ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Andrew

No More Nightmares

Zaigar woke up screaming. She had another one of those nightmares again where she was chased by a bleeding Ormack and being yelled at of her past sins. And the ending was always the same: falling off a cliff. It had haunted her for years and still she couldn't make it go away.

She felt helpless. Tortured. And that was the worst feeling ever.

She had to stop them. She had to get rid of them. She tried committing suicide by letting a hungry vampire suck her blood from her wrist, but she only ended up in a faint and woke up with a bandage and in the middle of nowhere, with the vampire out of sight. She almost fell into a rage because she didn't want to be saved, but she couldn't find the vampire to exact her revenge on him.

Then she stared at the river she was lying beside. It was moving at a rather fast current and seemed deadly enough to not be that close to it. Maybe that should do it. Maybe she could end her life here and now in this god forsaken river and never return to the living again.

Maybe...Just maybe...she could reunite with Ormack her love again.

She removed the black ribbons around her wrist and took out her dagger. She removed every covering that protected her scars and slashed at them all with that dagger. Fresh dark red blood gushed out like a fountain. She then walked into the river and lay down, letting the water current take in all her crimson red and drift all the way into the abyss.

For the first time in her life since her damned fate, she smiled in bliss...

Andrew looked out across the bleak river, lost in thought. His sword supported his hands, upon which his chin was resting while his mind wandered.

So long...

So long since he was here last, back in the city. So long since he had breathed in oddly familiar stench of Darken Weste, since he had looked out across the city, since he had climbed the heights to sit and thnik and train. The memory of his last return haunted him still. He'd lost his mind... tried to kill his friends... succumbed to madness. So long ago, it seemed...

Idly he wondered what had become of the others, of Ayrania and Iyxia, Lumiere and everybody else. He realised he didn't truly know anybody here, not any more. Not since Jetel.

He flinched away from the subject, unwilling to revisit old pains. He was here, and this was now. The past was just that: the past. Dwelling induced self-pity, and he knew where that trap led.

He made to stand, looking for the last time into the cold waters. A face flashed by... a face so familiar he forgot all about forgetting. It was her! He was moving before he realised, sprinting to keep up with the flow, sweeping the waters with his eyes. There! It was her! It had to be! Death be damned, it was her!

He found himself dragging her from the water, laying her down, taking in the wounds. It was her! But... different. The skin... far too blue... the face, too rounded. And... he spied wings beneath her. Fairly collapsing with disappointment, he stared shellshocked down at the bleeding half-breed before him, memory slipping back to that last night. He never noticed himself speaking healing words, or the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Zaigar felt herself slowly gain consciousness. Everything was a blur and she couldn't see very well with water still in her eyes. She could hear someone mumbling something at her ear but she couldn't tell what they were.

Slowly she felt the sting on her slashed parts slowly subsided. She realized what that 'someone' was doing: he/she was trying to heal her! No! She doesn't want to be healed! She doesn't want to be saved! She wants to die! She wants to leave this god forsaken place and join her father and Ormack in the afterlife. She wants to be released of the dreams and not be haunted by them any longer. She wants to die! She wants to DIE!!!

With whatever strength she could muster after such massive blood loss, she reached up and grabbed the stranger by the collar, hissing, her eyes glowing bright yellow like all gargoyles do when they're angry or in battle mode.

"Begone...Whoever you are...I wish...for death...!"

Again, she slipped back into unconsciousness...

Disconnected, Andrew ignored the hand grasping his collar, the hissing or the luminous gaze directed his way. He was remembering... remembering memories long forgotten. No... not forgotten. Just pushed aisde, hidden for so long. Too long. He remembered her, sheathed in light like one of his demi-celestial kin, laughing and looking back at him with those beautiful eyes. Such eyes! And such intelligence behind them. A challenge and a delight to converse with. So easy to love...

Something seeped through to him in his reverie. Something the gargoyle had said... with aching slowness, he stretched towards the present...

"I wish...for death...!"

Something within him reacted to the words instinctively. No. That wasn't right... nothing should wish such. The words echoed within him, an odd resonance with another conversation, an age ago it seemed, so achingly familar, etched into his memory. He'd pondered over such words for hours, only to realise something. For once, she was wrong. He'd privately promised her never to utter such words, to desire such an end.

"No."

He said it with finality, with decisiveness. He became firm of purpose. It couldn't be allowed to happen again. Never again...

"You don't know what you want."

Standing, he picked up her limp form and began walking away from the cold waters.

She was at the same cliff, but it was not because she was chased by Ormack. The cliff didn't seem so treacherous now. In fact, it was rather soothing, with the soft wind blowing at her face and the chirping of birds as they pass her by. She realized that she was not wearing her usual hunting attire and loincloth or holding any weapons of destruction anymore. In their place was a silky white gown embroidered with beads and pearls and she had a crown of roses on her head. She had never felt so peaceful before in her life. Is this what the afterlife was?

No. Not yet. This wasn't the afterlife yet. There's still yet one more step to go. She stared at the cliff and knew what beckoned her below. Slowly, step by step, she walked towards the edge. She outstretched her arms like a pair of wings and was ready to set foot into the abyss when suddenly a stranger came from behind her and grabbed her by the waist, stopping her at her tracks.

For once, she didn't go into her fight mode. She calmly replied the stranger whom she couldn't see his face and said, "Leave me. I wish for death."

"You don't know what you want."

*

Zaigar awoke with a start. She found herself lying on grass covered with mildew and she was blanketed with what looked like bearskin. She shifted herself a little and saw that she was being bandaged with clean white sheets. As sleep left her, she began to remember what she was doing here. She was supposed to die. She was supposed to cut herself blind, jump off into the river and let it take her to the afterlife. Why was she not dead? Why was she still alive? Who the fuck interfered with her plans again??

She shifted her gaze to see a dark figure building up a fire. She couldn't see his face clearly because of the smoke, but she could tell by the smell that he was the one who had muttered the healing spell on her.

Almost immediately, with years of agility, she grabbed her dagger, jumped across the fire and leapt onto the stranger, brandishing the dagger at his throat. Her eyes glowed again as she hissed venomously, "Who are you?! What do you think you're doing saving my life?! I thought I told you I wish for death!! Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

Andrew heard the halfbreed wake, but didn't react immediately. He knew the way people were who'd just been saved against their will. Best she was left to wail and gnash her teeth without someone else building their furor. He threw another branch on the fire and was turning to pick up another just as she landed on him, slamming him to the ground. He looked up impassively into her vivid amber eyes with his own grey, studying her expression, just how she felt painted on her face.

He was weaponless, his sword beside the fire, but that was insignificant. Such action would make his situation a farce. Instead, he examined the musculature of her face. So like her! Yet subtley different. Could there be some common ancestry there? No matter. She wasn't her.

In an odd way, carrying her here, bandaging her and keeping her alive had cleansed something from him. He'd stopped hiding, and in those few short minutes between leaving the river and laying here on his back with a dagger to his throat, he'd changed. He no longer feared her memory. He wondered how that might apply here.

He looked closer and revelation dawned.

"You're afraid," he said.

Zaigar widened her eyes in surprise, then in anger. She hissed at him and said, "I am not afraid! There is nothing for me to fear!"

Afraid? Why would he say that she was afraid? She was never afraid. She was never afraid of anything in her life. As long as she could remember, she had fought people and hunted animals twice, maybe thrice bigger than her own size and she never backed away from a battle. She didn't even shed a tear when she was tortured by Ormack for the crime she was framed of. She held no remorse and didn't even shudder when she swished the blade and cut off Ormack's head. She didn't cower away when one of the hunt killed her father. No. She was never afraid.

"I'm never afraid..." Zaigar repeated herself again as she pressed the blade of the dagger deeper onto the stranger's throat, making it bleed a little. Another look at his grey eyes and she began to waver. Was she afraid? Was she really afraid? Is that why she wanted to die? Because she was afraid that the dreams alone could tear out her soul and break her sanity?

Her glowing eyes dimmed, replaced by welling of tears. She tried to blink them away. She would never yield to tears. She had promised to herself that no matter what happens, she would never cry. Tears were overrated, a sign of weakness, a sign of emotion. She would never show herself to be weak. Never.

Yet his words...Those heart-piercing words that came out of his mouth...The truth hurts...

She released her dagger and hastily got off him. She just stood there staring at the fire, her tears finally flow freely out of her golden eyes. Quietly, she asked, "What do you know about my fear? Would you have stopped me from leaving this god forsaken world into the afterlife if you had known what I have truly been through?"

She's quicker than most.

Andrew got to his feet slowly, adjusted his coat and sat down again to tend to the fire. He remained silent as he stoked it with his sword, began to place stones over the largest logs and placed a couple of slabs of meat over them, rendered from some indistinct large animal he'd found wounded not far away. Bit of luck, that. Meant he didn't need to hunt, which meant he hadn't needed to leave the fire for long. He stared into the fire a while longer.

"You fear the unknown," he said at last. "You fear the future, because you are stuck in the past. You're terrified of facing yourself alone." He pondered her reaction, the way her face had moved, each muscle examined. "Whatever happened to you, you've told yourself you need to forget it. But you torture yourself still. You torture yourself so that you will remember."

He placed his sword back into its scabbard, looked once more into the flames, lost in thought.

"You yearn to forget, but you won't let yourself," He made a judgement, "Everyday you remind yourself. Everyday you refuse to forget. You think dying will make you forget," He shook his head. "But death is an unknown too. You've convinced yourself it isn't, that you know what awaits you, that it would be bliss, but you still secretly know what it is. It's unknown, and you're terrified of that too. Not enough."

And he turned to look at her then, to watch her eyes and to try to convey some meaning in his words.

"You're afraid."

Zaigar slumped onto the ground and buried her face in her knees. She knew what he spoke was true. She knew that she reminds herself of the past every friggin wake of her moment when she told herself to forget all that. She couldn't forgive herself for killing Ormack and she couldn't forget the things Ormack had done in betraying her love. Or for that matter anything else that was connected to her and Ormack.

