He watched in the shadows as creature after creature fell, Darkspawn, dwarves, and demons alike. Cleaved in half, beheaded or downright stabbed through the chest, he couldn't tell from so far away, but what he could tell was that none stood against her and lived.
Except for him, and for that, he felt pride swell in his chest.
He watched as insipid Carta dwarves, blinded by mindless devotion, threw themselves against the woman with the golden sword. He allowed himself a throaty chuckle as the diminutive thralls fell, one by one, to the ancient, runic blade, lost and found after so many decades. He watched as the last of the dwarves fell, the crude barricade they erected only moments ago blasted apart by magic. He watched as the woman with the golden sword was joined by another woman, slightly smaller in stature but oozing with the scent of Mana flowing in her veins. He watched as they, mirror images warrior and mage, descended deeper into the prison and out of his line of sight.
Not that he needed it. His heightened senses told him, with impeccable clarity, what transpired deep beneath him.
He heard the keens of his brethren, Hurlock and Genlock alike as unmistakable sound of steel carving through flesh, bone and armor. Despite the Taint that ran kindred in their veins, he felt no pain for their deaths, nor did he feel anything, anything at all, for their sacrifice. Their deaths were in the name of the Master, and he would die, without hesitation, for him, as they did. The Calling echoed in his ears as the cacophony of screams continued, the soft, yet insistent voice of his Master whispering his name, his purpose into him until the world became mute.
There was no room for remorse. Whatever emotions he had harboured were overwhelmed by the calling of his Master, when he heard the sound of his voice all those years ago, when even the Maker himself forsook him and left him to die with the black blood that flowed through his veins.
He felt nothing. Nothing but hatred. That, his Master deemed worthy for him to keep. That, He allowed him to use against those who opposed them, if for nothing else.
Far below him, he heard the screams lessen, then stop altogether. Curious, he took to the shadows and headed downwards, hiding himself in the dark corners his enemies dared not venture into.
A sudden roar rang out from the antechamber in the middle of the prison, where the seals that held his Master were located. His predatory eyes squinted as he felt a nimbus of Mana drain from the surroundings into the antechamber, into the gargantuan creature that materialized from the very air. Towering above the humans, it brought its taloned fists into the stone floor, glaring at those who would venture so deeply to approach the seals themselves and threaten its never-ending charge to guard them.
Its otherworldly yellow eyes landed on him for a brief second, making him shuffle backwards. Did it see him? How?
As he readied his ragged blade, he felt magic clash against magic as the slighter woman engaged the creature, the unending torrent of fire billowing out from her outstretched hands meeting a barrier of solid ice not inches away from the creature's body. For a moment, the onslaught of orange flames enveloped the creature, obscuring his vision of the purple scales, the streamlined ridges and the baleful yellow eyes. Preternatural silence reigned the antechamber as the roaring flames continued its duel with hard, unyielding ice.
Then, with a earth-shattering roar, the creature broke free of the wall of fire, stretching its arms wide in intimidation. If he hadn't been so far away, he could have sworn that he saw a smile on the creature's face. Frost clung in dripping stalactites on the creature's massive forearms. Out of the corner of his limited vision, he saw the female mage, the warrior's sister, lean against a tanned woman, exhaustion evident in her poise.
The creature laid its eyes on the now-defenseless defilers, and balls of purple flame coalesced in its hands. Rumbling emanated from deep within its throat, and he felt similar sounds echo within his throat as he cleared his eyes and watched all the more intently. It would seem the trespassers would not live to come face to face with the Master after all. A pity, he mused. He expected more.
The creature wheeled around once. Then twice. He thought he heard a growl. Not a menacing one. Nor an angered one, but one of … confusion?
Its earlier pride vanished from its demeanor as its flickering yellow gaze darted from one end of the antechamber to another, taking as much as it could into view, as if in search for something... someone.
Then it hit him.
The creature's scaled hands went up to its face in an instant, roaring in pain as it did so. As its fists flailed about in utter disorientation, he spotted the silhouettes of two crossbow bolts, outlined by flickering blue light, embedded with impeccable accuracy in the creature's eyes. Magebane bolts. He mused.
The creature was now without sight.
He sheathed his gruesome blade and kept watching. Perhaps these infidels had some fight in them after all. Only one question remained – Where was the warrior?
He found his answer soon enough.
