Ian shrugged his shoulders and said, "We shall see what the lady wants."
"And you assumed I would simply let you go, to her. You know not your master. Have you forgotten, Ian, I created you, I made you, and it is I who shall decided how you live your life." Without warning the cane swung dangerously close to connecting with Ian's face. The vise like grip Ian had on Irons right wrist was what stopped the momentum.
The icy blue eyes that were locked with Ian's soon melted away, exposing the fiery flame of pure hatred. "But I do," Ian hissed, "I know my enemy very well." Irons entire body began to tremble as he strained against Ian's hold. Ian applied more pressure, painfully squeezing Irons' wrist with his right hand. Finally the sound of the cane hitting the floor echoed in the room. But Ian did not relinquish his hold.
With his free arm, Irons swung his left fist only to have it blocked by Ian's arm. Immediately Ian brought down his fist across Irons' face. He stumbled backwards from the force of the blow. If it weren't for Ian still holding onto his wrist Irons would have fallen. Not wanting to loose the momentum, Ian placed a hand on Irons chest, tug on the arm he held, pivoted on his foot and pushed the man forward. Sending Irons reeling back against the floor in front of the leather couch.
Irons could feel a bruise forming on his face. As he sat up he brought his left hand up and felt the thick liquid flowing down from his nose. He pulled back to stare at the crimson color covering his fingers. With the same hand he grabbed the edge of the couch and unsteadily pushed himself up stand. They did nothing but glare at one another as they began to circle little area of the room. Their bodies were rigid, ready to attack or defend if needed.
Mutually they stopped their predatory dance and stood facing each other with only a few feet separating them. Ian lethally poised in the middle of the den. Not once did his attention waver from his foe. Irons back was facing the great hearth, the backdrop from the flames were fitting for his menacing appearance and the fiery anger in his eyes.
Irons touched his face again only to have more blood coating his fingertips. 'The insolent fool will pay for that' he thought. Irons began to massage the injured wrist, using his fingers to feel any damages brought upon by Ian's grip. It was not broken but it was rather painful and there was no doubt it was already bruised.
"How does it feel, Kenneth?" Ian mused, "Knowing that what you've help create will now be the cause of your demise?" Irons heart began to pound against his chest. He had heard reports and tales of Ian's professional exploits. But never once had he heard or known what his victims must have felt during those last few moments.
Now it was Irons turn and he never would have thought to be on the receiving end. Palms were sweaty, heartbeat racing, the anxiety felt when knowing the inevitable what here in the shape of Ian Nottingham. 'Is this what his victims felt like?' Irons didn't linger on the thought for long. Irons were different from those sniveling weaklings Ian pursued. The man had managed to outwit death for years and he was going to do it again.
"Self-assurance was never your better traits, Ian." Irons felt the cane brush against his right foot as he slightly shifted his weight. He nudged the wooden cane with the tip of his toe. Both men looked down at the possible weapon. At the same time Irons casually slipped his uninjured hand into his pants pocket, feeling for the tiny device concealed inside. Ian's eyes returned to stare at Irons. A wicked smile spread across Ian's face as if daring Irons to pick it up. However, Irons made no move to retrieve the cane off the floor. Instead he stood there and began to speak.
"Do not be so bold to assume you've won. And it is also written, 'As for this worthless slave, throw him out into the darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth', Irons had pressed the tiny button on the device; the room suddenly filled with successions of flashing white light. Before Ian realized what was happening he was trapped, his body began to convulse, and he immediately dropped to the floor.
"Immo!" Irons bellowed. The doctor, who had been waiting just outside the double doors, came in with a syringe held in one of his hands. The look of trepidation and fear as he entered was fixed on his face long before Ian had arrived. Earlier that evening Irons had explained to him of his plans for Ian and Immo had no choice but to yield to his demands. Immo quickly inserted the needle into Ian's neck. Soon the convulsions ceased and Ian's prone body lay unconscious on the floor.
Dr. Immo shook his head slightly at the thought of what was coming next. Immo had held a soft spot for Ian. He glanced at the man before him, remembering how he had helped Irons usher Ian into the world. The boy he had grown to care for, like a son he never had, was now being delivered into the hands of death and he was helping. 'If there was only something he could do?' Immo wondered. But what? He couldn't possibly go against Irons. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a rustling sound behind him.