The truth hurts. Badly.

"My father told me he had a bad feeling about me pursuing Ormack," Zaigar began opening up her secrets. Secrets that even her friend Ayriana never knew. "He said that he knew through experience that he would most certainly be a dent in my life, but he still respected my decision, in case he was wrong. He said I should at least choose someone from his human side of the kind, since the gargoyle clan didn't accept me due to my half-breed nature, but I refuse to listen to him. I chose Ormack the Eldritch Elf and no other.

"I told Ormack about my feelings for him, but he was already promised to another. But he agreed to be my best friend, and I was contented to that. Though I was met with objections by one of his members, he continued to treasure our friendship day by day. Then the day came when there was a civil war between his family and another at Silverdale. An assassin broke in and killed Ormack's brother. His member took that opportunity to frame me, saying that I was in allegiance with the enemy and killed his brother for them.

"I tried to prove my innocence but wasn't given the chance. Ormack kept me locked up in the basement and tortured me, forcing me to confess my crime. I couldn't blame him; he loved his brother very much, but I was bitter because he would rather believe someone else than his best friend. He should know I would never do anything to betray him but he was blinded by rage over the death of his brother. He even ra..."

Zaigar tried to blink away the horrible memory, reducing it to only Ormack tearing off her clothes, stripping her bare and his forceful entry into her...

"Let's just say our supposedly love-making was not the way I wanted it to be. When he couldn't get it out of me, he used his eldritch-enhanced sword and stabbed me, before throwing me into that river where you've just saved me, leaving me for dead. It was a thief who rescued me, and he nursed me back to health. I have to admit I wasn't giving him and his seven sons an easy time, but I recovered, as you can see."

She caught a whiff of meat and looked up. The stranger was offering her a piece of meat he had just cooked in the fire. He was giving her the "Take care, it's hot" look with his gray eyes. Tentatively, she took it and munch it down. Between mouthfuls, she continued pouring out her secrets. She didn't know why but she suddenly had the urge to get everything out of her chest. Since the stranger didn't seem to stop her, she took the chance.

"I manage to gather enough strength and heal from my wounds, but not the ones in my heart. The theif who saved me was sentenced to death for stealing royalty treasure and I paid my debts for his help by killing the person who sentenced him and gave his head to his sons. Then I travel long to find Ormack sleeping peacefully with his promised other. Rage overcame. I swung the sword and chopped both their heads at the same time. They never felt a thing and none of them stirred. I even killed his entire family and the friends who framed me for my uncommited crime. I left no loose ends."

By the time she ended her story, she already wolfed down the entire meat. She sighed and propped her chin on her knees with her arms, saying, "Not a day went by when nightmares of me being pushed off the cliff by Ormack haunted me. I couldn't make them go away. They kept coming back. No matter how much I tell myself that Ormack was the fault of all this and that I should forget the past and move on, he still comes back to haunt. He still comes back every night to push me off that cliff. I began to wonder maybe that's the uncertain future that is in store for me, like you said. That's why I took the plunge and end all my sufferings.

"You see now why I wish death? You see now what tormented me to the brink of my existence? You see now why I wished that you'll leave me alone? There's nothing for me here. My father's dead. Ormack's dead. I have no one else to live for. I wish I could move on, find my true love and build a family with him that I couldn't with Ormack, but this is not the place for such wishful thinking, so what is there for me to live for?"

Again, she cried. Again, she buried her face in her knees, not wanting the stranger to see anymore of her weakness.

Deep down inside, she wished someone, anyone, was there right now to embrace her and make her bitterness go away...

Andrew regarded the cringing half-breed before him with impassive eyes, chewing slowly on his steak as he observed her tell her tale. He'd always found it odd, the way a near-death experience loosened the jaw, when you'd think it would do the opposite. Some small part of him wanted to comfort her, to make her forget as she so wished. Another part despised her for her weakness and hypocrisy. But Andrew had long ago learnt to live with himself and ignored such parts.

"I see," he said in a way that defied the visual, "I know why you wish." He turned away and kicked the stone from the fire, huddled closer to it for warmth as the day faded and cold, bitter night settled in. He seemed to still then, just looking into the flames with glazed eyes while his mind walked the avenues of the past. "Your tale is more tragic than most," he said at length. But still one of many. "But you've forgotten something. Forgotten something amid all your memories as you wallow in your self-pity." The words came not unkindly, but not softly either. He denounced nobody now. "You have a future. A future as yet undetermined. In death... in death you deny yourself that future."

He turned to look at her then.

"In death, you deny yourself the remotest chance at happiness, at relief, at comfort. In death, you deny the whole world of your presence. Who knows what your future may hold? It is uncertain. But death is absolute. Absolute so far as this world is concerned. In death, you deny yourself a chance at anything." The smile that touched his lips was superficial. "Even escape. You never know."

Throwing her a blanket, he looked up at the stars half occluded by the lights of the nearby metropolis, thought of the number of times he'd sat and watched them. They reminded him that only the heavens were constant in this world. Everything else... everything else was ephemeral as summer mist.

"You don't need to forget Ormack. You need to accept him."

Zaigar eyed at the blanket that was given to her. Accept? How could she accept the man that had betrayed her love and left her for dead? How could she accept the man who had tortured her beyond compare and killed her with his own two hands?

But deep inside, she knew he spoke the truth. And it ached badly. She knew she had to accept the fact that Ormack was dead and there's nothing else she could do about it. She knew she had to accept the fact that what Ormack had did to her was done and nothing can change that. She knew she had been denying herself of a possibility of a beautiful future with someone worthy of each other's love and that she was foolish enough to pursue an absolute end to her fate. She knew that the future is uncertain, that it could be beautiful or cruel, whichever way it might end, and her life may worth a significance in this god forsaken world, if only she'd embrace it, but she was too afraid to face it.

She knew the future was uncertain, and all she had to do was try and live through it. May it be death in the end or a life spent with her true love, who knows?

She wanted a life of her own. She wanted to meet someone who truly loved her for her and have a family with him, a family her father never had the chance to have and grow old with them. She wanted to accept Ormack as a good memory and learn from that mistake. She wanted all that. But she saw what was going on with this world and was reminded again and again of what Ormack had done to her and was afraid the same thing might happen to her. Everyone in this world was brought up with much darkness and deceit, and she wasn't sure she would want to face another Ormack-driven life again.

The truth...hurts...real bad...

Zaigar hastily threw her blanket away, not caring where it landed and lunged towards the man. This time, though, she didn't plant a dagger at his throat. She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed like a little girl she used to be. She could feel the man resisting but she held on.

"Just let me be like this for a while..." she sobbed. "Just for a little while...Please..."

Andrew caught her gently as she fell on him, holding her lightly as she sobbed into his shoulder. His eyes sought the blanket, but it was out of the way. She had to do this, to let it out. So much tension, over so many years... he knew how it felt. He knew it had to go somewhere. This was when that little part of somebody where they shoved all their doubts, all their worries, all their nightmares during the day opened up and poured itself out. It wasn't the real the, but Andrew had learnt you could never see the real person all at once. What was true was that it was real, which was all that mattered.

He let her cry for a long time, let herself pour it all out and get rid of the tension. At length he gently straightened her, lifted her chin, held her gaze. He looked into her eyes, reached for that point where he could touch her with a look, the point where understanding came from the slightest flicker or change of expression. He might say he touched her soul, if he was still that sentimental. He watched her eyes, staring hard back into them. So much could be conveyed in one look.

"Look at you!" His voice was full of sudden venom. "Look at what you have become!" He provoked her, goaded her into rising from the depression, shoving her arm. "Is this what you want to do with your life? You're a wreck! A hollow shell of a person. You're worth nothing!" His eyes urged her to defy him, to defend herself. Pride would pull her from the pit of self-pity she had dug herself. Let her defy him! Let her fight tooth and nail to prove him wrong. "Ormack was right for what he did to you. Ormack was justified. You deserved it! Look at this snivelling shell of a person! You deserve no pity."

He knew the patterns, had read the thoughts expressed so finely in faces. Her self-loathing drained, defiance and anger would remain. She had strength, great strength, and she would see it.

Zaigar stared at him in disbelief, her yellow eyes still tear-filled. 'What was he saying?' she thought. 'That I deserve what Ormack had did to me? That everything Ormack done to me was a justified act? That I deserved to be tortured, raped and killed by the man who betrayed my love and friendship? Is that what he meant?'

Anger boiled inside Zaigar. It was a feeling Zaigar could not put in words. All she wanted was just a little comfort. All she wanted was just a little care and reassurance that everything was alright and that she didn't have to worry about anymore nightmares. Yet what she got was words filled with venom and incompassion, filled with blame and accusation. She almost thought that this man who opened up her mind would be able to open up her heart as well. He was no different than those sorry insolant people who were raised by this evil, tormented world.

"Then everything you've told me before was a LIE!!!"

Without warning and within a split second, she brandished her dagger and swiped the blade across the man's arm. Blood squirted and fell everywhere, some got on her face.

"To think that you understood me, of my pain and of my grief. You're nothing but another extension of this goddamn place. You're just like everybody else!"

Another slash. More blood.

"You're just like Ormack! You're just like everyone else in this world! Worthless! Indifferent! Heartless! Mouth full of shit, accusation and blame! I never deserved what Ormack did to me! Never! He betrayed me! He tortured me! He raped me! He KILLED me, dammit, he KILLED me!!! He knew I loved him dearly regardless of his betrothed situation and he knew I treasure our friendship above everything else, yet he disposed me like a piece of garbage all the same!!!"

Another slash. Even more blood.

"I just want you to reassure me everything would be fine, that I don't need to die to prove my low-life situation. All I want is for you to comfort me! Is that so much to ask?!"

Zaigar felt as if she couldn't stop.

"You lied to me! You lied to me! Everything you said to me before was a LIE!!!"

By the time she realized what she was doing, she found herself staring at the man lying on the ground breathing heavily, both their bodies a scarlet red.

