Chapter 7: The Mists of Spirits

He looks in the mirror at himself, thinking - hoping - that his curse shan't last for all of eternity.
The light of dark. Find them and perhaps...just perhaps...the curse shall be lifted.
The words of the witch returns to him. He shakes his head, wondering what or who the Light of Dark was. How many? How to find them. Medea was unable to provide him with any information...yet. He had no doubt it will be revealed to him. Soon enough...but he prayed it would be none too late.

Returning to the real, he finds his thoughts all occupied with the one named Rowan. The Evil one. The harbringer of death. It will be a must to end her existance in this world. His duty, his own cursed duty to do as such - to take another life. He shakes his head, not quite understanding, yet understanding that he must do as ordered.
"Blood. Life ever flowing spilt upon my hands."
He looks down at his hands imagining spilt blood upon them, imagining them spreading over his whole, soaking him, tainting him.
He rushes to the fountain, splashing himself with the water, as if cleaning himself. Purify.
:I wish not to take another life. But I must.

She watches him. An intriguing being, so full of mysteries and secrets. She watches him stare at his hands, almost horrified, watches him as he rushes off to the fountian to cleanse himself. She could only wonder what he has just seen.
She looks to him, wondering.
:He is a strange one, no doubt.
Something about him drew her to him. Something so familiar, yet so distanced. Close enough to know it was there, yet she could not grasp onto it.
:Who is he...Alexander Ialu. His name. A mage. Trust not the mages.
She chuckles, realizing that they had never had any sort of proper introduction. For a moment she considers so, but thought better of it.
:Better to be left an unknown.
She traces the pattern marked upon her staff, one of the wyvrens and phoenixes. She presses a button, hidden within the design and a blade springs out from each end. She runs a finger along the length of the blade, a drop of blood drips from the point. She smirks, touching the button once more and the blades draw in.
She sighs, looking at her staff, unused for so long, yet always ready at her side. She places the staff in a corner, in a place where she is able to keep an eye on it and access it quickly, should the occasion arrise that she would need it's aide.
She turns her attention back to the fire, the fox once agai hopping into the seat next to her, begging to be scrached. She obliges, dragging her nails through the fox's soft fur. She does this almost absently, silver eyes focused towards the fire. The reflection, in her eyes, of the flames seemingly causes her eyes to cast a red demonic glow. The glow of Hell Fire.
Her hand unconciously clenches slightly, creating a whimper from the fox. Li'el turning her head to look up, worry expressed in her eyes. She unclenches her fist, looking down to the fox with an apologetic look in her eyes.
Hell Fire.

Medea stands in the shadows, watching not the crowd, but the one called Rowan.
She saw.
Saw what burned in her eyes. Saw the look of Hell Fire blaze up within them. Saw death's own visage appear.
Death. Death is among us.
She looks up again, watching horrified that the hand that strokes the fox clench in an iron grip, red fur splays through her fingers. She shakes her head, looking around for anyone to help her. No one notices. She turns her attention back to Rowan, expecting to see the fox limp in death's grasp but she sees that Rowan has unclenched her fist and looks down at the fox, an apologetic look in her eyes.
She shakes her head, confused. The Hell Fire no longer blazes within the eyes. Replaced with the emotionless silver as before. Death slides away slowly. She blinks and shakes her head once again. Seeing that of a phoenix surround Rowan, then that of a wyvren encase the whole.
:What...what is she? To confuse me so with sich chaotic visions. Death...Life?
She shivers slightly, unable to decipher what she's just seen.
:Perhaps it will come. Another vision.
She shudders, remembering the last.
:Perhaps. Hopefully not. Never again.