"I've told you once, Ian; I am not a merciful man." Irons continued to speak as though the unconscious man was still able to hear him, perhaps he could. Irons pulled out the little remote from his pocket, pressing another button to deactivate the strobes. He bent down to pick up the cane and made his way towards Ian. Irons knelt down besides Ian's head, grabbed the watch cap, and wiped the blood off of his face. With the cane Irons tapped the doctor's shoulder. Immo never turned his head but he was listening.
"Bring him down, strip off his clothes, and restrain him." Immo nodded. Irons straighten himself up and tossed the stained watch cap on the floor next to Ian.
"Your darkness awaits, Ian." Irons said as he towered over Ian's body and soon left the room.
Ian still sat in his car long after arriving at the mansion. Lazar's words were unrelenting as it ran through his mind. Could he really break free from Irons? Would Sara ever accept him as her protector if nothing more? Could it all truly be possible? The significance of his words held hope. Something Ian had longed for as far as he could remember. Especially after those first few beatings or 'lessons' as Irons would say. He had wished and dreamed of another life outside of the one he had now. As the years went on, along with the punishments, his hope diminish to a tiny speck of light hidden deep in the depths of his darken and tormented soul. Obscured behind the layers of self-doubting, repulsion, and insecurity. Imbedded over the years thanks to Irons constant reminder that he could never be a normal man.
It was until the moment he had seen her that the light started to grow. The rays of hope breaching beyond the barrier not only through his soul but also through his entire being, his entire way of living. For once making him doubt his liege to Irons. Going up against years of training and teachings. Remembering how he had gone against Irons orders and instead learned to listen to his instincts, to his heart.
.. When in doubt look inside yourself.
Lazar told Ian to look inside his mind and heart. The image of Sara's face flashed the moment he closed his eyes. Her beauty etched deep into his memory. Perhaps it was possible. Lazar was right he had been confusing his loyalty to Irons with gratitude. After all it was Irons that made him the dangerous assassin that he was. A lethal and loyal warrior. But it was Sara who made him more then just that. He was her protector, her wielder knight. She may not want to accept it now but he was going convince her. Ian Nottingham was good at persuasion. He had a new purpose in life. To live and protect the wielder of the Witchblade. This time not willing to die for her but instead fight to live and stand by her side. The two small scars on his left wrist throbbed lightly. The feeling he felt earlier crawled up his arm and bathed his body in a warm afterglow.
'I suppose the Witchblade agrees with me.' He mused as he stroked the faint scars with a leather-clad finger. Ian soon opened his eyes and got out of the car.
Immediately as he stepped over the threshold a surge of apprehension ran through his body. The throb in his left wrist no longer warm and comforting was unexpectedly cold. Could it mean that Irons knows about his visit with Sara? Should he prepare for yet another beating? As he neared the doubled doors that lead to the den he could hear voices carry through the slight opening. Ian moved closer but hesitated to enter. His eyes widen when one of the voices he recognized was his own.
"When will I fight?"
Irons grinned as he recalled the same question asked by then a much younger Nottingham. He eyed his servant as he stood in front of the fireplace, in the middle of the den. Still like Ian but yet this one held confidence as he held his head up. Irons' response was the same as it was those many years ago.
"Soon enough." Irons, with cane in hand, began to circle his new servant. " Now tell me what do these words have in common: Intimidation ... temptation ... abandonment ... rejection ... opposition ... Titillation ... enigma ... seduction?"
As Irons stood behind his servant and swung his cane over Nottingham's shoulder. With lighting speed, much like Ian, Nottingham crossed his arms at the shoulder and trapped the weapon with his elbows. Behind him Irons smirked and nodded obviously approving of Nottingham's exceptional skill. Irons continued to twirl the cane in his hand as he made his way in front of Nottingham.
"Is the picture getting clearer?"
"These are all stratagems for controlling Sara Pezzini." Irons took the handle of the cane and tucked it under Nottingham's chin.