"Is it?" His voice came slowly, drifting up from where he lay prone on the ground. With burning skin, he raised his arms, pushed himself up. He let the pain wash over him, wash through. He didn't resist. It was now. It had happened. There was precious little he could do. The Litany Against Fear rolled through his mind.

I shall not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I shall face my fear and allow it to pass over me. And when it is gone I shall turn to face where my fear has gone and there shall be nothing left. Only me.

He stood up, stumbled over to his pack, retrieved the medkit. Laying himself down, he began to treat his wounds one by one.

"Do you really think I did? Reassurance is a thing of mood, like music or lovemaking. Mood is not a thing for the Wilds. You need face certain truths sooner or later. Perspectives change... you shouldn't be surprised his did, just as mine seemed to before."

Zaigar almost felt relieved she hadn't kill the man. She never felt so angry before in her life. She didn't mean to do that to the man. Venomous as his words were, he still saved her life.

Changed perspectives...Moods...

True. The Wilds is not a place where you rely on only gut feeling and emotions. There's things to consider mentally and brash decision-makings of the heart was not the way to live in this place. Such was the lessons she had learnt from her father. Her perspective of the Wilds before she met Ormack was a world filled with danger and uncertainty, of death and chances. She changed when she met Ormack, believing that in this god forsaken world, something beautiful is meant to exist and that love can still survive. After the incident, she began to think that love was all but the truth, that love was nothing but a fleeting thought of wonting that is lethal and cruel. The man was right. Perspectives change. They always have been that way. She should have known better.

"I'm...I'm sorry...for hurting you like that...I was just..." Zaigar whispered apologetically at first, then steeled her face back to whom she used to be: cold, distant and indifferent. "You're right. Emotion is a weakness we must not give in at these trying times. I should've seen that coming."

She cleaned the dagger and walked away towards the river. She heard a shuffle behind her. Without looking behind her, she said, "I'm not going to kill myself again. I'm just going to clean myself off this blood and my dagger. I shall return soon and see what I can do to heal those wounds of yours. Those slashes don't look too light to be healed with just your medkit."

With that, she threaded through the field towards the river that almost claimed her life.

Andrew laughed. It hurt, hurt badly, but he laughed anyway.

"A weakness?" He said. "Emotion's a strength. Emotion's what separates us from the beasts and the demons," He spat at the still slowly roasting animal above the fire. Blood sizzled on stone. "Not many people you'll find strong enough to feel properly. No. Emotion's not a weakness. But there're times for it, just as there are times for the cold, calculating bastard. You just have to remember that in each and every place, each and every moment you are a different person than before. You can't apply a blanket filter to life and say 'This is how I am'. That's how you get killed. Or end up killing yourself."

He turned to follow the half-breed, but stopped at her reassurance. No grudge burdened him after her outlash. It was a thing that had happened. Anyone in the circumstances would have done the same. No burdens.

He turned and started seemingly talking to himself now that she was going. "No. Emotion's what makes you, you and me, me. But not out here. Not out here."

And he stared out into the darkness, listening to the sound of the night-time forest by the banks of the river.

Zaigar slipped off her clothes and shivered at the cold wind of the night. She cautiously dipped herself into the cold water of the river and exhaled as she relaxed herself in it. The wounds healed by the stranger stung a little coz it was still fresh, but pain was no stranger to her anymore. Not since Ormack.

True. Emotion is a strength as well as a weakness. You become strong with the hardship you go through and it can help you guide your decision through trying times. And it does separate us from the beasts and the demons that have feelings colder than the coldest ice. But emotions also lead to brash thoughts and foolish decisions. It was definitely something you have to balance thoroughly with.

As she continued to clean herself and her dagger off the blood, she didn't realize that something was swimming towards her, creeping as silent as the night itself. She didn't realize the creature with its pale, scaly skin and serpentine eyes that eyed her with malice and venegeance. She didn't realized it baring its fangs and licking its lips as it slowly surfaced up the water.

When the creature jumped up high with its mouth wide open to sink its teeth into Zaigar's gut, the only thing she could catch was the family symbol of Ormack's elf bloodline on its forehead...

ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Drake

.renaissancE –

He could feel his skin melting, sloughing off in wet chunks and into the knee-deep sewage of his would-be grave. The stench of burning hair and rawness and natural and toxic wastes battered him down like some seige engine. The entire fucking world would not stop until he was gone - a dead pile of flesh to add to what Darken Weste had to offer.

Sizzling, hissing, splashing, plopping. Drake was an upright embodiment of grotesque itself. His clothes were gone - somehow they were stolen from him before this atrocity had happened. Through the misshapen orbs that were his eyes, the male could see what was becoming of him. Where there was once pale, ghoulish skin was now the graying redness of muscle and bone beneath. He could see his once powerful legs buckle beneath him, ready to plunge the entirety of his form into the watery, smelly, disease-ridden tomb at his feet.

"Fuck this...fuck this!" The roar of frustration that emanated from the man's mouth would've surprised anyone that could have been watching - although his body was deteriorating like a candlewick, he still could muster up a vocal chord that shook the stone half-pipe he was in. He may have been rotting away, melting, completely bare of clothes and doomed outright, but the man still bore that deep, commanding voice that he was known for.

Staggering only several inches forward, Drake teetered to the side and into the stonework barrier beside him, letting what fresh blood that was left within him to splash from his festering side and onto the wall. The red fluid sizzled as well, like acid, and began to eat into the rock, simulating what was happening to the barely living heap alongside.

What a nasty trick... He mused bitterly, letting his mind run while his body failed. Guess this city's got some problems after all...

Zaigar walked around the foul-stenched sewers trying to find a way out. She had just chased after a hunt and got led straight into this god forsaken place where nothing survives and everything rots. She could feel herself slowly dematerializing and getting more and more in tune with the filth that is Stygia. Another hour in this place and she would soon become one of the rotting corpse she just passed by. She had taken a closer look at it and realized it was the same hunt she had chased after before.

"Great. Just great," she muttered to herself. "What a perfect way to die here. Being lost and rot slowly inch by inch. That's just peachy!"

"Fuck this...FUCK THIS!"

Zaigar heard someone swear at a distance. Who could be still alive in this place? Definitely not someone as fortunate as she was. As she tried to walk through the icky sewage, she tried to sniff in the air to find any smell of the stranger that just cussed. No luck. The horrible smell of the sewage dump blocked her nose. She was lucky she had applied some ancient counter toxic ointment from a very rare species of oak before entering or she would've melted almost immediately.

She never goes on a hunt unprepared, that's for sure.

Few feet away from her, she saw blood splash out from a weird-looking walking, melting zombie onto the wall. She cringed as the blood ate through the rock. 'Man,' she thought. 'Is that what might happen to me?'

She moved as fast as she could to reach the zombie before his body failed, taking out the ointment she used before on herself to try help him. Not that it's gonna do him any good, what with the rate of his decay, but there's no harm trying.

'God damn this place. It's making me a softie every fucking minute of the day,' Zaigar thought as she slowly reached her hand out towards him.

"Don't touch me!" The man snapped. His back was turned to the stranger that was approcahing him, and yet he could sense her trying to reach out. His reaction to her forced him stumbling down again, and he hit the water with a disgusting thud, trying feebly to remain on his hands and knees at least.

His breathing still remained, yet it was forced and random, riddled with rhrasps and wheezing and a deep rumbling that was frighteningly congruous to some huge animal. Drake stared down at the liquid at his feet, totally oblivious to the sour, acrid smell of it and more intent upon his reflection than anything. Something was happening to him that nothing in this literal shithole could do. He could see half of his face sinking into the shape of his skull beneath, the other half following suit by revealing muscle. The long black hair that he once had was no more, with but a balding skullcap that was diminishing as well.

The man's fists clenched underneath the surface of the water, and, trembling, he adjusted the position of his legs. Then he sprang up, as if a burst of adrenaline had suddenly revived his old state. He suddenly brought his legs into a series of cat-like, diligent springs, aiming for what appeared to be a brighter rightbound tunnel but a few hundred yards away. In the spot that he had fallen, however, the water had turned milky and bubbly, now a soup of the creature's remains and oddly acidic blood plasma.

Zaigar almost shrank back at the stranger's yell. She couldn't blame him. In this world, everything is a threat and it pays to be cynical and defensive. She watched quietly as the stranger struggled to get up. She could see that he was melting real fast, and if he didn't get out of this dump sooner, the sewage would eat him alive.

Come to think of it, so would she.

Still, she wanted to help. Pity that she hadn't felt for many long years grew in her. As she reached out again for him, he suddenly sprang up and sped off like some cat who just got chased by a dog. She grimaced at the milky, bubbly water from where he had fallen. She dread to think that it would become her within the next hour if she doesn't find her way out into the open. She noticed he was moving swiftly towards a direction and saw that there was a brighter spot of the sewage at the rightbound tunnel. Could it be it? Could it be that leads to the open?

She'll have to take her chance.

Pocketing the ointment, she took to her heels and followed after the melting stranger.

Drake felt pain, felt weakness, felt the chill of his bare form, but most of all...he felt rage. He felt it for himself, and towards the bastards that brough him to this. He'd find those men, find each and every one of them, and eat them alive. If they had families, he'd slaughter them too - anything to sate his utterly revolting and newborn hatred. They had written their own death sentences, and woke up a beast to carry them out.

Still running through the thick sewage, Drake turned sharply towards the newfound tunnel he was heading for, pushing himself along the wall while holding a large slab of flesh to his chest that was threatening to fall off. He could hear the distant splashing of water behind him, and he knew that the stranger that had tried to help him was following. No matter - it was her choice. She was free to get herself dragged into Drake's mess like so many others had in the past.

The passageway sloped upwards, fashioned from concrete and with a thin line of water running down its base. Drake navigated the thing easily enough, but his hobbling actions were pathetic, to say the least. Eventually he made it out of the tunnel and into an open area. The place seemed like some series of backstreets in the slummier districts, with rotten garbage all around and a small pond of filthy water along the floor.