She frowns, thinking perhaps she should let Alex know of what she saw, know of the dangers. She hopes he had not fallen so deep for her that he cannot see the truth. Medea looks to the gardens, where Alexander now sits by the fountain, water sprinkled along his face and cloak. She doesn't question his being there, knowing well enough that he has a reason for everything, even those he never voices outloud.
:Nay, he needs not to know. Not yet.
She sighs, thinking she is only trying to get out of telling news he wishes not to hear. She moves out of the shadows, instead moving to the window to think. To help.
Light of Dark.
She recalls Alex telling her of this curse many years ago. Recalls his initial desperation and shock. She looks at him now, looking into the fountain at his reflection, thinking he seems to have accepted his fate. She sighs, wishing there was a way to reverse the curse, to bring him back to his former glory. His youthful self - Sir Alexander Ialu - Royal Star Knight.
She sits next to the window, thinking Light of Dark. Nothing came to her. As usual. She cries out softly in desperation. So many years, so much effort and all in vain. She shakes her head, wishing Alex need not suffer in his state so much longer. Wishing the witch would tire of such a spell and revers as such. None would so happen. As much as she wishes, none would so happen.
She decides to remain at the window, taking in the fragrance from the garden. Sighing softly.
:Alex, I cannot help.

Alex looks up from the fountain, his hands, face and cloak sprinkled with the water. Looks up as if unsure why he has soaked himself, looks up as if he does not remember.
But he does.
:The blood. Gone.
He watches what really are red fish, swim away, but seeing them as drops of blood, dispersing in the fountain water.
:I am free...for now.
As the fountain water settles, he looks into the crystal pool, seeing his reflection as a mirror. He touches his face, anger ebbing away at his being. Anger at the witch, at the riddle he cannot solve, at everything to cause him such misery for so many years.
So many years, such torture. Almost believing this is his true form. He looks up in the pool once again, waving his hands once and the reflection changes. Changes to that of his true being. The Alexander Ialu of the Crivtian mage knights. He sighs, knowing he must be patient to find what he seeks.
:Good things come to those who wait.
He chuckles, filled with bitter poison. Thinking he has waited and hoped much too long, thinking - believing - he is forever cursed in such a state. For all eternity. He wonders how much of his life is left - surely such an old body cannot sustain his being much longer. He shakes his head.
:For all eternity.

Rowan remains fixed to the couch, eyes upon the fire and hand continuously petting the fox.
Hell Fire.
She watches the flames dance around in the fireplace, wishing she could have such freedom and joy.
Hell Fire.
She watches the fire, oblivious to anything else, the red glow returns in her eyes, smothering the silver.
"Hell Fire. I burn."
She whispers to herself, caring not if anyone hears or cares.

She moves with silence, the red glow undying in her eyes. Moves towards the gardens - towards Alex.

Medea watches, horror building within her. The Hell Fire returning into Rowan's eyes, twice-fold, smothering - killing. She watches, unable to make it to tell Alex. She tries once to mind send him a warning.
:"Alex! She comes for you! She, your dark angel, 'tis Rowan!"

His head jerks up at Medea's warning, seeing the figure of the Dark Angel, Rowan, approaching. In her eyes, he sees fire - the fire that burns death into your mind. He draws back involuntarily, but raises a hand. From his hand a white light glows, the light intensifies and soon a ball of pure energy gathers in that hand. He unclenches his fingers and the ball of energy fires forth, impacting Rowan in the chest. He watches as she is forced into the far wall of the room by the power of his hit. Watches, upset, as her body falls limp to the floor. He watches her, wishing it weren't his duty to have taken her life, to take the life of another. Wishes she weren't Rowan.

She watches through her own eyes, as she heads towards the old man, watches - knowing - what she - the Hell Fire - wants to do. She tries to resist, though knowing it would be futile.
:I wish not to kill! Not here, not now!
She watches with relief, seeing that the old man has seen her approach, seeing that he lifts his hand in defense - to end her suffering.
The bolt hits her before she saw it leave his hand, so fast is pure energy. Pain bursts forth from her chest, as if her heart is crying out to her. It spreads to her neck and limbs, paralyzing her for the moment she is airborne. Renewed pain attacks her from the back, the instant the energy forces her into the far wall of the room.
She limps to the ground, too pained to even try to move on her own. She only prays that she cannot recover and soon be joining her beloved.
That is not to be.
She groans inwardly as she feels her body regaining strength, gathering it from the energy around her. She slowly gets up, renewed.
:I pray this ends soon.

Medea shrinks back against the wall, rendering herself invisible. She watches on, praying Alex is strong enough to withold the strength of Rowan. She moves further against the wall as Rowan's impact against the wall is far too near for comfort. She is only glad many have decided not to come for th enight, as the ones who did, are now running for cover and protection. None dares to intervene, even herself, from the two that fight.
She watches in disbelief as Rowan slowly returns to her feet, almost unharmed by the impact.
:How is that to be! Such an impact would have ended the lot of us!
The red glow intensifies in Rowan's eyes, as if angered by the act of defense on Alex's part. She shakes her head, praying Alex to be safe.
:Alex. End such horror soon.