Cerulean and caramel eyes boar into each other. Irons looked into the dark abysmal depths of Nottingham's eyes and saw an empty void. 'Had Immo been right about this one? Should he be worried about Nottingham's so called aggression levels?' Irons thought. No, perhaps not an empty void there was something flickering behind those eyes. But in the blink of an eye Irons couldn't recognized what he had seen.
"For containing her. I had envisioned a scenario in which Sara would become a member of our family and you could serve us both." Nottingham grinned at the idea of them being a 'family'.
Irons lowered the cane and turned to walk away. A bit unnerved by Nottingham's wicked grin. He cast aside the feeling and continued to speak.
"However, Sara Pezzini is a lioness. Fascinating as a zoological specimen, but worthless as a pet. And yet ... invaluable for the blood that courses through her veins." Irons thoughts had wondered he didn't hear the door open.
."Ian, are you so willing to leave your Lady's Sara's side? To leave her vulnerable against the evil elements that is after the Witchblade? Are you willing to break the vow you've made lifetimes ago to serve the wielder? Do you want your Lady to meet her untimely demise, alone?".
"And it's her blood you covet." Ian's seething voice echoed in the den as he walked in. Finally having heard enough of Irons' plans for Lady Sara. It didn't take much more convincing for Ian to chose. The fire in the great hearth burned and crackled. Mimicking the sounds of the connection between Ian and Irons finally breaking.
Ian focused on both men as he made his way towards them. Making sure to keep his distance from them. Ian glared at that the mirror image of himself. Who was this person who stood before him with his face? A twin brother? Nottingham glared at his predecessor, the corners of his mouth rising into an evil smirk. Ian's face remained stoic but his heart was beating against his chest.
"I'm so glad you could join us this evening, Ian. I would like to introduce your successor." Irons stood beside Nottingham. His right hand heavily patted the shoulder of the other. Irons leaned slight on the cane he held. His eyes never leaving Ian. Wanted to observe any reaction. Unfortunately he didn't expect the condescending smile on Ian's face.
"So this abomination is want you and Dr. Immo have been hiding deep in the bowels of the mansion. A replicate of me? A clone?" Irons could feel the tension in Nottingham's shoulder pulsating under his hand. With a hard squeeze from Irons Nottingham obediently stood frozen. Even from the distance that set them apart Ian could see the rage running through the clone's eyes.
"Ah, but you see Ian, he, is so much more superior then you. His very skill far exceeds yours. And he is solely loyal to me." Ian caught the look on the clone's face as his eyes quickly glanced side ways towards Irons. Ian doubted that Irons had much control over this one. Which only made the clone much more dangerous.
Perhaps Irons was right and the clone's skills far exceeded Ian's. 'No' Ian thought. The only difference between the two was the control they had over their emotions. Without control this clone was far from dangerous. Ian cursed at himself at the thought he was going to willing give up his life only to leave Sara alone to deal with this maniac on the loose. "His devotion to me will not falter unlike you." Irons grinned.
"Let me deal with this weakling traitor, master." Nottingham's hands were ready balled up into fist. His body ridged with adrenaline coursing through his body. Nottingham was ready to fight and all Irons had to do was say the word. Irons held the clone back with one arm crossed over his chest.
"No, you have your orders. Go and continue your vigilance over Sara Pezzini." Ian's eyes went wide with fear. Irons smiled at the obvious reaction from Ian. Before Nottingham left Irons added, "Remember you are not to make contact with her until I say."
With a loud groan Nottingham left the den through the other side entrance that lead to the back of the mansion. But not before provoking Ian with an evil smile and commenting, "Don't worry Ian I'll watch her well."
Ian was conflicted to follow the clone or to stay and finish his confrontation with Irons. Apparently his decision was made for him. His legs were rooted in place and he couldn't move. As much as he longed to be by Sara's side, Ian knew this was important. Besides Ian had a feeling that Sara, even with the clone loose, was safe for now. He watched as the clone disappeared, leaving him alone with Irons. Ian's doubts were slowly rising as he stared at the man who raised him since he was a child.
Irons spared Ian a glance before making his way to his favorite throne like chair. He sat down, crossed his legs at the knees, laying the cane across his lap, and stared up at the man before him. 'Interesting' Irons thought. Immediately he could see the changes in his once loyal servant. Ian's arms lazily against his sides, head no longer bowed down, and his eyes daringly locked with his. Both men glared at each other the only sound that echoed was coming from the fire. Taking a deep breath Irons tilted his head slight and spoke.