After Drake studied his surroundings for a second or two, he allowed his body to crumple to the ground with a horrifying grunt. Great effort was taken in his dissolving muscles as he rolled his body onto its back so he could gaze up at the yonder above - which consisted mainly of lofty catwalks and black air.

Naked body sprawled and motionless, the creature stared blankly upwards with his eyes.

Zaigar panted as she tried to chase after the stranger. She had to get out of this place quick and this could be a chance. She spun round into the newfound tunnel and followed after him. She could see him in a distance trying to hold pieces of him that were falling. She grimaced. 'Now that is definitely not a sight for sore eyes', she thought as she continued to give chase. As she continued to follow behind him, she soon found herself out in the open. Rotten garbage surrounded her and a filthy pond of water flowed under her feet, but at least the air outside is much better than the inside. She saw the stranger before her stop in his tracks, surveying the area. She kept her distance. She didn't want to arouse his anger by approaching him so suddenly.

When he crumpled to the ground, she could see the pieces that were threatening to melt and fall off his body. This was definitely not good. She need more than just the ointment to cure his body. She needed magic, and it was something she didn't have.

Unless...

She searched her belt pouch to look for something she remembered keeping back in her younger days. It was a scroll of spells her father bought from the slums of the black market near The Lotus just in case their hunt needed more than just basic survival and vigilance. She took out the scroll and scanned through it to find the spell for body reconstruction. As soon as she found she slowly made her way towards the lying stranger.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," Zaigar said in her nonchalant tone. Years of coldness and indifference influenced her voice to become less compassionate than she should, even if she did feel that way.

The stranger did not reply, but continue to stare blankly upwards. Maybe he was tired, maybe he was just dying, she didn't care. She just wanted to help him.

"This is for helping me getting out of that horrible sewage back there," Zaigar said as she scanned through the body reconstruction spell. She knelt down beside the stranger's head and laid her hand on his forehead. The stranger winced a little but didn't attempt to fight her off.

"Just relax and everything will be over," Zaigar said as she slowly read the spell from the scroll.

"This is for helping me getting out of that horrible sewage back there,"

Drake heard those words and smiled bitterly, though the expression probably couldn't be seen on his grotesque visage. He hadn't thought of anything in the ranges of helping...much less a stranger. But this woman seemed thoughtful on it, and Drake didn't bother to protest...as if he would even be able to.

With cold regard, the man's eyes inched over to where the unknown character resided, observing her odd appearance and noticing the small presence of apathy in her vocals. It was obvious that she wasn't one for good things - her appearance alone hinted demon, or perhaps something else. Drake didn't care to think about it further. Rather, the pain spasms of his body were growing increasingly worse, and he wasn't so sure as to how much longer he had anyway.

How much longer...

CrapcrapCRAP! The thought of dying was something new to him, and he didn't want it to happen now. Or ever. It couldn't. It shouldn't. Not because some small group of self-righteous assholes decided to try and destroy him. No...this wouldn't be the way Drake would go - he owed it to Darken Weste to stay alive longer than it wanted him to. He lived off of defiance, but he wouldn't die of it.

Body lurching to the side, Drake couldn't hear the stranger's spellwoven chanting over the myriad of worry coursing through his own mind. Weak grunts were emitted from his mouth as he did so, trying to roll his body back onto its side so he could lift himself up. He brought his free arm over to the ground, intent upon piushing himself up if it was still possible for his muscles. It was, and like a reanimated corpse, Drake brought himself to his knees. He had his back to the stranger, but managed to turn his head her way, eyeing the scroll suddenly with caution.

"What the fuck is that...NO MORE MAGICI!" The dying man managed to shout frantically again, his mind recalling the event where he had started deteriorating in the first place. They had used a scrollbound magic of some sort too. Drake didn't want anymore.

But perhaps he was too late, since the woman already had been deep in the process of reading the parchment before he acted. Twitching with frustration and the thoughts of impending doom, Drake suddenly felt the surface of his unclothed body tingle, as if worms were crawling atop him all over. Looking down jerkily, the man noticed how the exposed portions of his insides weren't becoming so exposed anymore. It seemed like whatever spell the stranger was doing, was helping him recover. Perhaps this could enhance his...own special abilities now...

The stranger was moving. She didn't want him to move. If he moved, there might be a slight chance that the spell would not work. And he yelled at her that he didn't want anymore magic, she almost wanted to stop chanting.

But she was too far down the spell now. She couldn't stop even if she wanted to. To stop means to kill the man, and that was definitely not something she wanted to do. Not tonight anyway.

Luck was on her side. The magic did work after all. She stood up and held him down, stopping him from getting up any further. She could see the veins and muscles wriggled their way like worms up to the part that they have came off and reattaching themselves to their original positions. The stranger seemed to struggle a little but Zaigar's strong hand held him him firmly on the ground.

"Be still, man. Just a little bit longer."

Zaigar continued to chant from the scroll. After what seemed like hours, the stranger's body began to emit a huge blinding flash, engulfing his entire body. Moments later, it subsided and what replaced him was a perfect body, nice and clean without a single scratch on him. It was as if his melting away had never happened. She replaced the scroll and regarded him a little. Long ebony hair, slightly built body, handsome yet deep, narrow eyes that told her that he was none other than a halfbreed like her. But of what species she wasn't sure. His handsome look seem to draw her in a little but she managed to keep her cool.

Love no longer serve any interest to her than she would want it to be.

"I suppose you're pretty much up and about," Zaigar said. "My services don't usually come cheap. A small offer of food may help. The name's Zaigar. What's yours?"

Well the hurting stopped. First there was a blinding flash, and then Drake felt nothing but chill. It was bitter, and all over. Then he realized what had happened. It seemed that the girl's spell had worked, and Drake's body was finally good as new. But he didn't want to take his chances. He moved a few black-nailed fingers first, letting them flex in sequence, test their ability. Nothing creaked, nothing stung, nothing ached. The man brought his hands into fists, and then swallowed and blinked his eyes several times.

Drake sat up, enjoying the chill of the dirty water around him rather than curse it. His flesh could feel things again, and not in a bad way. It was a relief. But then there was also the thoughts of what had done that to him - what had brought him to a state of near-destruction in the first place...

Shaking his head vigorously, the man forced his mane of jet black hair to wisp about his head in an unkempt dance. He had nothing to tie it back with, so it fell over his visage like a dark veil, making him appear much more sinister than before. He moved his body slowly, with a lazy groan following his movements quietly. He brough himself to a crouching position, back arched to the stranger. There was silence after this, and a stillness in Drake that was reminiscient of a gargoyle-like statue.

But at last Drake moved again, and it seemed like his action jolted the stillness of the entire place. He began to stand slowly, deathly white skin rippling with muscles beneath as his spine and shoulder-blades adjusted to the new position. He straightened himself sinuously, letting out a deep breath through his nostrils. He stood well over six and a half feet tall, and perhaps reached seven, but the darkness of the place made it hard to tell. Pointed ears twitched, and with a flick of his head, the man turned to stare at the female with strangely dull, yet alert satin eyes as he recounted what she said.

"Drake." His voice was different from the crazed roar previously. It was baritone and syrupy, like the heat of a carnivore's breath. Yet there was also a sentience within it that provided intelligence, and perhaps something far more provocative than one would expect from such an odd-looking, yet intriguing individual. Who was naked.

Naked.

Drake's eyes widened like a rodent's as his head darted downwards. It was then that he realized that everything...everything...was showing. In front of a woman. Not that Drake really cared about anything sexual whatsoever - this was still horrifying. They really did steal his fucking clothes.

Looking back at the stranger, trying to keep calm, the man kept his hands hanging low over his nether-regions.

"Uh...that food...thanks by the way...will have to wait. I need some uh...clothes..." Swallowing once, Drake turned on his bare feet and began stalking through the mess, intent upon reaching one of the surrounding walls for whatever reason.

Zaigar watched nonchalantly as the stranger who called himself Drake stagger around looking for something aimlessly. Hmm, male nudity. Haven't seen that for a long while. The last time she saw someone naked was when she was being raped by Ormack before she was being killed. A rare sight but not uncomforting.

She reached over to her pouch and fished out a cloak made of bearskin of sorts. She took it when she was being stalked by a Marauder wanting to kill her in revenge for killing his favourite prized pet. She had to admit the pet she killed was indeed rare, but of no use to her. For her, every animal is either edible or not, and that pet was one of the edible ones. After killing the Marauder, another habit of hers was to rummage through the body to see if she could get any worthy weapons to be used for her next hunt.

She walked over cautiously to Drake holding the cloak over him. Without warning, she draped the man with the cloak and held him still, regarding his looks. He was truly handsome and had that kind of aura that might draw you involunteeringly, despite the fact that he was an obvious half-breed. His deep eyes were the most alluring ones. She couldn't help but stare into those orbs and imagine what would it be like to be inside his mind and find out about his deepest, darkest secrets...

When she realized she was staring for too long, she let go abruptly and regained her cool composure. She cleared her throat and said, "Here's your clothes. This is all I can muster now. Don't worry, I've seen worse. Your nudity doesn't bother me much."

As she watched Drake pulling the cloak closer to himself, she asked, "So...What exactly happened back there? You crawled out from a grave or something?"

It made it even more uncomfortable for him when he realized that the stranger was staring. At what? Drake's eye twitched slightly at her, not thankful for the fact that her attention seemed to make the chill breeze around his loins even worse. She had stopped him - now what?

The man tried to refrain from ripping the offer of clothing out of the woman's hands. He wrapped the garment frantically about himself, and the scene was nothing short of awkward. Him being so large, and the cloak being...not so large, Drake looked pathetic, if not funny. It was the least of his concern though. He looked back at the woman, his angular face pointed downward and satin eyes boring into hers. She was trying to calculate him like he was her. Good luck.

Drake straightened himself, keeping one hand about the clothing so it wouldn't fall off. It wasn't exactly his fault that he was this way - not only had he been nearly fried to a crisp, but encounters with people who usually saw more to his appearance than he did never really ended properly. Drake's emotions were inarticulate, no doubt, but for some reason he bore a celibacy to his psyche that made him practically blind to prospects of love. He was a labyrinth inside, and only a few people in his lifetime had been able to navigate it.