The ridges on the creature's skin made for easy climbing, and the warrior woman, it seemed, was in the process of lifting herself, almost nonchalantly, up the scaly skin of the creature's uneven back.
He froze, then he laughed deep within his throat. Despite the explicit hostility between them, he applauded the warrior woman's manipulative ways. Attacking the demon incarnate head-on would be worse than useless, as exemplified by the magics of fire and ice at its command.
He watched as the warrior woman, with unspoken ferocity, raised the golden blade in all its sparkling glory, a giddy laugh of triumph escaping her lips.
The demon roared as the blade sheathed itself in the exposed hide of the back of its neck, burying itself to the hilt. The startled call from it didn't last long, however, as the blade, with its impressive breadth, completely sealed off the creature's trachea, if it indeed had one. The fires in its eyes dimmed as its grasp on the world surrounding it slipped, its body flickering and shaking as the ethereal realm of the Fade came forth to reclaim it.
He felt the dimming yellow eyes land on him, a meeting of gazes an eternity away from each other. In a brief moment, he saw, or rather, felt the vast amount of energy contained within the demon. For centuries, it had stood guard, watching over the seals that held his Master. For centuries, the magic permeating the prison had insinuated itself into the demon.
He felt pride swell within the demon as it readied itself to release the energy, all at once, into its surroundings. Even if it didn't intend a explosive release, the sheer amount of magical energy would overpower even the most powerful of mages, not to mention mere mortals. Even from such a distance away, he doubted if he would survive the ordeal.
Yet, as the demon looked into his eyes, he growled and smiled savagely.
With a dazzling flourish of gold, the warrior woman dislodged the blade from the demon's neck. Drawing momentum from her movements, she brought the sword clean through the flesh, bone and hide that constituted the demon's neck.
As the Fade reclaimed the creature known as Pride, the guardian of the seals, the decapitated head of the creature fell to the stone floor with an unceremonious thud. He watched, silently chuckling, as the warrior woman landed next her prey without so much as a sound before the dislodged head, with its frozen snarl, dissolved into nothing.
He watched as the warrior woman, with as wide a smile as she could manage, sheathed her sword. The mage went to her, speaking in inaudible words as their silhouettes melded into one.
Then, as he watched, their lips met.
It meant nothing to him. At least, it should not mean anything to him. He felt his own fists clench and unclench, his already unsteady breathing disrupted even more and his black heart leap in... an emotion he thought he had forgotten, or one that he tried to forget.
Flowing golden threads, framing a delicate, yet hard-set face that he used to cradle in his hands, reveling in the soft skin his fingers felt.
Before his nails fell from their place; before he himself fell from the Maker's grace.
Dry, cracked, yet delicious lips he used to claim in passion, in affection, in unbridled possession, pressing himself against the soft curves he had once held, all to himself.
Before his teeth made way to sharp, uneven fangs; before he clad himself in the armor of those fallen before him.
He snarled, at the monster he had become, at the women tempting him, drawing his memories from a forgotten corner to the forefront of the eternal battle in his mind. He tried to hold it back, tried to keep the pain from overwhelming him, but as his deformed fingers reached for the sides of his head, he felt the horns of his helmet.
He felt a tinge of wetness run down his cheek.
He roared and drew his sword, bringing it to rest halfway through a nearby pillar with a shuddering clang.
The women turned at the commotion far away, and he hurriedly sidestepped back into the shadows.
They shared silent laughter and turned their backs toward him, their dwarven and human companion watching them as they sidled ever closer together.
With a silent snarl, he retrieved his sword from the aged stone. He had seen enough. He felt his rage lessen as the Master's voice rang within his head, like a calling to home. He had nowhere else to go.
He gave the antechamber a final glance, affirming his suspicions as he felt the seals binding his Master weakening once more. His gaze lingered on the warrior woman and her sister, at their merged bodies as crackling light surrounded them. Their strength was highest when they were together, that he knew after observing them for days. He knew, and now, so did the Master.
Woe betide the day he tore them apart.
/Happy New Year. Mystery solved. "LAME!" Ikr?
Koona: Indeed, Merrill would be an extremely fun character to dote a few chapters upon! But to get her to the Vimmarks from her cozy little Alienage in such short notice, Without Her Ball of Twine, would twist the fabric of the Fanfiction world so profoundly you'd think the end of the world was upon us... figuratively.
It would be the perfect new year present if we could get a few more reviews from those of you who are interested in giving them... I need it for breakfast. Meh, read on and be merry!/