Dazed violet cracked open with confused groan once again, visibly wincing as he groaned at the blinding light that assaulted the space currently residing within. Blurred hands spread out at his sides, feeling the uncomfortable tingle of fine greenery meet his tensed grip with steadying unease, Sarid had lay alone but in good health despite... something. Vanished had the darkness that smothered him and his befuddled sanity, replaced by this stabbing sunlight permeating through the holes of imitated hanging nature. Drips of inky liquid cascading down the flawless greenery, like a sweet dew. At last, as the unusual enrapturing nausea left his head, he shakily stumbled to stand posed, orbs failing to correct to the rounded hills now present once again. Surrounding him, was an illusory forest of crimson autumn leaves; swaying in the feignly scented breeze and twisting around the range the unnatural wood was nestled between.
And out of the sprawling forestry, did the crawling vines and stretching brush fall into a faded halt. Between the shrinking gaps of the ancient wood, lay a great beyond: the void as desolate and white as cleanly parchment engulfing the grand patch of grim beauty almost painted on to the copied empty canvas. Sarid's body buzzed with a humming ache, arms still burning with a ghostly touch, and yet he dared not look. Could not look.
"This can't be real..." the distraught malak murmured, words spilling out in bolstered despair. And through the shifting strands that veiled the corners of his vision, did she appear for a second time.
"What is real?" she questioned with a hum, eyes like a serpent as they lit up with amusement over the malak's bewilderment. The ominous beauty still sat in the same position: the same wood, the same appearance. Upon that disconnected branch, did she announce herself with the faintest curves of a smile; innocent of any hostility despite the hovering claws held settled under her chest. This time, however, that draconic tail did not coil tensed around the natural formation. Sarid stepped back with an unsettling crunch of the shrubbery underfoot; arched fingers of deja vu climbing up his burdened body.
'How...?'
Struck by the unbelievable shock of the figure before his eyes, the man did not make a move to reach for his weaponry this time, finding them pointless against this higher foe. And yet, the poisoned stare the woman had once targeted him with, now was released into a lighter look: gentle features having relaxed despite his guarded self. Until, the shrill texture of tracing a material with that of a honed edge bristled his eardrums, and it whistled again once hands brushed the tattered vestments Sarid supposed he still adorned. Looking down with just a single glance, the half-malak froze once that gilded artistry painted itself into his mind.
"I hope you like them. It suits you well," the woman stated casually, the wisps of a smoky cloud trailing from the ornate opium pipe relaxed between painted fingers. Her mouth twitched with an ember of humour to accent the dry words.
Sarid splayed his arms out before him, now irregular orbs trembling with implausible confusion at this abstract reality now having been placed in. The orbs sank, and his gaze fell into the perfect water below: reflecting the poignant expression slotted over rising frustration. Deep inside this natural mirror, materialised a figure immersed in what he wished was a seperate world.
The reflection drowning in this translucent doorway appeared one that arose subconscious contemplation, as it cast the truth over him: apart from a set of new clothing draped over his exhausted form, were two distinct artistic forearms similar to that of this paracausal lady. A pair draconic, oriental arms that had ravaged the cleanly human skin he would never give away, simmering a faint golden gradient to snake over his forearms. It's disgustingly magnificent artistry and detailed paint work a spitting image of the one that gazed from afar, an intricate design birthed from the heart.
Dragging the newly amethyst sclera from his own shattered image, Sarid whispered these words in a deathly tone to the one who sat patiently at the behest of it all. "...What have you done?" he growled quietly, unable to forget the traitorous sight that clawed into the forefront of his mind.
The lady passed the trails of smoke from her lips as if they were brush strokes, calmly blinking at the half-malak's unrefined question. "What you should have accepted a long time ago," she mysteriously revealed, crossing her legs back over passively as the man's irritation grew. Purposefully, the woman unfolded one of her unnatural limbs from its rest, lazily checking the daggered nails. "Don't hide it, you know exactly what has happened to you. In fact..." her sight lifted to settle on him again, "...you recognise those arms, do you not?"