"I truly had hoped that Sara would become a part of our family, Ian. But as you know Sara's tenacious individuality conflicted with what I had envisioned to be a worthy wielder."
"You mean you had hoped that the current wielder, Sara Pezzini, would have been more docile and susceptible. You never expected her to be strong willed and stubborn. You never expected a woman who was daring and fearless. A woman who had turned down and rejected you at every turn."
Irons were already seething as he sat there listening to Ian. His lips pursed together, jaw clenched together, and the hand that languidly rested on the armrest of the chair made it's to grasp the handle of the cane. The site of Irons worked up was quite amusing to Ian. Irons always the calm and cool collective businessman was being provoked with words uttered by his servant. Irons tried to play Ian's game with words of his own.
"As I seem to recall I was not the only one rejected by the fair Sara. How is she by the way Ian? Did you two have nice chat when you went to see her this evening?" It was Irons turn to gloat in Ian's obvious discomfort.
"Though the Lady Sara does not accept me now she will in time. For I plan to serve my mistress well until this life is over." Ian lifted his head higher. His voice full of pride and respect.
"What makes you think she will accept you, boy?!" Irons held a firm grip of his cane as he got up from his chair and stood in front of Ian.
"The Witchblade." Irons cut in before Ian could continue.
"The Witchblade?" Irons snorted, absently rubbing the mark of the blade on his right hand ".Do not assume what the Witchblade wants Ian."
"You know less then you think you do" Ian too inadvertently stroked the two scars the Witchblade had left. Irons unaware of Ian's bond with the blade continued to speak.
"So it is the Witchblade and Sara that you serve?" Irons shook his head and a light chuckle left his lips. "It is written that no man can serve two masters, Ian."
Ian nodded his head, "I agree. I was mistaken to think I could have proven the exception." Ian lowered his eyes and bowed his head.
"And now you've seen the errors in your ways and you agonize between your devotion to me and your ... passion for Sara Pezzini?"
"At first yes but now." Ian's voice trailed off, as he shook his head no.
"Please do enlighten me, Ian." Irons stared at the top of Ian's head.
"I was distraught at first. Confused really with feelings I've never felt before. Due to my training these emotions were foreign to me. I could not apprehend what were transpiring, let alone conduct in a manner that would not conflict with what I had been taught, with what I was ordered to do. The contradiction as I aided one master yet compromised the safety of the other. Consequently my failure was inevitable. I had even contemplated to consult my solace in the embrace of death. That was until."
"Until what?!" Irons asked.
Ian looked up from his bowed head. His gaze locked with Irons eyes. "An intervention."
Irons tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. His grip on the cane tightens along with his jaw. 'Intervention? By whom? By what?' Irons questions were soon answered as Ian spoke.
"The Witchblade gave me a taste of a life outside of this. It opened my eyes to the path I was destined to follow. A path along side the wielder. It was then I soon realized I was not serving two masters but one. The Witchblade and the wielder are but one entity. One does not exist without the other. Therefore I do not agonize over my devotion between you or Sara. For I serve but one, Sara Pezzini." His tone of voice echoed with complete awe and reverence
"Your precious Lady Sara hates you. She sees you as freak. What makes you believe she would want you by her side?"
Ian shrugged his shoulders and said, "We shall see what the lady wants."
"And you assumed I would simply let you go, to her. You know not your master. Have you forgotten, Ian, I created you, I made you, and it is I who shall decided how you live your life." Without warning the cane swung dangerously close to connecting with Ian's face. The vise like grip Ian had on Irons right wrist was what stopped the momentum.
The icy blue eyes that were locked with Ian's soon melted away, exposing the fiery flame of pure hatred. "But I do," Ian hissed, "I know my enemy very well." Irons entire body began to tremble as he strained against Ian's hold. Ian applied more pressure, painfully squeezing Irons' wrist with his right hand. Finally the sound of the cane hitting the floor echoed in the room. But Ian did not relinquish his hold.