And so here he was, being saved by some stranger, and suddenly feeling very obligated to pay her back. He never meant to put himself in this situation, but here he was...

"There were these people," Drake began to answer the stranger's query. "I never saw them before, but they confronted me as if we all had a loooong standing hatred for some reason. One of them had this piece of paper, began reading from it, and my skin started burning. That was when...they took my damn stuff. All of it. As if they were trying to degrade me or something. And I didn't even KNOW THEM!"

Drake's voice boomed through the enclosure, mirroring his roars in the sewer.

Zaigar didn't flinch at his sudden outburst. She had gotten accustomed to such things. Besides, her impassiveness and indifference saved her the humiliation of retreating like some cowardly rabbit. Her eyes shifted a little towards the direction of the sewer when she heard his echo, then looked back at him again like nothing had happened. She noticed the cloak not very fitting for his big visage but she couldn't help it if Drake was about half a size bigger than the Marauder who owned this cloak.

"I see," she replied, not literally speaking. "I suppose that what all half-breeds have to face. People can be very discriminating nowadays. My clan threatened to kill me if I ever set foot into their territory because I'm half of my human father, and my best friend's gang members framed me for a crime I didn't commit just because they didn't like my heriditary looks. It's human nature."

She scanned the scroll that was still in her hand and said, "I think your attackers got the same scroll I have, coz I see the spell that caused you to become a walking corpse in here," she held up the scroll to Drake and pointed at a section on the middle, "Here it is. The Mutilation Spell."

She noticed Drake's eyes glaring in hatred at the scroll. She quickly put it away into her pouch before he decides to tear it into pieces. She needed that scroll. Her hunt depended on it. She then shifted her gaze towards Drake's hair. Rather unkempt and messy, like it had seen better days. She took off one of her black bandages on her wrists and said, "Look, you don't seem like you're much in a mood to talk right now. I suggest you sit down and take a rest. You've just turned from a melting mutilated zombie to a full person. I'll do your hair if you allow me to."

The look Drake gave her was no more than shock and surprise at her sudden offer.

ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Dante

The Calm of the Night

Zaigar heaved a sigh of relief as she landed onto the bed. The last time she came to the Lotus was because she needed a swig of Bloody Baron. She had one right now in her arm and she was downing it while checking the hunt for the day. Nothing much, really, just a few quills and some foxes and a rabbit or two, but that was all. Usually, when the day was good she could get more than that.

She stared up at the ceiling listening to the sound of the night as she drank the bitter-sweet liquor. Perfect drink for her. Signified her past, sweet in the tongue, bitter in the after-taste. What could be more better than that?

She began to remember the things that she had encountered. She had met the half-celestial who had problems being chased after some girl with a toy bunny. Then it was an elf whom she tried to help her end her misery but ended up saving her life instead for some reason yet unknown. Then she met up with a young Pyrox who didn't seem to get the hang of his powers just yet. Then a weird herald whom she finally was able to get rid of that herald power he infected her, though that memory was slightly vague. She remembered the vampire she met and tried to kill herself by feeding him her blood, but did not succeed. After that was the half-breed she had rescued from the sewers. Then it was the man who convinced her that death was not the answer to her problems. That was the most memorable of all.

She stared at all the bandages that covered her wrists, shin, ankles and elbow, all covering the wounds that her Ormack had made. She kinda lost her hatred and remorse towards him, but there's still a lot she needed to do to get past all these nightmares that had haunted her for so many years.

One step at a time.

As the liquor took effect, she slowly slipped into a deep slumber, not knowing that somewhere out there, someone might be watching her every move...

Dante slumped into the Lotus. He'd had a bad day - what with ruining a rather nice pair of pants by sliding into a large mud pile. He had slipped, along with several others after him, on the unseen, slippery part of the road. Someone had used dirt to fill up a large pit in the pavement, but the dirt had gotten wet, which just made a complete mess. He had went to his rented rooms, and found that while he could easily clean his boots, the pants were just too damaged for anything other than rags. Trying to recoup his losses, he went out on what was supposed to be a petty theft spree, but ended up netting a few coins and three tubes of unopened lipstick. Fuming aobut his day, he ended up deciding to go to the Lotus for a drink and to save the lipstick for any nice girl he might come across.

Entering the building, he ordered a simple beer, and took it upstairs. He was bored, wandering among the hallways of the dimly lit inn, nodding cheerfully towards the few who gave him odd looks. He noted a slightly open door, and decided to sneak in.

Silently taking a sip of his beer, he did so, and saw a strange-looking, bandaged woman lieing on the shoddy bed. He wrinkled his nose - he'd never stay here for the night, this place was a shithole. He'd stay in his own shitholes, thank you very much.

However, the woman was not entirely asleep, though she looked very close to getting there. If he had come in several minutes later, he'd have been able to ransack the room, but now what could he do? Stand here for awhile while he waited for her to fall asleep? Surely she'd awaken at feeling someone's eyes on her - Dante always did. Damn. The night could have turned out better than the day, but too late now.

He heard someone approaching the door, and he quickly ducked behind it, squirming into the smallest position as possible. The door opened some, and a burly man entered, along with a heavy stench of alcohol. Luckily, the new entrant didn't have a light, which would have definitely shone on Dante's bright hair, quickly betraying him. He had dressed down in navy and black tonight, luckily - bright green would have shown off in this dim light, whether or not another source was added.

The man heavily staggered towards the bed, but was still rather quiet for being dead drunk. He seemed to giggle a bit, but made no noise. Leaning over the perhaps now sleeping woman, he went to move her over on the bed, attempting a caress, but the nymph had soundlessly set his beer down and knifed the back of the man's leg. The resulting scream and stream of swearing would probably wake the dead. The man fumbled about for a light, while Dante swiftly retreated back into the shadows behind the door.

Nice idea.

Zaigar woke up at the sound of screaming and swearing, her alcohol-induced mind barely cleared. One look at that burly man in his bleeding leg was enough to tell her that he was up to no good.

The man was prepared to take off and run. Without asking questions, Zaigar took out her double-daggers from behind her loincloth and aimed them straight at his heart, delivering a fatal blow. She pressed harder until it was deep enough to cut off his life force. After making sure he wasn't moving anywhere but to the afterlife, she took out the daggers and wiped them clean with his clothes before putting them back behind her loincloth.

"No one sneaks up on me without my permission," Zaigar whispered to the ear of the dead body and watched coldly at the blood coming out of him, staining everywhere.

The commotion brought the guests and the innkeeper to her room to see what was going on. Most of them recognized her and shrank away fearfully, fully aware of what her terror and wrath can do. The innkeeper was about to shout at her for staining his floor but decided against it when he saw Zaigar's eyes glowing bright in cold anger.

"Get this bastard out of my sight. You're lucky he aimed for me instead of your princess of a daughter."

Of course, she meant that sarcastically.

The innkeeper hastily ordered his lackies to clean up the mess. Some guests lingered to watch but Zaigar sent them splitting with a 'What the hell are you looking at?' glare. After everything was done, Zaigar heaved a sigh and slammed the door closed with her eyes closed, trying to will off the glow.

As she moved towards the bed and threw herself on it, she said quietly, "You can come out now, pauper. The cost is clear. By the way, thanks for saving me from being defiled by that bastard."

"Eh," Dante said offhandedly, peering out from the shadows. He was actually somewhat impressed with her coldness, but didn't feel like showing it. "You're welcome."

Hell, if she didn't know that he was in here before the man, he wasn't going to tell her.

"Perhaps you should lock the door, though. Then people wouldn't be able to get in, you know?"

He turned, knowing he was stating the obvious, and examined the door. The cheap lock mechanism was easy to break into, but it did seem to be in working condition. He shut the door, pressing the button in the center of the doorknob to lock it, then rattled the knob.

"Eh, see? It works."

Easy to pop, yeah, but a bit of a lock was better than no lock when against a drunk rapist. He twisted the knob, causing the button to loudly pop out, and opened the door again, letting a pale beam of light in the room.

Zaigar watched nonchalantly as the pauper stated the obvious. Of course she could've locked the door, but she didn't bothered to. If the pauper hadn't helped her wound the rapist she would've still taken him down easily. When the pauper opened the door again and light streamed softly into the room, she sighed boredly.

"Yes, you made your point quite obviously," Zaigar said as she took another swig of her Bloody Baron. "Don't think I didn't know you were here before that man. I caught a glimpse of you when I was sending that bastard into the afterlife. Half-breed, you see? A half-gargoyle with the same night-vision as the real deal."

She lay back onto the bed, her body slightly heating up by the booze she just drank. One thing about Bloody Baron was that although it had a great taste, it delivers a rather nasty heat all over your body and send you into pools of sweat in about an hour after you consume it, and it was taking effect right now.

Ignoring the presence of the pauper--a man nonetheless--she removed her boots and every armour she had hidden in her, then the knots on her loincloth and upper body clothing and left it at that, letting the cold night air rush in to cool her off from the heat created by the booze.

She realized she was being stared at and whispered in her drunken state, "What? Have you not seen a woman undress before? Remember what I can do to you if you have any bright ideas."

With that, the alcohol quickly took over her state of mind and sent her into a deep slumber, her clothes left neglected and exposed.

ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Raze

Cry A Little

Zaigar lay on one of the skyscrapers for her usual nap. She rather enjoy high places as it gives her the rush, but most importantly it gave her some belonging of her clan that had rejected her because of from whom she was spawned: a gargoyle mother and a human father. Gargoyles are known to like perching on high places and she definitely was one of them.

Correction. She was half of them.

And she thought only humans know how to discriminate.

