Post by Rook on May 10, 2014 13:01:21 GMT -6
It’s pitiful, really… you being stuck as a mere, powerless human. May you regret that you ever wronged me. Once the time is right, I will have you hunted down. I will extract your soul from your frost-bitten body.
Hey, wouldn’t it be nice, Rook? For you to get a chance to be with your dear mother once again before you die?
“Well here I am.” The angel Drethiel spoke, with a voice unfamiliar to all but one in Wildgard. “But first, I do have business to attend to.”
________________________________________
Rook dragged her newly acquired broadsword through town square, stopping a moment to try and transport the weapon in a more efficient manner. Larger than her other sword, this blade was a challenge to say the least. Compared to what she had used before, this heavy-weighted monstrosity seemed like a poorly made choice. Not helping her situation, was the fact that she was rather inexperienced in battle, and relied on luck and unpredicted swings for a chance at victory. Her eyes defined her as a young individual consumed by flight or fight, rather than courage and ferocity. Many times she was too caught up in the confusion of mass battle, and sustained injury or had been knocked out cold due to these reasons.
Given the choice, the girl would rather flee from the danger and usher herself to safety, urging those she cared about to follow suit. But at the same time, it all lead back to the powerlessness and fragility that she felt was caused by being human. She didn’t have to run all the time. She should be perfectly capable of staring danger in the eye, and tackling it head on, no matter her race. She wanted to be brave, not useless. Practically everyone else was able to do it, so why couldn’t she?
Gripping the hilt of her sword once she was nearly at the Basilica, she looked around, eyeing up her surroundings for anyone who might see her. It was a chilly night, and Rook shivered, slightly invoking memories from the back of her head. No matter, though. She would practice, and learn to wield this weapon so she could be more than canon fodder for her fellow church members. Having a purpose and being an asset rather than a hindrance was her main goal. At least the length of this weapon would make it easier to jab at her opponents from afar.
Rook unsheathed the sword and lifted it up in front of her, feeling her muscles struggling to keep it at even the slightest of angles. She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment, but tried to brush it aside as there was no one to laugh at her struggles.
Or so she thought.
Rook heard someone clapping their hands from behind her. The cold seemed to ebb and flow now, and to her dismay – grow more frigid. Turning her head, her eyes grew wide. Her horrified expression met the playful smirk of Drethiel.
“It seems you’ve already grown tired of being powerless. I’m impressed that you can hold that thing by yourself.” Dreth stated icily, cutting through the distance between the two.
Rook stared at him, and felt the blood drain from her face. She gripped the sword tighter, finding her legs wouldn’t let her run. Through grit teeth, she hissed at him. “Leave. Now. I never want to see you again.” Her fear was apparent, but hate also seethed from her expression. “Leave Wildgard. There is nothing for you here. The human population isn’t even all that great, you could reap your fortunes elsewhere. Twofold or more!” The words she spat out made her sick. It was as if she was advocating that he ruin more lives and take even more souls of the unsuspecting and innocent. It was cowardice.
“Now, now, Rook. Perhaps it’s not quantity, but quality that I crave.” He took a few light steps towards her, suddenly within whispering range. “You were my dearest project that I failed to finish. Have you ever thought, that perhaps, I would like another chance to complete it?” His voice was barely audible by his last word. He stepped to her side and stroked Rook’s cheek where he had marked her so long ago. She flinched and shuddered, feeling his icy, mocking touch.
“You are merely human. I could possess you again, if and when I wanted to. Have you ever thought of that possibility? Does it keep you up at night? Has it been such a crippling idea, that you’ve hidden within the safe walls of the angel-warded church ever since? You’ve always had the potential to do more than just sit around or follow the pack, you know.” He cooed, and shifted his hand to her blade, running a finger upon the flat metal. “With the right encouragement of course…”
“Stop-“ She protested, but he interrupted her.