With his free arm, Irons swung his left fist only to have it blocked by Ian's arm. Immediately Ian brought down his fist across Irons' face. He stumbled backwards from the force of the blow. If it weren't for Ian still holding onto his wrist Irons would have fallen. Not wanting to loose the momentum, Ian placed a hand on Irons chest, tug on the arm he held, pivoted on his foot and pushed the man forward. Sending Irons reeling back against the floor in front of the leather couch.
Irons could feel a bruise forming on his face. As he sat up he brought his left hand up and felt the thick liquid flowing down from his nose. He pulled back to stare at the crimson color covering his fingers. With the same hand he grabbed the edge of the couch and unsteadily pushed himself up stand. They did nothing but glare at one another as they began to circle little area of the room. Their bodies were rigid, ready to attack or defend if needed.
Mutually they stopped their predatory dance and stood facing each other with only a few feet separating them. Ian lethally poised in the middle of the den. Not once did his attention waver from his foe. Irons back was facing the great hearth, the backdrop from the flames were fitting for his menacing appearance and the fiery anger in his eyes.
Irons touched his face again only to have more blood coating his fingertips. 'The insolent fool will pay for that' he thought. Irons began to massage the injured wrist, using his fingers to feel any damages brought upon by Ian's grip. It was not broken but it was rather painful and there was no doubt it was already bruised.
"How does it feel, Kenneth?" Ian mused, "Knowing that what you've help create will now be the cause of your demise?" Irons heart began to pound against his chest. He had heard reports and tales of Ian's professional exploits. But never once had he heard or known what his victims must have felt during those last few moments.
Now it was Irons turn and he never would have thought to be on the receiving end. Palms were sweaty, heartbeat racing, the anxiety felt when knowing the inevitable what here in the shape of Ian Nottingham. 'Is this what his victims felt like?' Irons didn't linger on the thought for long. Irons were different from those sniveling weaklings Ian pursued. The man had managed to outwit death for years and he was going to do it again.
"Self-assurance was never your better traits, Ian." Irons felt the cane brush against his right foot as he slightly shifted his weight. He nudged the wooden cane with the tip of his toe. Both men looked down at the possible weapon. At the same time Irons casually slipped his uninjured hand into his pants pocket, feeling for the tiny device concealed inside. Ian's eyes returned to stare at Irons. A wicked smile spread across Ian's face as if daring Irons to pick it up. However, Irons made no move to retrieve the cane off the floor. Instead he stood there and began to speak.
"Do not be so bold to assume you've won. And it is also written, 'As for this worthless slave, throw him out into the darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth', Irons had pressed the tiny button on the device; the room suddenly filled with successions of flashing white light. Before Ian realized what was happening he was trapped, his body began to convulse, and he immediately dropped to the floor.
"Immo!" Irons bellowed. The doctor, who had been waiting just outside the double doors, came in with a syringe held in one of his hands. The look of trepidation and fear as he entered was fixed on his face long before Ian had arrived. Earlier that evening Irons had explained to him of his plans for Ian and Immo had no choice but to yield to his demands. Immo quickly inserted the needle into Ian's neck. Soon the convulsions ceased and Ian's prone body lay unconscious on the floor.
Dr. Immo shook his head slightly at the thought of what was coming next. Immo had held a soft spot for Ian. He glanced at the man before him, remembering how he had helped Irons usher Ian into the world. The boy he had grown to care for, like a son he never had, was now being delivered into the hands of death and he was helping. 'If there was only something he could do?' Immo wondered. But what? He couldn't possibly go against Irons. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a rustling sound behind him.
"I've told you once, Ian; I am not a merciful man." Irons continued to speak as though the unconscious man was still able to hear him, perhaps he could. Irons pulled out the little remote from his pocket, pressing another button to deactivate the strobes. He bent down to pick up the cane and made his way towards Ian. Irons knelt down besides Ian's head, grabbed the watch cap, and wiped the blood off of his face. With the cane Irons tapped the doctor's shoulder. Immo never turned his head but he was listening.
"Bring him down, strip off his clothes, and restrain him." Immo nodded. Irons straighten himself up and tossed the stained watch cap on the floor next to Ian.
"Your darkness awaits, Ian." Irons said as he towered over Ian's body and soon left the room.