As she slowly succumb into her slumber, she suddenly heard from a distance a long, soft lullaby. She couldn't tell which building from the suspended city it was coming from, but she could tell that it was far at her right. As she listened, it was the ever familiar lullaby which her father used to sing her to sleep:

CLOSE YOUR EYES, MY LITTLE JEWEL
TRY AND DREAM YOUR SORROWS AWAY
FORGET THE WORLD YOU'RE BORN IN
AND LIVE IN THE WORLD YOU'RE GOING IN

CLOSE YOUR EYES, MY LITTLE DARLING
DON'T DWELL IN THIS LIFE
WHERE NOTHING CAN BE SEEN
BUT DARKNESS IN THE NIGHT

FEEL FREE TO CRY
FEEL FREE TO SIGH
BUT DON'T CRY FOR ME WHO IS LOST...

Memories of her father when he was alive flooded into Zaigar's mind. How she missed those days where she used to enjoy the hunting life with him. She may not want to admit it but the loss of her love Ormack was next to nothing compared to the loss of her father who loved her as who she is and not what she is. A bittersweet memory but a memory she held dear nonetheless.

As the lullaby kept echoing throughout the Crossing, she, for the first time in her life after Ormack, cried...

Raze was smoking another cigarette, he hated the things, but preferred them over other drugs as he could at least keep himself clear headed. Such was important anymore, and especially when one was walking along a rather thin beam, bordered by a very large drop to one side. He too found heights alluring, it was much quieter higher up, even when wall amblers were there to keep you company. He hadn’t ever minded them much, and actually quite envied them.

But yes, he was smoking, blowing smoke rings actually and not paying any particular attention to what he was doing when he missed a step and quite nearly fell off of the building. After regaining his balance he was off the beam quickly, panting a little and he heard a very faint sound from far off, some sort of song, drifting over the tops of the buildings.

He cocked his head curiously, you didn’t usually hear songs being sung in this place, let alone a lullaby. He found the tune quite catchy, if a little depressing and actually maybe a little comforting, and he started to hum it to himself as he started across a bridge (safely in the middle this time). His pale eyes were searching for threats automatically, to make sure no one was taking offense to his coming across he spotted the small blue skinned figure apparently sleeping though she, it, was moving quite a bit.

He frowned as he came closer, the cigarette in his lips drooping lower with the expression. He wondered what was the matter with her, as he got even closer his sharp eyes could pick out a clearer facial expression. She was crying. What little nobility and chivalry that was in him brought itself out in a charge and he ditched his cigarette over the side of the building as he moved towards her cautiously.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he began cutting over the constant sound of the city. “But you seem to be having some troubles, might I comfort you somehow?” He asked face with an open expression, eyes bright and hopeful. Helping people usually gave him a feeling like he might actually not be going completely to hell. (This was a lie, but it was still nice.)

Zaigar was slightly startled at the voice of the stranger who approached her. She could tell from the colour of his eyes that he was a were-creature, just not sure what kind. Not that she cared. Depression was all she felt right now. She never felt this sad before. Usually she was able to conquer anything and not shed a single tear. She had no regrets and no dwelling upon anything that she had done, aside from murdering Ormack, and she never say sorry for anything.

Now, she was like a lost puppy. A child who just lost her mother to the hands of the Grim Reaper. It was devastating to think that one simple insignificant lullaby can bring the worst of her emotions. The emotions that she never wanted and never thought could feel. She buried her face in her knees and muttered, "Go away. There's nothing you can do to comfort me, were-being. Just leave me here to die..."

"Surely you don't mean that," he said smiling half-heartedly in response to her admonitionment. Why not leave her alone? He could give a shit about her problems, or anyone else's but his own. Such was the way the city made you. You had to fend for yourself, period. But you had to live for other people, otherwise it was all for naught.

So he stayed put. He would try and help, maybe do his good deed for the decade. He looked down and away for a moment, thoughtfully, and then started speaking again.

"What's making you so sad? You have this whole city," he stopped and gestured out across the buildings and general chaos that made up the hellhole of a place. "There's so much to live for, so much to see, to do." This was a lie of course, that was why this city was called Aimless, but it was a good lie.

"You must have something to live for," he continued, insistent, nodding as he walked around her in a slow circle, glancing at her occasionally. Sadness was no good. Depression was no good. There was enough in the city as it was, there was in him for shit's sake.

She peeked from her knee-caps at the were-creature who was pacing around her and giving her silent glances. Lies! A whole pack of lies. There was nothing for her to live in this place. She had lost her father. She had lost the only person that she loved. She had no relatives and she definitely was not an accpeted member of her gargoyle clan. What else could she live for? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Unless...

"Maybe you're right," Zaigar replied silently, keeping her face still hidden in her knees. "Maybe there is something I live for, just not the kind of place I would want it to happen."

The were-creature looked at her with slight interest, as if curious to know what was her purpose in life that made her still alive today. Well, since she knew that Aimless was not the place to want to have something to live for and she was going to pursue death sooner or later anyway, she had nothing to lose telling him what it was.

"I do have something to live for. A purpose of meeting a true love and have a family with him and to make up to myself for all the lost hours I've wasted on..."

Silence ensued. Zaigar smiled inwardly. She could tell that the were-creature was thinking her ideas rather absurd.

"Like I said. Not the place for my purpose to live on. Death is so much better, don't you think?"

ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Oliver

Running From A Nightmare

Zaigar found herself standing at the edge of a cliff. She was surrounded by the dark toxic mists of this god forsaken land she was born in and there was nowhere else to go and nowhere else to hide.

She was trapped. Trapped like a prey she often hunted.

Out of the blue, someone emerged from the mists. He had those striking blue eyes and golden blonde hair. Standing tall at 7 feet 6, his body was glowing a fiery red and his eyes were glaring menacingly at her with a vengeance. Both his throat, wrists and ankles were dripping with blood.

It was Ormack. Ormack the Eldritch.

Her love. Her best friend.

"You killed me, Zaigar. You killed me..." His raspy voice echoed throughout the cliff. Zaigar suddenly felt her old scar burning with new pain. She doubled over and cried.

"You deserve to die! You betrayed my love! You betrayed our friendship! You rather believe someone's lies than your best friend's truth! You deserve to die!"

"You killed me...You will pay..."

"I loved you, and yet you tried to kill me! You don't deserve to live! You should die! Go away! Go to hell! Just LEAVE ME ALONE~!!!"

What she didn't realize was that Ormack had already reached his hands over to her and pushed her down, falling and falling and falling deeper to the depths of the cliff below...

*

Zaigar woke up with a start. She almost lost her footing. She grabbed the nearest most solid roof tile she could reach and held on, while spreading her wings to let herself stay in the midair. She heaved a silent sigh and climbed back up the roof of the tower she was napping on. As she massaged her temples, she muttered wearily to herself.

"Ormack...Why can't you just leave me alone...? Just...die..."

“God...it’s too early for this...” Oliver yawned out as he trudged along the high-rise.

Oliver was searching for vampires. His search for vampires had brought him to the high rise as he hoped to find an allusive and powerful vampire, Morgana. She though not physically powerful held an uncanny ability to scale, stick to, and hang from sheer faces of almost any surface.

Oliver, who had been searching all morning, almost made the decision to give up when something caught his eye. It was a girl but not a normal woman, a half-breed.

“Well it can’t hurt to try.” Oliver thought as he hopped up to the place where the Half-breed had steadied her self.

"You seemed troubled.” He said calmly as he leaned against a great support of the high-rise. “I’ve an open ear and an open day if you wish to talk.” He finished. Oliver loved to talk for in words he found a skill much greater than physical prowess.

Zaigar was almost caught offguard. Waking up from sleep proved to be her weakest moment because whenever she awakes from a nightmare, her brain would stop functioning for a minute or so and that would be her most vulnerable time.

She quickly brandished her dagger and aimed it at the throat of the person who greeted her, and without warning, made him bleed a little. As soon as he backed away in horror was then Zaigar realized what she had done. She pocketed the dagger and look at him as if nothing happened, saying coldly, "My affairs are none of your concern. Leave me."

Though deep inside she really wanted to let it all out...

“Heh... you mustn’t keep all of you emotions to your self, you’ll just explode in a murderous rage...” Oliver said wiping his throat. It wouldn’t matter a bit though... maybe a stake to the heart or silver but not a common knife.

“I’m a vampire...as you can see...more or less a reluctant vampire... I only eat when I have to...not that I’m a saint mind you” he finished taking a seat only a few feet from her. Any other day Oliver would have tried to seduce her. Today though he was interested, she was different she intrigued him.

He looked up at her and sighed “Tell me your story...you obviously want to...” he finished as he closed his eyes, he’d not slept all day.

Zaigar remained silent. She would never open up to anyone unless she really, REALLY trusted that person. Here she was looking at the vampire whom she met just a few minutes asking her to pour out her deepest, darkest secrets, as if he had known her for years. Never! She would never reveal herself. She was not a weakling. She's a hunter. A hunter with pride.

"It seems that you prefer to slumber more than listen to my woes," Zaigar replied. "You might as well enjoy your sleep and be grateful I've spared your life."

Seeing that she had received no response from the vampire, it was obvious that he had slept, and obvious that he hadn't eaten for a while, judging by the pale look on his face. Vampire. The creature of the night. A being that sucks the lifeforce out of the living and make it their own. One who would kill and leave the victim a walking corpse. She crawled silently towards the vampire and continued to stare. He seemed almost like a pretty boy. A little skinny, but pretty handsome nonetheless, with his chocolate hair and everything.

'He must've been very young before he's like this,' Zaigar thought to herself. 'How old was he? 18? 19? Who knows. Such a young age to die...'

Death. Zaigar had thought of that for a while. Maybe once too often. Sometimes she wished that the thief had never saved her from the river she was thrown into. Then she would've just died in peace and she would never have to bear the vengeance that led her to kill Ormack and she would never have to bear the pain and guilt she was feeling right now in the aftermath. She had caused so much death later in the years as a hunter, both to the animals that she hunted and the people that have offended her. Sometimes she did that just because she wanted that person to come overand kill her for revenge. But no matter what she did, when the vengeful person or friend or family member who wants to avenge their significant other's death, she held her ground and fought to save her life and to stay alive. It's a mixed feeling. She wanted to die yet lack the courage to allow it.