Sarid had his breath stilled, ripped from his throat while the anger hitched. He paused with tense hands, "...I don't know what you're talking about." Sorrowfully, did his voice waver, memories unsurfaced from the lapping depths.
The opium pipe disintegrated in her palm akin to falling ink. "A young, half human and half-malakhim boy surviving in the dredges of a broken world not unlike ours; torn apart by the everlasting daemonblight. Do not tell me you would leave it behind unchanged and unscarred." The woman's gaze was hard, yet not judgemental, watching the man collapse under his past. "We malakhim are fated to fall under a blighted blade and suffer daemonisation, and our transformation into dragons can not be stopped. Do not run from yourself." Her voice dipped into a softer tone, like weaved fabric, attempting to spin the half-malak away from despair. "You were merely limiting your potential, holding your real self back."
However, one specific word is what broke through the desolate clouds. "Wait... 'we'?" Sarid finally questioned, a glimmer sparking in the hollow violet gaze. In an all too familiar sight, the mysterious lady slipped off from the abstract branch - the very essence of its material crumbling away - and placed a gentle heel down onto the forestry. As her oriental hanfu cascaded with the shifting winds, so did the painted lands erupt with colour.
In fantastic contrast to the voided abyss encompassing on the life of this reality, the once minute patch of greenery was suddenly expanded across the gaping infinite like a rushing waterfall. Before his very eyes, Sarid saw hills, rivers, lakes, fields, forests and even mountains arise from a single command of this woman. An entire world, brushed over an ancient canvas from a single drop of ink, unleashed before him. And as the eastern, snow-capped mountains darted at the sky to encroach upon a resting sun, did he catch a crimson leaf; serenely twirling through the crisp air from the autumn trees.
Sarid's amber fingers brushed over it nostalgically, the fresh natural texture as real as it ever could be, despite the oriental claws sprouting from the past. There was a certain beauty in the artistry of its coiling design: vermillion, emerald and cobalt accenting the eastern creatures and motifs that were ingrained upon this deep yellow skin. Click, click, click went her heels from behind him, the very nature parting for her elegant approach. And as she eventually stood at Sarid's side, he did not feel that overbearing worry or fear digging into his very being at her power, instead finding solace in their assumed similarity.
Even still, questions remained, and the lady did not wait for Sarid to find the words. Plucking the scarlet leaf from his yellow fingertips, she laid it flat in her palm, before blowing on it gently. In the mystical winds she had created, the once hovering nature shifted and molded from the sudden inky blackness into a soaring bird; tweeting as the manifested robin dove off into the beautiful woods. Sarid's widened eyes slipped to her's, their matching lavender crossing for brief moments, until she spoke. "Walk with me." And so he did, venturing off into a new reality and world of the ancient unknown.
As the pair trekked side by side through the gorgeous nature, taking in the everlasting beauty of nature and its vestments, the mysterious woman allowed the hint of a smile to play on her lips, the beauty in this surreal world still enriched with her passion. And, her recent visitor ambled in her wake, every distinct hint of the environment abnormal in sense, yet as real as the rhythmic rise and fall of the northern ocean.
Soon enough, the malak found the time to evaluate his recently procured clothing, gifted from the strange wanderer.
Shielding him from any crude weather - in addition to covering most of his lightly damaged grey shirt - was an elbow-length sleeved, long, crisp white haori over his old and worn attire that fell to behind the shin; with a tall stand up collar to splay around the neck. Discarded was the shredded flak jacket - the dark grey shirt that remained waa worn and weathered - with Sarid already having preferred the lightweight and durable material now adorned, its almost fine lining was a deep scarlet, bespoken of simmering passion. To tighten this billowing vestment, a maroon belt splayed about his waist and also around the outside of his coat: flecked with slots for each of his six kunai. In addition, snaking up the tail of the jacket, were several golden brush stroke motifs fading into the snowy blankness, similar to that of his draconic arms. And so, did a great amber dragon rise up from the oriental gradient: imprinted upon the lower back like a threatening yet beautiful tattoo.