“You have ambition. You possess skill. The blood on your hands will exist no matter what you decide has ‘changed’ about you. See, Rook, you think that you’re so much different since our little separation. You believe it wasn’t really you who killed for petty reasons – you think that it was all me. But the throats you’ve slit remain throats you have slit. All I did was prod you in the right direction, since you seemed to be so compliant. Though I may have purified your soul once, do not think that you are innocent, or aren’t capable of such monstrous, selfish acts.” He grinned darkly up at her.
“I’ll make you regret that you ever approached me again! I’LL KILL YOU!” She spoke shakily.
The angel let out a bellowing laugh, and began to circle around her, as if she were some kind of pathetic joke. He brushed one hand across the back of her neck, and left her trembling – though not from the chill or any type of enjoyment. All she felt was anger, and the desire to finally take her revenge. It was time to settle things.
“So you’re saying that you’ve finally emerged, big and strong? You’re able to destroy me?” He chuckled, and ended off with a menacing tone. “I would love to see you try.”
At that moment, as if accepting the challenge, a scream ripped out of Rook’s throat, taking the angel aback. In one swift movement, she took off Drethiel’s left arm in a messy slash. A gasp escaped his lips, and he stumbled away from her, never taking his eyes off his missing limb as if it were life’s most puzzling mystery. His cold blood splattered the ground and was now seeping through the remains of his shirt.
“What?” He spoke quietly.
Rook’s eyes switched from his wound, to the dismembered arm lying on the ground, and this time it was she who let out the laughter.
“Oh, Drethiel. Does it hurt? How horrible it must be.” She lunged towards him and took another swing at the seemingly dumbstruck angel.
He tilted his head back in effort to protect his face from being sliced, but instead the sword struck his sternum on an angle, and ripped down his chest, where it became lodged in his ribs. An inhuman, grating shriek of pain came out from the angel, as he gripped the sword with his right hand, drawing more blood in a feeble effort to dislodge it. Rook just stared at the damage done.
Choking on blood, the angel began to fall limp, one arm missing and his lungs damaged. He could no longer speak. For the first time in a long time, she saw the pain set into Dreth’s face – and she was enjoying every minute of it. Seeing his plentiful blood stain the grass fueled the fire that burned in her chest.
As his grip began to fall weakly from the blade, she smiled.
“Why don’t I give you a hand with that.” She offered with the sweetest of undertones, and then viciously pulled the sword out of him. He fell forward onto his stomach, continuing to bleed into the ground amongst his dying noises.
Raising the sword up again, she stared down at the pitiful being that she had once feared. “No one will ever see you again.” She spat coldly, and began hacking and slashing at the body below her.
However – unbeknownst to her – before the first additional blow could be struck, his soul had already left the body. Every slice, every wrath-fueled swing that she dealt to it was for naught. Looking down at what she had done, she realized all too late that Drethiel hadn’t even bothered to spread his wings and fly away, nor to use his ice powers to defend himself in the slightest.
The scent of death, and the realization that she played right into the angel’s taunts suddenly brought upon hot, stinging tears. All evidence that Drethiel had been there had left the land. No chill in the air, no voices on the wind. She didn’t need him in her head to feel his influence. This was her first sober kill. Her clothes were soiled with blood, and the feeling of utter regret consumed her in the aftermath, never mind the pain in her muscles that made her wince once the adrenaline left her body. She dropped the sword unceremoniously, and collapsed into the bloody mess.
Drethiel had won this round, and left the body to go find another just in the nick of time. He would be back – she just wasn’t sure when, or as who. How foolish it was of her to think that she could kill an angel with the ability to swap bodies as if it were as easy as taking a breath.
“W-what have I…” she sobbed. Finishing the sentence wasn’t necessary. The target upon her head had been placed, and the motives for Drethiel’s possible revenge were set in stone. If she should die due to this recklessness, she just hoped that no one other than her would suffer the consequences. But for now, all she could really do was get rid of the evidence.
She slowly got up, wiped her tears and sheathed her weapon. The body as of now could not be easily transported, so she would have to dispose of it another way, possibly with help. After a moment of serious thought, she had a feeling that she knew just the person.