'Maybe...Maybe I'm the only one who can spell my own death,' Zaigar thought as she took out the dagger that she had used to attack the vampire before. Holding her wrist over the vampire's pale face, she removed the black bandage and laid the tip of the dagger on it. A sharp pain and the feeling of coldness came to her as she ran the cold blade onto her lifeline. She then lowered her bleeding wrist onto the vampire's slightly open lips and whispered:

"May my death be of good use to you..."

ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Ayrania 2

Alcoholic

Ayrania had snapped completely. She completely broke emotionally, causing her to spend every hour of the day by herself, not wanting to deal with the emotions of other people. Oh how she loathed them... how they could walk around every day with smiles on their faces, pretending nothing was wrong with their lives...

Ayrania, however, could not pretend that her life didn't just fall down around her. Nothing could have prepared her for the loss of magic. It was total and couldn't be reversed. Ayrania was of normal temperature, and her best defense in the world of Darken Weste was now gone...

She had tried to help Andrew get rid of a demon. But, the demon had lashed out against her, and had 'saved' her by destroying her ice magic. Now she couldn't even chill the glass in her hand, let alone attack with her magic or used her enchated sword. That weapon lay in Derelict somewhere, abandonded because she couldn't touch it.

But the worst part of the entire situation.... was Lumiere. After the loss of her magic, when she was feeling her absolute worst... He then revealed he was a father. Had he told Ayrania before, she wouldn't have been angry. But, he never said a thing, not once.

In her depression, Ayra did what any other sensible person in Darken Weste would do... she drank. And she drank heavily at that. But, she never drank enough to lose conciousness. No, instead she walked back to her shop in Ariath every night, bottle clutched in her hand, and went to sleep there instead of on the streets. She'd awake with a hangover and then repeat the process.

Currently she was in the first stage, where she was drinking, but was still quite sober. Everyone avoided her, knowing that if they were to say a thing to her, she'd lash out. And even without magic, her normal sword was still sharp and deadly. Many feared or hated her presence... but the bartender was joyous.

"Anything I can get you, m'lady?" he said with a chuckle. He asked her this after every drink, knowing the answer of 'the usual'. She would then place a few coins on the bar, down her drink, and order another. On it would go until she ordered the rest of the bottle and went home.

Tonight, however, she didn't place the coins on the table. She reached for her drink, and the bartender held it just out of her reach.

"No money, no drink," he said.

It happened in a flash; Ayrania leapt from her seat and over the bar, unsheathing her sword; the drink went flying and the man was pressed again the wall.

"Don't mess with me," she said, staring him him with bloodshot eyes. Her sword pressed against his neck, and he whimpered, muttering something along the lines of 'take what you want'. She nodded and put her sword away, grabbing a random bottle before heading outside.

Sitting against the wall of the building, she opened the bottle just as thunder struck overhead and rain poured from the sky. She never had a chance to feel cold, as the drink began to spread warmth throughout her body.

Sitting at a corner, Zaigar was quietly sipping her usual Bloody Baron drink. She saw the whole thing with Ayrania jumping onto the bartender and grabbing a bottle and all.

She remembered her barely. The last time she saw her was at Silver Dale when they revealed their inner secrets and past, and after Zaigar had given her the pendant Ayrania's mother passed to her father before she died, Ayrania was a distant memory. If there is one thing about Zaigar, she can eliminate unwanted memories as she pleases. It keeps her off any strings attached. The one thing she could never forget was her past, and that was enough for her bitter brain to contain.

As she continued to sip her drink she reflected back at her outburst before. There was something different about her. She didn't seem to look like the cold Sword Dancer Elf she met before. She looked more bitter the last time she saw her. Before she was ready to die and leave the world and all, now she was just punishing herself for not being dead. It was as if she was asking for death but not given to her. Zaigar sighed. Could this be a sign? That she was asking for death? Might as well do her a favour.

She picked up her Bloody Baron, paid for it and went outside. It was raining, so she brought the hood across her head and walked over to the wall where she was sitting against. The Elf didn't seem to notice the rain nor her coming, so she broke the ice.

"Ayrania, I thought that hair and attire looked familiar."

Still, the Elf didn't answer her. She unsheathed her sword and said, "You remember our deal in Silver Dale? About thinking of me if you wish death. Seems like fate has brought us to meet again. Would you like me to do you that favour this time?"

So saying, she brandished the sword and touched the tip of it to the Elf's throat.

Ayrania didn't notice another's presence until a sword was at her neck. She didn't more or even blink, but instead took another swig from the bottle in her hands.

"Just do it."

Her words were simple, and emotionless. It seemed like she didn't care about life or death, she didn't necissarily want either of them. Completely unbiased, she simply continued to drink until the bottle was half empty.

"I would do it myself if I had any motivation... but you can do it if you want."

These few words were quite depressing in the way they were used. Last time Ayrania had thought about suicide, she actually tried to herself but knew she couldn't. Now, however, it just seemed like she just didn't care at all. And if she had real motivation, she probably would kill herself.

But, honestly, nothing really commanded her to do it, so she wouldn't. She would just sit there, drinking, or let Zaigar kill her.

"Go on, I really don't mind."

She took another swig from the bottle.

Zaigar pressed the tip harder onto the elf's neck, not yet ready to make her move. She was rather surprised at Ayrania's reaction. She knew she was suicidal, but she didn't think that she was THAT suicidal. It felt a little bit different to kill someone without a fight. Her previous victims used to either fight the daylights out of her or begged for mercy, but no this one. This was new.

"You asked for it," Zaigar let out a sigh before making her move, slitting her throat as she went. Blood flew at every corner and every direction as her skillful hands cut some more on the elf's wrists and ankles. It was almost the same way as herself when she was tortured by Ormack, but a lot kinder than her own experience. The elf made no attempt to fight. She just slipped slowly to the ground, waiting for her bleeding to claim her life.

Zaigar cleaned her sword and put it away. She stood there and watched as the elf lying on her own pool of blood, staining the entire ground they were on in red. Zaigar knew it would be a slow, painful death for her because unlike humans, elves take longer time to bleed to death and have plenty of time to get help and stop the bleeding. Zaigar just stood there, taking a swig of her Bloody Baron and watched to make sure that she had completed her job.

That was when she saw the pendant she returned to her back in Silver Dale. It was shining bright under the pale moon as the rain slowly stopped. She remembered the last words the elf's mother said before giving this pendant to her father.

"Give this...to my...Little Sword...Dancer..."

Without warning and without realizing it, Zaigar removed her hood and tore off a few straps from it. She bandaged Ayrania's jugular and her wrists and ankles tight enough to keep the pressure and stop the bleeding. She took out a small tiny vial and poured its contents onto the bandages and it created a small layer of protection around it. After making sure every bandage was covered with the solution, she wore her hood back and walked off, taking a swig of her Bloody Baron as she went.

"You're lucky. Your mother has plans for you..."

Ayrania endured the pain without so much as a twitch. The blood gushing out of her was a sign that soon it would all be over. Sure, now that the deed was done she felt some regret, but she didn't care. It was over now. All those painful memories would be gone... it was done.

Then, Zaigar decided to start bandaging the wounds she had just inflicted. Anger coursed through Ayrania. What was the point? She had already lost a lot of blood. She would have objected of fought back, but she was weak from the injuries.

At her last few words, Ayrania felt suddenly numb and quite empty inside. A sickening feeling started at the pit of her stomach. Ayrania would have said something, anything, if her throat didn't hurt so bad.

Instead, she merely watched as Zaigar walked away.

ENCHANTI/AIMLESS - Zaigar vs Michael

Not Such Petty Theft

Quietly now...not a sound...not a breath...only movement.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment in the darkness, creeping underneath the floorboards of The Lotus as he brushed the cobwebs away from his face, squeezing his arm underneath his body as he crawled forward. He could hear the commotion above, the usual crowd of drunkards participating in their merryment. However, this young boy, this vagabond urchin, was here for something else.

He'd found the hole in the wall behind the building a couple weeks ago, and the path under the floorboards which it led to, but only in the last couple of days had he made the crawl, and seen where the tunnel went to. At the end, the crawlspace curved sharply upward, and through a small crack in the wooden wall Michael could see where he was.

The Money Room.

Every gold coin, every crumpled paper bill that passed through the Lotus, ended up in this room, at the back of the bar behind more than a few locked and guarded doors, to be counted and sorted for the owner to add to his personal wealth. And, being the most popular bar in town, the size of a warehouse almost, there was a lot of money to be had. The last time he had made the crawl Michael had been too nervous to do anything, to try and move the latch, the small hidden hinged door into the back, and take anything...but this time...this time would be different.

Figuring he was about halfway through the crawlspace now, the boy continued, underneath the drinking section of the bar, hoping that his labor today would not go unrewarded.

Michael heard the crack of wood, the sickening splitting of the floor just inches from his feet, and saw the light that had before only creeped in through cracks flood in through a new hole. The fact that it had been a sword pierced through the floor registered within the young boy's mind as well, the finely sharpened blade shining in the newfound light. However, there was one thought, one prevalent message, that oversaw all of these realizations in Michael's mind.

Oh Shit.

Michael held his breath as he felt it rush up from his lungs, putting his head down and beginning to crawl forward with as much of both speed and stealth as his 12 year old body could muster. Now, without thinking, the boy lunged forward, his only goal to reach the end. The task had changed from one of the mind to one of the body, and the appropriate responses became readily apparent. Sweat beaded on Michael's forehead, the dust of the underground passage smearing down his face, and Michael's heart pounded through his body, pulsing in his ears with a noise that sounded insidiously like the word "fire".

Please...please let me make it...please...

Michael could hear people talking now, voices flooding into the passage...somebody must have alerted the bar's manager or owner by now. The voices grew louder, and louder still as Michael crawled forward. The noise was astounding, and Michael felt as if he were drowning in a sea of sound. Gasping for air, Michael opened his eyes wide as it all went silent for a moment, and then a sinister voice, one that Michael thought he should have known, but couldn't recognize, flooded in to his mind.