What was even more outlandish, was a familiar gilded crest emblazoned over the left side of the chest and proudly large betwixt the shoulder blades; it's hopeful and nostalgic shine over the newly attained white was shocking, but reassuring. A revolving crown of reversed, rigid stars: flanked at the top of this sigil, by a pair of steadfast and firm draconic horns.
The sigil of past yet future, new attire of reborn self cloaked over the torn remnants of old: the charcoal grey tunic, the onyx black trousers, the resilent black boots. All that was left of the old, and noble, survivor.
"...Where did you get this?" Sarid had sternly demanded, thrusting the patch forward with a pull. And, even without turning, the woman was not caught off-guard by the sudden barbaric question.
"Secret." She sauntered onwards with no less than a knowing, pleasant smirk at the man's befuddled brows.
Yet, how did the lady know of such ghastly secrets he withheld from not only others, but himself? To openly display what twisted inside went against everything the half-malak had experienced. But, such power she displayed was of no simple act. This mysterious figure knew something, and Sarid was determined to figure it out.
As much as the man admired such intrinsic and proficient work, Sarid needed answers, and had to disturb the serene atmosphere with worries of others ringing in his mind. "You said 'we' before, you're a malakhim?" he eventually inquired, despite being able to assume the answer from their newly matching trait alone. She hummed a tweeting tune for only a few moments, the twitch on her mouth settling again into a thin line.
"...Yes, I am what you people call a 'malakhim'," the woman assured while her swift steps slowed to a halt. "However, you can obviously see I have fallen from grace." The lady's voice turned low and sour, lifting the teal draconic limbs to eye level again; marvelling at their grim beauty. Her tail swayed at her back like a flowing wind, sweeping above the crimson leaf-ridden meadow, while the sunlight refracted off her protruding turquoise horns and splintered it's light. The lady was a dangerous curiosity; alluring in her blighted soul. "And as you can most likely guess, I too was exposed to the darkness of this blight for many millenia."
Sarid scrutinised the words against her body language, but through every smooth enunciation, she pierced his analytical orbs with her voided stare. He could find no fault in her words, or he possibly wasn't allowed to. "Thank you for telling me this," the half-malak began to respectfully address; finding his current situation as his own fault alone. Even still, as his mind shifted from one thing to another and he would yet find his gaze linger on the unnatural forearms that had overtaken the old, there was a glimmer of peace and composure centered in this very place. Nevertheless, there was still more to discover, therefore the questions did not stop there. "May I know your name? Calling you 'The Lady' is getting tiring," he politely asked, letting a dry comment pass to crack the formal air.
Starting to stroll again, with the brushed tendrils of hair snaking behind, did the lady hum again with another stifled sigh, but not one of disapproval, moreso relief. Well, possibly irritation was present too. The calm hue of vibrant violet flashing in her eyes soothed the mysterious atmosphere, as the woman finally revealed their long awaited identity. "I go by a few names. But, you may call me Youxia," she allowed with a polite nod of confirmation. He went to respond in kind, but as his mouth opened, she stowed the words by a single comment. "I already know who you are, Sarid Hirawa. No need to tell me again. Unless... you would prefer Barloc?"
"...Huh..." was all that murmured from speechless lips. "Just... call me Sarid."
The half-malak's mouth fell to a close as he rose an eyebrow in the hefty silence, but the man still soon found interest caught in scouring the golden horizon that was laid out before them; divine gates procured from the expansive earth core itself, like a bridge between Desolation and the Heavenly Realm.
Soon, the shuffle of footsteps began to slow their delicate pace over at his side, the waving of attended hair sweeping past him in divine waves as she stopped still in the middle of this tweeting forestry. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Youxia mused with a simmering sorrow under a veil of amazement. Sarid couldn't help but stare in wonder at the arbitrary picturesque image that formed in his astounded gaze. As the crimson trees above arched over them like a dispersing balcony, the shutters of autumn letting the purifying light peak through at the scene.
Akin to a beacon or starlight in the dead of night, a waterfall, casting shimmering twinkles from its splattering droplets, sang as it trailed from the encircling mountain side. Its natural formation pooled into a celestial lake, leading into the minute rivers that tied around the garden.