Alexander heaves a great sigh, believing he has done his dutry, turning his back on the site. He casts one last look behind him, turning sharply as he sees the pile shake and from it emerges the Cursed Angel. He returns to stance, no time to wonder how one can survive such a blast. He watches as she emerges from the doorway, standing on the threshold of the garden. He watches as her eyes glow deeply, herself taking up stance. Watching as her wings extend to their full length, from nails into claws. He watches as she reaches just inside the room, grabbing her staff. He holds his in front, a short sword by his waist. Ready.
"Cursed Angel."
He narrows his eyes, exptecting her to rush him, expecting her to attack him in anger. Expecting him to have the advantage. Instead she circles him slowly. Demonic eyes watching his every move, finding an opening. He realizes that none will have the advantage, none unless one was to slip. Both were too experienced. He increases his grip on his staff, refusing to be the one to slip, refusint to be the one to lose the advantage. Not wanting death to arrive so soon.

The crowd watches the two figures in the gardens in the minuscule safety of the building. Afraid, yet intrigued by what is to happen. Unable to tear away.
Medea watches, one with the crowd - feeling their fear - a captive to the scene before her. She feels her heart pound, as like the crowd, worrying for Alex's safety.
She watches as the tension between the two fighters increases, the tension so thick it made her hard of breath. She can only party that this fight will end soon and with minimal damage.
She looks within each, one so tightly shielded she can only sense what she sees, within Alex, she can sense a deep sadness, shrouded by the dread of the moment away fight. She shakes her head, wishing there was a way out, wishing Rowan had never come into their lives.
:Cursed Angel, begon from us!
Her thoughts surprises herself, knowing never to have cursed anyone in her life, nor banish them.
:But none hath threatened the life of another, a friend.

Rowan watches almost feeling like one with the Hell Fire. Almost, were it not for the reason she did not wish to fight. But the Hell Fire wants to. As now, what it wants, is that it will get. But not once did she cease attempting to regain control of her own body. Aye, she knew it was a waste of energy.

The sky darkens further, tendrils of mist wrapping around the legs of the two fighters, extending further only to disappear at the building of the wall. THe mists soon cover the garden floor, but more drifts in, creating a haze about the two, a screen. The moon shines full on this night, illuminating the area, the mist, seemingly to outline the spirits of past lives, floating about to judge such a fight. To help or to cripple - it is unknown.

Alex moves slowly, watching her every move, watching the Hell Fire, watching it burn. Feeling it burn though him, seemingly to make him weaker.
:Do not give in. This is one fight you cannot lose!
He straightens his back, standing at full height, the weariness of old age leaving him, fading away like a distant memory. He holds his staff out in front of him, clear sapphire eyes upon his enemy, watching her eyes blaze with fire, her soul burns in hell.
:Who is she realy?
He watches as her fangs lengthen and taper to a deadly point, watches as her eyes burn witht he intense blaze of the fire within. The overall effect - deadly, yet such uncanny beauty to behold.
:Do not get distracted, Alex! Now is not the time to think upon her in this light! For now - from now - she is your enemy!
He frowns, not wishing it to be so, gripping his staff, knowing it to be so.
He waits for her first move.

Her sight wavers, feeling that of the fire consume her. Feeling herserlf mold with one of the fire - become the killer. She looks down at her hand, willing it to close into a fist, seeing she had control once more. Her gaze lifts to the old man in front of her, anger wells up.
:Why?
She growls low, crouching into stance, watching him closely. She watches as the mists rise, watches her opponent become a silouhette against the ghastly light of the moon, watch as spirits come to witness this deadly event.
:Why?
She strikes, movement as swift as the wind, stabbing out with the end of her staff. Hissing when her staff returns - clean. She looks around slowly for her enemy, all sense heightened - sensing rather than seeing where he was.
She strikes again and again, her opponent manages to allude her attack.

