He managed what felt like a few hours before he woke, dazed and confused when he wasn’t in his bed or his living room. Tazaro sat up, groaning as his body ached from lying on the unforgiving stone, and dread settled in as he remembered the events that placed the three of them here. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked over to where his mother and Sheeva had been. Mildred now lay where Sheeva had fallen asleep, her bag propped beneath her head and Tazaro’s jacket draped over herself.
Sheeva had moved to the left side of the firepit, knees tucked into her chest, arms wrapped around them, appearing to be deep in thought.
“Hey. I, uh, thought you’d be out for a lot longer.” He greeted, getting to his feet and stretching out the soreness of his bottom and back. Sheeva broke out of her thoughts and looked at him briefly.
“In all honesty, so did I,” She answered. She tipped her head at Mildred’s sleeping frame.
“Your mother said you covered me with your jacket. I...I thank you.” She said with a meek smile. Tazaro dropped his arms and felt the wry, nervous smile across his face, and his eyebrows raised into his forehead.
“It wasn’t m–” He stopped himself, realizing his mother’s wingman attempt. “Um, sure. No problem. Not a big deal.”
“For as thin as it is, it is quite warm. I am surprised.”
“It held out for a long time. I’ll have to retire it when I get home. Bummer, it was a favorite, too.” He mumbled sadly, crossing his arms to deflect the loss of his favored overcoat. As the reality of what he’d said hit, and he realized it sounded like he may have been blaming her somehow, his eyes shot wide, and he raised his arms in surrender. “But-but that’s ok! Like I said, it’s old. Had to be retired eventually. I’d been procrastinating for sentimental reasons.”
Sheeva huffed, feeling a light smile on her face at his unnecessarily flustered state.
“Still, you will need a jacket. I don’t know how long it will take to repay my debt. Bartholomew never gave a quantity of...souls. I pray he does not make me kill innocent people or children.” Her face fell, and her mouth dropped to a frown. A piercing wind blew across the courtyard, and Tazaro shivered slightly at the creepy fog beginning to roll in, coupled with the unnerving idea of her being forced to murder people. Sheeva noticed and looked up at him from her curled-up state.
“Are you cold?”
“No, just…” He paused when she hesitantly lifted the wool blanket she’d grabbed from her bag to cover herself with. “Mm. Maybe a little.” He lied, fighting the flirtatious curl of his lips. As he felt it in his cheeks, he knew he’d failed.
He stepped over to her and sat down, crossing his legs and shuffling the blanket around his shoulders. The fabric carried her body heat around his back. He took the water pouch she handed him and drank, wiping the droplets from his lips with the back of his hand.
He glanced at her when she sighed so heavily that her whole body was pulled into the motion, feeling the sink and slouch of her torso. She winced at a spot of pain and slipped her hand beneath her arm to examine it. He watched her trail some sigils in the air and an ethereal green glow filtered into whatever wound she healed beneath her shirt.
“What was that? Another healing spell?” Tazaro asked. She cleared her throat, grabbed a cube, and slowly chewed on it, swallowing it down with gulps of water.
“Yes. I did not expect Llyud to have claws. Thankfully, the wound was not too deep. Still hurts, though it is not the worst.”
A thought occurred to Tazaro, and it flew from his mouth before he could stop it.
“You said...active spells are draining, passives aren’t? What’s the difference? Do you really think I could do something like that, too?”
“It’s difficult to say; I don’t understand it much, myself–not like there’s a textbook on the subject.” She touched the bandage around her forearm gently, pressing it lightly to see if it still hurt. Her eyes flared in pain briefly, but she kept a straight face. Mostly.
“In your case, I don’t know. You have a crystal that’s apparently giving you your power. My power is innate. I suppose it will just have to be something we discover over time–but, I’ll be starting you off with simple, boring things, like this,” She explained, waving her hand to summon her ball of light. “If it’s possible. I really don’t know.”
Tazaro drummed his fingers on his knee as he thought about what she’d told him. He wondered how draining it would be to cast a spell and whether it would get easier over time or if it would stay just as tricky on day one thousand as day one.
He tilted his head in her direction, keeping his eyes fixed on the flame.
“I’m sorry. I feel like I interrogate you sometimes.” He apologized sheepishly.
Sheeva looked at him and chuckled softly.
“No, don’t be. You’re not interrogating me. You...have a curious mind.” Her voice was soft. Modest. It was cute, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” He asked, turning to look at her for assurance, relieved when she shook her head.
“If anyone is weird, consider it myself. I am the anomaly of Sferran-kind.” She retorted, eyes downcast in shame. “No.” She began adamantly. “No, your curiosity is just...not something I am used to. Your curiosity should be something you see in a positive light, if anything.”
Tazaro blinked, feeling the light grow in his eyes as her words sunk in. Adrenaline shot through him, and he swallowed past a dry throat. His eyes darted back and forth between eyes that glowed with serenity, then settled on her lips, slightly curled as she seemed pleased with herself for her advice. He dipped his head and smirked at his hands folded in his lap as the desire to kiss her embedded itself in his being.