Through the mayhem his life had been thrown into in the past few days, and putting up with the chaotic allies he had formed with, Sarid could not help but take a bountiful moment to let the peaceful and charming sight wash over him and settle his beating mind. He could not tell why he felt this way, but it spoke to the heart as if it was a home one never had. Even the sight of this unrecognisable figure that stood so still against the gilded backdrop was firmly implanted within his mind like a memory.
The soaring leaves relaxing upon the reflective still surface, as the tweeting of nature echoed around the rumbles of falling water. The gentle breeze circulating among his legs, and swaying the woman's sharp hanfu and brushing her hair with delicate strokes, as the remnants of a tree's life eventually hovered down to rest within her presence.
Attempting to reign himself back to the present, Sarid steadily approached the side of the still immersed lady, the overall enigmatic reality that had sprouted upon the finality of his supposed dream. The potential idea that this world remained a figment of his mind's creation crossed for consideration. Until, the chill of a cold leaf fluttering onto the top of his head spoke to nerves like a lullaby, once the half-malak did settle onto a clean bank of this sight.
This couldn't be a dream.
As the moment started to slip past, words soon found themselves appropriately formed in his mouth. "It is incredible," he responded while leaning over the unblemished waters; staring down at the faded depths of light below. His face stared back, the large tufts encompassing the sides of his face hanging down, the same beauty mark sat under his left eye. More importantly, a pair of gleaming amethyst irises sat in the place of his once innocent blues. "...Where exactly are we?" Sarid finally questioned, pulling his gaze to the exotic stranger who simply stood at his side.
Through the gently cascading sparkles of light, did Youxia turn with a contemplative look, eventually displaying an open hand to a space behind his line of sight: eyeing a specific patch of grassland he had seemingly missed. "Of course, but first, let us sit down. Unless, you like your tea cold," she revealed with humorous lidded eyes as the man took a confused glance at where she was showing. As if it had only just appeared, now on the plains at behind them sat a chabudai table and two tatami mats over the cleanly earth. Garnished by brilliant rays of light, sat two yunomi cups with a steaming liquid emanating from the surface within. Sarid looked back at the lady who had performed such an act - knowing he wouldn't have been so mindless to miss it - but Youxia simply held his mildly incredulous stare with a honeyed smirk of victory.
After settling appropriately onto the mats, Sarid couldn't help but still remain fascinated by the experience he had been immersed in, with the forestry garden carrying an ethereal and otherworldly aura. Until, a pair of long and silky legs sweeped past, and the trailing garments drooped into the cushioned tatami mat; soon followed by the slow kneeling of Youxia with a gentle nod towards the still apprehensive half-malak. Sarid remained feeling abnormal in such a space, but nevertheless smiled solemnly to show his thanks, before the distinct scent of the drink settled onto the table tickled his nostrils.
The scent was very aromatic and fresh, as if carrying newly picked tea leaves, or even marine in its oceanic aroma. Staring at it with a ticked brow, it soon rose as he questionably stared at the dragon entity sat opposite him with the cup in hand, seemingly humming away in her own state of mind. Youxia soon noticed his hesitant gaze, and the pleasant tune was silenced as she sighed. "It's rude to turn down a gift as a visitor," she simply scolded with a twitch in her brow.
"Wait, It's just..." Sarid fumbled, worriedly trying to explain himself clearly. Eventually, he let a long breath pass to give his mind a quiet moment to think, "...What is it?" he wondered quietly, wincing inwardly at the crude question.
Youxia blinked for a moment, until she suddenly shook her head with a look of disapproval; but not at him. "Oh, I completely forgot to mention that..." she admitted with a sad frown, the dispassion revealing her experience in tradition but disappointed that she had failed as such. Raising the cup to eye level, she soon decided to explain the contents to lower the man's inherent caution. "This is sencha, loose tea leaves I picked from this garden, they grow in full sunlight, and I delicately brewed them in hot water," she explained knowingly, taking in its aromatic scent with a nostalgic softness.