Now, my child...know your fate...dream once more of the flames.

Michael jumped up, and as he was located in a tunnel, hit his head sharply on the top of the passage as the world began to spin. The last thing he saw as it went dark were the flames ushering forth from his fingertips, the way he'd hoped they never would again.

"Oh my," Ayrania said after she surveyed the damage. Three dead men, and a hole in the floor. The bartender said nothing about the men she had just killed. He was quite used to murders in his pub. The hole in the floor, however, caught his eye. He stared at it for a moment, transfixed.

Then they both heard the scurrying below them, and the bartender swore loudly. "A thief!" he cried.

"Aren't we all?" Ayrania said in an annoyed voice before sitting at the bar as if nothing had happened. "A bottle of the strongest thing you have, please."

"You're not getting one damn thing until that theif is GONE!" he yelled loudly, occasionaly swearing.

"Fine, I'll serve myself," she said, hopping over the counter. But when she was on the other side, she stopped, her eyes wide. "Hey, do you smell that?"

"Smell what?" he asked, sniffing the air.

"Smoke..." She glanced at the floorboards, watching as thick black smoke came through the cracks. Immediately she took a few steps back, her eyes wide. She hatedfire. Her element was ice, and fire melted ice very quickly. It was painful for her to so much as get near fire. The smoke was like a deadly warning to her.

"A thief, and a fire!!!" the bartender cried out angrily.

Then the entirety of the floorboards caught on fire.

Michael reeled within the cavernous expanse of his own mind. Darkness stretched out for what seemed like an eternity around him, with nothing save for a single burning spotlight upon the boy's figure, suspended in mid air. Michael looked around him, still in a daze as he rubbed his head.

"Where...where am I?"

The darkness, with those words, was no longer as flames spread from Michael's body, searing outwards in a blast of heat, Michael gripping his hands to his ears as a shrill noise filled his very thoughts, his very existense.

"Now, my child, you shall see what exactly pain is..."

The flames within Michael's dream faded away as a new scene came into view. Frozen within a crystal ball, Michael looked outward, at first unable to see anything, but as the sphere slowly turned, Michael saw a face, distorted and demonic, staring him in the eyes, with fiery irises and skin as black as soot. Observing more, Michael looked around him, and saw that this massive creature, the size of a building, held the crystal sphere in his hands.

"Or perhaps now is not the time after all.

The creature...whatever it was...crushed the globe, and Michael inside of it, into pieces as the dreamworld collapsed and Michael regained consciousness.

Screaming, Michael felt pain like no other course through his body, eye opening, mind shattering pain. Throwing his hands upward, Michael began convulsing as the fires which had before only spread from his hands now erupted, much faster than before, from his entire body.

Zaigar was shaken awake as she heard the screams. She stretched nonchalantly and saw that the young boy was screaming and thrashing his hands wildly about as if trying to get rid of some unseen force. The bandages she did for him were slowly tearing off, revealing his scalded skin.

She walked quickly towards him and landed her hands onto his wrists, trying to stop him from fidgeting. She tried to call out to him to knock some sense back to him in vain. She could feel his whole body heating up, as if there was a fire starting within him. He needed something to cool off, and quick.

With one hand holding down both his wrists, she searched in her pockets the cooling phial. As soon as her fingers touched the cold phial, she fished it out, uncorked it with her mouth, emptied it of its content and advanced her lips quickly towards the boy's. Using her tongue as a funnel, she dipped the cooling liquid into the boy's mouth and tipped his head to make him swallow it. Soon he calmed down and returned to his peaceful slumber.

Zaigar was rather surprised when she found him. She was getting ready to check into The Lotus for today when she heard about the fire. Someone had brought the fire under control, but the mention of a theif struck her. She made her way round the Money Room and saw this boy stuck halfway through his getaway route, twitching and convulsing with soot and burns all over his body. Zaigar wasn't someone to take compassion but something told her that saving him was the right thing to do. Before she knew it, she undid her robe, pulled the boy out and wrapped him with it before checking in, lying to the manager that it was some bounty she picked up.

As the hours went by, the boy slowly stirred. While he sat up, she said coldly, "You woke me up quite a bit, you lil' tart. What's you story?"

"That's it, I'm outta here," Ayrania muttered as the fire began to grow, inching towards her. Immediately she made for the door, but the bartender stopped her.

"Help me put this fire out and you'll get free drinks for a life-time!" he said. He knew the offer would be tempting to her, seeing as she was border-line alcoholic.

"You've got a deal!" she said enthusiastically. It would take a bit of magic, probably drain her, but she could put the fire out. She didn't want to, but she would.

See, Ayrania was adept with ice magic, not water. There is a difference. But, she still knew some water magic. With a sigh, she walked out the door.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING!?" the bartender screamed. But, she appreantly ignored him. She came back a few minutes later.

"You have no idea how lucky you are," she said with a smile. "You've got a well out front..."

The water rose from the well as one giantic liquid blob, and then flew threw the door and at the fire. In one hit, the fire were clenched. He stared at her, his eyes wide.

"Now where's my free drink?"

Michael awoke groggily, his head feling like it had been hit extremely hard from behind with something very hard and very large. At first, he couldn't see anything, the world swimming through a pattern of odd colors as it slowly settled into focus, the young boy shaking his head back and forth a few times before he heard Zaigar speak.

The voice startled him, and Michael jumped backwards a bit, clamoring to his feet and backing off of the wall, circling around to this new figure's left.

"Who are you...where am I..."

Michael asked with a voice that was more hardened and cold than any 12 year old's should have been. Then the boy had a sudden epiphany and realized who he was talking to.

The figure that had swooped over him as the water ran down his face and the world faded, who had picked him up and saved him from certain punishment by a very angry bar owner. Losing his defensive demeanor, Michael held his head low, now embarassed.

"I'm sorry...I didn't recognize you at first. Thank you...for whatever you did."

Zaigar was rather taken aback when the boy questioned about his whereabout. It wasn't some voice any small kid would make unless he had been through years and years of turmoil and suffering. But then his features slowly softened and his voice weakening, like he was another different person altogether. When she heard him apologize, she began to think maybe he's having schizo or something.

"No offence taken," Zaigar replied in her cold, distant manner. "Was just around the neighbourhood. You've created quite a stir at the Money Room. I heard those guys are still looking for you though. So, what's your story?"

The boy didn't seem to be willing to talk, and Zaigar wasn't the person to either wait or pry into people's business. But she could tell he was hungry. She rummaged through her pouch and took the remaining smoked fish she caught last night and handed towards him. She's not the kind to offer help, but somehow she's feeling a bit generous, surprisingly. Her cold golden-yellow eyes bore deep into his as she asked:

"The name's Zaigar. What's yours, little tart?"

Michael looked for a couple seconds upon this female before him, thinking to himself if he should lay down a couple of his cards, and tempt fate with what he could. After a few moments of deliberation, his answer became clear, and somewhat reluctantly, Michael gave up a response.

"My name is Michael, and thanks again for saving me."

That's when the memories of the flames became a bit more detailed. Michael hadn't seen anything that would have started a fire in the underground passage, nothing that would have...spontaneously combusted.

"Tell me something...please...do they know what started the fire?"

"Unfortunately no, boy. I just got here. The fire was under control."

Zaigar saw the relief look on his face, then leaned forward to his face and whispered, "I hope it's not because of your doing, though. You seemed to have the power of Pyrox."

The boy seemed stunned and overcome with guilt. Zaigar grinned inwardly. She somehow takes pleasure in looking at people in distress, and kind of gives her the sense of power, like she was in control of the situation. Then the boy looked confused. Zaigar could tell he didn't understand what that name she mentioned was. It was a term taught by the man she wished would not haunt her dreams anymore than she wanted him dead.

"Pyrox. It's a type of inner power in gifted people to create fire due to their emotions. Usually novices of this power cannot control it and when their emotions get intense, their body will create fire as self-defence. When trained, they can use fire at will. You wouldn't happen to be a Pyrox, would you?"

Michael listened intently as Zaigar explained this power to him, and couldn't help but shiver as she told him her name for it. Pyrox, the word itself sounded like fire as it rolled off the tongue, seeming to burn with an acidic bitterness across the lips.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about. That's preposterous, that somebody could just...create fire at will. I'm no eldritch, I'm just a kid!"

By the end of this sentence, Michael was practically shouting, pent up frustration flowing from his throat in the form of caustic words. Fears and doubts, resolved with this one simple word which Michael would vehemently deny the existence of.

"No...there's no way."

Backing defensively into a corner, Michael's shoulders hunched as his posture dropped, again into that almost animal-like defensive stance. His eyes grew somewhat manic for a fraction of a second, and for that brief period of time it almost appeared as if his eyes, for whatever reason, were tiny, brightly burning flames. It was at this moment that something broke inside of Michael, and he had only one overwhelming instinct.

To run.

"It isn't possible!"

Michael shouted as he blew past Zaigar, his 12 year old frame propelled forward with surprising speed. Quickly opening the door, Michael stepped into the upper halls of the Lotus, the inn's rooms, and looked around. Seeing only a window, the boy hurled himself forward, beads of sweat searing down his neck, steaming as an unearthly heat radiated off of Michael's body.

With a shatter of glass and a roar of flames, he was gone into the night.

Zaigar could see the rage that was in the little boy. The feeling of fire was raging throughout the entire room. It was no doubt that he was a Pyrox. She could feel it in the aura he was emitting. It felt horribly hot and bothered, and most of all, dangerous.

"It isn't possible!"

As she heard the loud scream from the boy, she knew he wasn't in a shape to be reasoning. She could feel om trying to bolt out of somewhere. A burst of flames suddenly covered him, like a human combustion. She need to get away fast before she herself becomes a human inferno.

Her hunter reflexes didn't fail her as the burning boy swept past her, smashed the glass and disappeared into the night. She opened the window and tried to look for him but there was nowhere of him to be seen. She let out a silent sigh.

"I gotta get out by dawn before they ask me to pay for this window."