He just barely moves out of the way of her second attack, landing to the side - off his feet. He shakes his head, searching for her. But the mists plays their part all too well - obscuring everything from view. He looks around again, instead finding his staff he did not know dropped. He curses inwardly to himself and stands up. His eyes scans the area quickly, seeing no sign of the woman's presence. He daren't use any magic to wave away the mist - needing full energy for the real fight to come.
Instead he moves slowly through the mists, staff at hand - senses alert. Circling the area, scanning slowly, carefully for any sign of movement.
A flash to his left.

She swings her staff, faking a blow to his head and as she predicted - he ducked, waiting for the air to pass above him - it didn't. Instead she moves quickly, smoothly swinging the staff down, catching his knees and bringing them from under him.
She hears his fall and prepares for the next blow.
As she approaches him, she is met by his staff, level at her neck, blue eyes in anger yet sadness.
She feels nothing.

He holds the staff at length's end, leveled at her ivory throat. With one swift movement, he can render her unconscious. But something holds him back.

The mists slowly part around them, letting them see each other clearly for the first time since the fight began.
They look at each other - one with hate and the other with sadness. The one of sad eyes slowly lowers his staff, as if signaling the fight is over.
But it is not so

She growls and swings her staff at him in a fatal blow to the head, only to hear not the sickening crack of one's skull splitting, but the crack of staff against staff.

He holds up his staff against hers with renewed power, forcing her to pull back and strike again. Forcing her, blow by blow, to be trapped against the building wall.

She growls, furious to be forced back by an old man. She strikes him, strike after strike but only manages to be forced up against the wall further.
She is cornered. No place to go, not enough room to fly up without risking her life, only enough to defend herself from his blows.
Her anger grows.

He continues, keeping her trapped up against the wall. Eyes upon hers - watching the fire within grow with anger, hatred.
He knows he cannot keep her here long.

The anger builds inside her, giving her strength. She curls up, her delicate wings taking the painful blows. She crouches down, almost in defeat.
Almost.

He continues the blow, softer now as the were on her wings - not wanting to hurt her. He readies a spell, a spell to encase her in confinement until one knows another way other than death.
As he slows down his hits and prepares to do the enchantment, a sudden flurry of wings and light blind him for a moment's time.

That was all she needed.

He takes a step back to protect himself, unintentionally giving Rowan more room.

She rises up, the hell fire building up. She laughs softly to herself. When she looks up at Alex, her face seems almost haunted like.
She spreads her wings to full length, taking one step forward. As she does, she raises her hands, outstretched in front of her. Too quick for one to see, a shower of energy orbs fall from the heavens, striking the former knight, blasting him father into the gardens.
She laughs, eyes red with fury, fire fury. She takes another step forward, hands once again raised in front of her

He sits up, stunned. Cursing himself to think he could have so easily defeated her. He looks up, trying to rise, but the last attack has taken a toll on his energy. He struggles to produce the barest of shields without leaving him without energy to continue life.
He looks up and sees her preparing another attack.

She laughs, an orb of energy gathering at the out tips of her fingers. Energy gathered from herself, the air, the ground, the mists. Her mind soars as she watches the energy grow and expand. Thinking nothing will be able to survive such a blast.
She lets go.

The fire is released. She is left standing there, horrified at what she had done. The slightest whisper of a laugh is left hanging in the mists, trapped.

He only watches, waiting.

Time seems to stop, she tries to undo what she did but only manages to slow down the inevitable. She shakes her head and with a burst of speed and energy she puts herself between the orb and the fallen knight, spreading her wings and using herself as a live shield to protect him.
Time stops for no one.
The energy hits full into her, almost as if absorbing her. The rancid stench of burning flesh fills the silent air, not a sound is heard.

He looks up at her beautiful face, so contorted with pain yet she utters no scream, no whimper of fear. Her eyes - sorrow filled, yet heavily cloaked by an emotionless stare.
:Foolish, foolish girl.

The energy burns through her back, searing, burning, destroying. The pain spreads through her whole body but she only clenches her jaw - refusing to let out the screams of pain that rack her body.
Her skin burns, spreading to her wings, burning the feathers until only the skeletal frame remains, and still the energy burns, dying out only slowly.
She clenches her jaw tighter, tears threatening to spill, refusing to give in.
:Khat.