Seeing Youxia's soothing and kind reaction to explaining its contents, Sarid couldn't dare turn down the offer, and carefully picked up the yunomi cup with an inspectous glance; peering at the shifting green liquid steaming within. However, one thought stung the mind slightly at the mention of such tea. 'Sencha? Why does that sound familiar...?' he inwardly wondered, but decided to drop the matter nonetheless. Raising the cup, he soon tasted the carefully brewed beverage inside under the woman's lazy gaze. Surprisingly, the malak soon found himself enjoying its mildly astringent taste, its smooth and creamy texture mixed with the filling warmth of the brew was quite pleasant to enjoy.
As Youxia saw the half-malak let out a sigh of content from his consecutive sips of the tea, she soon decided to finally begin answering the questions under the beautiful gaze of nature and its calming visage. Looking back out to the beaming horizon, her fluid words began to pour out gently. "This is a 'Mindscape'," she started with a wistful tone. "A specific plane of existence relating to one's state of mind."
The half-malak stopped, baffled slightly and letting out a brief cough, releasing the resolute sitting position as his body fell into a sudden spike of disbelief. "A Mindscape...? So, this still isn't real..." he mused with an overwhelmed light in his orbs, already aware yet somehow disappointed at such confirmation. Caught up in storming thoughts once again, he didn't catch the gentle creak creeping nearer, before a dainty soft touch began to tap into his skull. Eyes lifted he soon stared deep into lavender, which only looked back still from across the table, only a glint of violet peeking through the veiling bangs guarding it.
"This is perfectly real," she stated with a thin smile, stifling a sighing chuckle from slipping out as his face shifted under the diving pecks of the familiar robin, gliding and tweeting before vanishing into the wood. Soon freeing him with a flick of her finger, the strange malak glanced away as the lightened area shined brighter, turning to face a direction that unveiled its solitude. A heavenly plane, but lying empty under the weight of humanity's sins. Youxia continued to explain, sensing the question hover in his mind. "Only supernatural beings have a connection with their mindscape, daemons and malakhim, each with quite distinct formations," she explained concisely. "I am different, however."
Raising a palm into the air, the sky darkened as if the sun was ripped from the great blue sky, leaving the world they sat in cold and dark.
Before, she began swiping her hand in various motions across the air, and like blown out embers, their environment was washed away in each godly stroke. And then suddenly, her hand enclosed into a gentle yet firm fist, in which the world was born anew as it opened.
Landscape after landscape, appeared before their very eyes akin to painting with a brush: mountain ranges and deep valleys of freezing ice and snow protruding simply miles away from where the two sat. In which the brushing creator eventually reached them, and before long, was their calm and breathtaking forestry replaced with the howling peak of a snow-capped uprooting of earth. Bristling snowflakes billowed upon the tip of the mountain where they remained. "Incredible..." Sarid whispered in amazement from the display, as the newly born sun began peeking over the horizon with its shy, glinting eye.
"With enough control and technique, a powerful malakhim - or daemon - can enforce their mindscape and impose it upon others." The world flourished around her elegant form, contorted reality overrun with a brand new coat of paint from a single brush; wave cast over smooth sands. "Just as I have done to you," Youxia allowed with a slight smirk, the soothing crunch of snow underfoot as the man shifted his weight in surprised understanding. And from the ether of which she drew her magical power, did the opium pipe manifest between fingers and was once again placed upon lips.
Sarid relaxed under the bearing atmosphere with each tasteful sip of the beverage: undisturbed by its potential matter making up every distinct trait. Despite having been entrapped by a mere imitation of reality, it was truly the first time he could relent his guard and gently discard his aching burden. However, the half-malak always made sure to keep his blade close, just in case. But, in the end, there was one goal in mind; a job relayed to him by the gods of this world, and he would soon be subjected to the ire of a daemon and the restless nights wrought by the past once again. So, only one final question gnawed at his mind before the inevitable departure. "As you had said, I was pulled into this world by your own doing. But, there is just one thing," he lowly began with downcast eyes and mouth blocked by a still cup. "How did you save me?"