“I need to find Avail.” She whispered quietly, and took off towards the church, praying silently that it would be empty save for him upon her arrival. Rook wasn’t sure if she could hold herself together if any of the members saw her in this state.
Hey, wouldn’t it be nice, Rook? For you to get a chance to be with your dear mother once again before you die?
“Well here I am.” The angel Drethiel spoke, with a voice unfamiliar to all but one in Wildgard. “But first, I do have business to attend to.”
________________________________________
Rook dragged her newly acquired broadsword through town square, stopping a moment to try and transport the weapon in a more efficient manner. Larger than her other sword, this blade was a challenge to say the least. Compared to what she had used before, this heavy-weighted monstrosity seemed like a poorly made choice. Not helping her situation, was the fact that she was rather inexperienced in battle, and relied on luck and unpredicted swings for a chance at victory. Her eyes defined her as a young individual consumed by flight or fight, rather than courage and ferocity. Many times she was too caught up in the confusion of mass battle, and sustained injury or had been knocked out cold due to these reasons.
Given the choice, the girl would rather flee from the danger and usher herself to safety, urging those she cared about to follow suit. But at the same time, it all lead back to the powerlessness and fragility that she felt was caused by being human. She didn’t have to run all the time. She should be perfectly capable of staring danger in the eye, and tackling it head on, no matter her race. She wanted to be brave, not useless. Practically everyone else was able to do it, so why couldn’t she?
Gripping the hilt of her sword once she was nearly at the Basilica, she looked around, eyeing up her surroundings for anyone who might see her. It was a chilly night, and Rook shivered, slightly invoking memories from the back of her head. No matter, though. She would practice, and learn to wield this weapon so she could be more than canon fodder for her fellow church members. Having a purpose and being an asset rather than a hindrance was her main goal. At least the length of this weapon would make it easier to jab at her opponents from afar.
Rook unsheathed the sword and lifted it up in front of her, feeling her muscles struggling to keep it at even the slightest of angles. She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment, but tried to brush it aside as there was no one to laugh at her struggles.
Or so she thought.
Rook heard someone clapping their hands from behind her. The cold seemed to ebb and flow now, and to her dismay – grow more frigid. Turning her head, her eyes grew wide. Her horrified expression met the playful smirk of Drethiel.
“It seems you’ve already grown tired of being powerless. I’m impressed that you can hold that thing by yourself.” Dreth stated icily, cutting through the distance between the two.
Rook stared at him, and felt the blood drain from her face. She gripped the sword tighter, finding her legs wouldn’t let her run. Through grit teeth, she hissed at him. “Leave. Now. I never want to see you again.” Her fear was apparent, but hate also seethed from her expression. “Leave Wildgard. There is nothing for you here. The human population isn’t even all that great, you could reap your fortunes elsewhere. Twofold or more!” The words she spat out made her sick. It was as if she was advocating that he ruin more lives and take even more souls of the unsuspecting and innocent. It was cowardice.
“Now, now, Rook. Perhaps it’s not quantity, but quality that I crave.” He took a few light steps towards her, suddenly within whispering range. “You were my dearest project that I failed to finish. Have you ever thought, that perhaps, I would like another chance to complete it?” His voice was barely audible by his last word. He stepped to her side and stroked Rook’s cheek where he had marked her so long ago. She flinched and shuddered, feeling his icy, mocking touch.
“You are merely human. I could possess you again, if and when I wanted to. Have you ever thought of that possibility? Does it keep you up at night? Has it been such a crippling idea, that you’ve hidden within the safe walls of the angel-warded church ever since? You’ve always had the potential to do more than just sit around or follow the pack, you know.” He cooed, and shifted his hand to her blade, running a finger upon the flat metal. “With the right encouragement of course…”
“Stop-“ She protested, but he interrupted her.
“You have ambition. You possess skill. The blood on your hands will exist no matter what you decide has ‘changed’ about you. See, Rook, you think that you’re so much different since our little separation. You believe it wasn’t really you who killed for petty reasons – you think that it was all me. But the throats you’ve slit remain throats you have slit. All I did was prod you in the right direction, since you seemed to be so compliant. Though I may have purified your soul once, do not think that you are innocent, or aren’t capable of such monstrous, selfish acts.” He grinned darkly up at her.