The fair lady stopped abruptly in her movements, smokey wisps trailing with each slow breath as she let the question sink in. One steady eye of indigo skirted the horizon, long winding strands swirling in the imagined breeze. "...Why did you need saving?" Sarid's vision narrowed. "Why should I have had to save the so-called saviour of humanity? Why is a weakling chosen as the one to save this world?" Youxia suddenly spat, side-eyeing his frozen form at the instant wall of tension. "Those are the questions you should be asking yourself. There is no growth in purely reason, just as there is none in abandoning knowledge. Running ahead in a blaze of emotion leads only to death." Her posture now seemed reclusive, resigned from her kindness only moments before. "Fighting for either only brings chaos," the woman sorrowfully relented, allowing the pipe to fall from her grip.
"...You chose neither," the resolute man murmured with roaming orbs of understanding, the solitude growing weary in the heart of this fake plane of existence. Traits of daemonisation splitting the very soul in tatters while an isolated portrait collapsed upon her, wallowing in emptiness. Youxia did not face him, the smudged ruins of the land created from the threads of her fingertips alone, apparent at the edge of the gleaming horizon.
Clink
As flecks of snow slipped from the rising haori, Sarid had stood up from the table after placing down the hollow yunomi. His shimmering violet spheres did not flicker to the mountainous range of white, instead focusing on the one that still sat below. Clatter, went the cry of dropped metal, and as the blank-eyed malakhim stole one single glance upon which fell, did the man's strong voice speak stern yet soft. "Show me." She said nothing, only a gaze of confusion against his determined stare. "Show me how weak I really am, I haven't given up yet."
A sigh. Until, her turquoise ornate fingers crept out to reveal the decorated palm of blue, opposite to the clean shine of the kunai blade laying flat upon the table. "...You really are him..." Youxia bittersweetly muttered, middle and forefinger pressed upon each-other.
Snap
And, the pair vanished with the reverberation of lightning echoing across the hued sky.
Seconds later, in a coalescing rumble of electricity that spanned the ancient surroundings, the two figures materialised in a golden flash; sending a cloud of white to plume across the chilling blanket. The mysterious malakhim appeared poised yet serene, having reclaimed the fortitude to show this half-breed the way forward. In her hands, dangled the kunai, stood opposing the similarly firm but calm Sarid who watched on with persistence: nevertheless, did his eyes flair upon sighting the familiar weapon and unsanctioned use of his ability alone.
Around them, endless spears of bamboo stabbed at the painted heavens like a spire, the great powdered ridge far above and whisking puffs of snow across the deep blue. Enveloping these swaying woods, was the unmistakable hue of her seemingly signature teal seeping from the very fabric of this sacred ground: constructed serenity across every plotted cobble and earth. "Listen well," she had coldly began, "Your kunai lack efficiency as a main weapon, unable to properly employ offense or defense when necessary."
Each word, the half-malak could understand deeply, for his skills have been majorly lessened upon losing his worn broadsword years ago. Sarid could only go so far before the equipment would falter in a time of need.
With a quick flick, the knife went sailing deep into the trunk of nearby bamboo, cleanly slicing right through it with a thunk, "It should be used to accent your ability, not as a centrepiece." Through air thickened with simmering will and concentrated purpose, Youxia exploded into practiced motion, inky black matter being swallowed into a spherical void emerging before and between her swift, graceful movements; as if absorbed from the unfeeling painting itself. Hanging from above - empty but boiling - did the sun watch, as a refined blade sprouted from the amalgamation of paint, laying comfortably in her expected grip.
Tip calligraphic, and edge as sharp and cleanly as one can be: the Jian glimmered in the artificial sunlight before the malakhim wound it in stylish flips and swings around her athletic form. Even an trail of onyx ink followed the point with each perfect flourish as her own brush to paint crimson upon every opponent. As only a few seconds passed in this impressive display, the blade halted only inches from the nose of this skilled lady, an amethyst eye as cold as ice yet full of passion in her art stared straight into the motionless man before her. "You wish to learn?" Rhetorical, and as this question flowed over the swaying silence, did it shift with the cool breeze whistling among countless trees, as did lustrous bangs of the night over her left eye part.
"Watch close," Youxia announced, a single, tiny beauty mark revealed at the comforting touch of eastern winds from afar. And, the spry glint of gold circling around her ringfinger.