“I’ll make you regret that you ever approached me again! I’LL KILL YOU!” She spoke shakily.
The angel let out a bellowing laugh, and began to circle around her, as if she were some kind of pathetic joke. He brushed one hand across the back of her neck, and left her trembling – though not from the chill or any type of enjoyment. All she felt was anger, and the desire to finally take her revenge. It was time to settle things.
“So you’re saying that you’ve finally emerged, big and strong? You’re able to destroy me?” He chuckled, and ended off with a menacing tone. “I would love to see you try.”
At that moment, as if accepting the challenge, a scream ripped out of Rook’s throat, taking the angel aback. In one swift movement, she took off Drethiel’s left arm in a messy slash. A gasp escaped his lips, and he stumbled away from her, never taking his eyes off his missing limb as if it were life’s most puzzling mystery. His cold blood splattered the ground and was now seeping through the remains of his shirt.
“What?” He spoke quietly.
Rook’s eyes switched from his wound, to the dismembered arm lying on the ground, and this time it was she who let out the laughter.
“Oh, Drethiel. Does it hurt? How horrible it must be.” She lunged towards him and took another swing at the seemingly dumbstruck angel.
He tilted his head back in effort to protect his face from being sliced, but instead the sword struck his sternum on an angle, and ripped down his chest, where it became lodged in his ribs. An inhuman, grating shriek of pain came out from the angel, as he gripped the sword with his right hand, drawing more blood in a feeble effort to dislodge it. Rook just stared at the damage done.
Choking on blood, the angel began to fall limp, one arm missing and his lungs damaged. He could no longer speak. For the first time in a long time, she saw the pain set into Dreth’s face – and she was enjoying every minute of it. Seeing his plentiful blood stain the grass fueled the fire that burned in her chest.
As his grip began to fall weakly from the blade, she smiled.
“Why don’t I give you a hand with that.” She offered with the sweetest of undertones, and then viciously pulled the sword out of him. He fell forward onto his stomach, continuing to bleed into the ground amongst his dying noises.
Raising the sword up again, she stared down at the pitiful being that she had once feared. “No one will ever see you again.” She spat coldly, and began hacking and slashing at the body below her.
However – unbeknownst to her – before the first additional blow could be struck, his soul had already left the body. Every slice, every wrath-fueled swing that she dealt to it was for naught. Looking down at what she had done, she realized all too late that Drethiel hadn’t even bothered to spread his wings and fly away, nor to use his ice powers to defend himself in the slightest.
The scent of death, and the realization that she played right into the angel’s taunts suddenly brought upon hot, stinging tears. All evidence that Drethiel had been there had left the land. No chill in the air, no voices on the wind. She didn’t need him in her head to feel his influence. This was her first sober kill. Her clothes were soiled with blood, and the feeling of utter regret consumed her in the aftermath, never mind the pain in her muscles that made her wince once the adrenaline left her body. She dropped the sword unceremoniously, and collapsed into the bloody mess.
Drethiel had won this round, and left the body to go find another just in the nick of time. He would be back – she just wasn’t sure when, or as who. How foolish it was of her to think that she could kill an angel with the ability to swap bodies as if it were as easy as taking a breath.
“W-what have I…” she sobbed. Finishing the sentence wasn’t necessary. The target upon her head had been placed, and the motives for Drethiel’s possible revenge were set in stone. If she should die due to this recklessness, she just hoped that no one other than her would suffer the consequences. But for now, all she could really do was get rid of the evidence.
She slowly got up, wiped her tears and sheathed her weapon. The body as of now could not be easily transported, so she would have to dispose of it another way, possibly with help. After a moment of serious thought, she had a feeling that she knew just the person.
“I need to find Avail.” She whispered quietly, and took off towards the church, praying silently that it would be empty save for him upon her arrival. Rook wasn’t sure if she could hold herself together if any of the members saw her in this state.