“Thank you.” He responded. Her eyes lifted in an unguarded smile, still apparently impressed with herself. Tazaro lost himself in the purity and beauty of the rare expression.
“After everything you and your mother have done, encouraging your oddities is the least I can do.” She answered sheepishly.
Oddities, huh? Tazaro thought, eyes narrowing slightly. He assured himself she did not mean it negatively, as the tone of her voice was light and carefree. Maybe, she was just stating the bluntly obvious.
Her joy dissipated at the thought of something, and she slumped, resting her head on her hand as she mused on whatever it was. She chewed on her lip as her expression darkened.
“Sheeva?” He called to her, hoping to bring her out of whatever gloomy thought had taken hold.
She sounded a distant “hm?” through a frown, not breaking her stare-down with the warm, seductive flame of the fire.
“Uh, hey.”
Tazaro bravely took her hand and tucked his finger under her chin to gently turn her face towards him. Her eyes widened and pierced, then narrowed in conditioned defense. She drew in a sharp breath, tensing and giving him a soul-shaking warning glare. He briefly told himself he’d blown it, but when her glare softened and her shoulders relaxed, he muttered an apology.
A wisp of a shyly uttered “oh?” sounded as he reached up to cup her cheek. He felt it heat beneath his palm as he stroked it with his thumb. A tingle rippled through his calloused thumb as he enjoyed its smooth, supple give. When her eyes lifted in cheer and the corner of her lips curled in a bashful smile, Tazaro felt encouraged.
A coy smile broke on his face, thrilled to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and trace the slightly pointed shape of it with the tip of his finger. Her face showed a mix of surprise and almost scientific curiosity as she tilted her head to rest entirely on his palm. A suppressed chuckle vibrated her lips, and her face heated even more as he stroked her cheek with his thumb again.
Sheeva’s heart cried and screamed in want at Tazaro’s sentimental touch, and in a final effort to overcome her despair, she leaned her head into his palm and placed a small kiss on it in gratitude for his touch. She let it soak in; the warmth cradled around her jaw as strong fingers reached not in harm but intended intimacy, the way his fingers stroked her hair aside not to grip it in torment, but simply so he could gaze upon her face…it was almost too much.
Ecstatic that she seemed comfortable and receptive to his suggestive touch, the question flew from his mouth before he could stop it.
“Sheeva, can I kiss you?”
He barely registered her nod of consent against his palm, all too suddenly aware of his own nerve-wracked tremble.
Tazaro gathered himself, returning the squeeze of her hand as he leaned forward, beckoning her to do the same with a mild pull of his hand. He struggled to keep it slow, barely able to contain his excitement; he did not want to spook her and flub the moment. Their noses touched, and he felt the warm blush on her face and the rush of air as she drew in a timid breath. Their eyes closed, both elated and eager to–
A piercing cold made him bark and snap himself away, as did Sheeva, whose fist tightened in his shirt as she let out a cry, fighting for a normal breath. Her back ached from the intense shiver, and her teeth clattered as her body fought to regain the heat that had been instantly sapped.
“What the hell was that?” Sheeva gasped, angered as she looked around, then gaped at the ta’hal as he stood behind them, howling and doubling over with laughter. His wings stretched out and shook with his efforts, and the long tail that curled around his feet thrashed about wildly and flicked the ground.
After Tazaro’s breathing returned to normal and his heart resided back in his chest, he shook the rest of the icy chill out of his bones and shot the ta’hal a nasty, spiteful glare with such severity his eyes ached. He wondered if the bastard could read thoughts and felt his forehead burn as he wished he could direct his thoughts. If only.
“You fuckin’ asshole!” He hissed at Bartholomew, who’d calmed down and begun wiping at his eyes with a claw in mockery.
“Seemed like things were getting a little hot over here! Figured you both could... ha! Use a cool-down!” Bartholomew snickered.
“Well, you can just fuck–
Tazaro stopped as his mother spoke up.
“What is going on?”
Sheeva moved away and hid her face, embarrassed, wondering if Mildred had seen anything, then scrunched her face in further embarrassment as she realized Mildred could not have seen anything.
“Nothing,” Sheeva stressed, though with the high-pitched tone of her voice, Tazaro could tell she was just as fully embarrassed as he was. He scowled in even further disappointment, and Tazaro stood to get some distance between himself and Sheeva.
He walked over to his mother, helped her to her feet.
“Tazaro, there’s something here! What-what is that thing?” She asked, taking in Bartholomew’s form. His stature was grand, towering above Tazaro’s currently purple and yellow aura with the new, shadowy blurbs by at least fifteen feet.
Four black-feathered wings stretched out from the being’s back, and a row of teeth stretched across the being’s chest. It had a massive eye in the middle of its head, and its hair was a bunch of long, thin arms with tiny little hands at the ends of them. A tail that split into three waved behind him, long, curved blades jutting from the tips of the tails.
“Bartholomew. The ta'hal that possessed your son.” Sheeva stated.
Mildred Chorea. They appreciate you greatly. Bartholomew stated with a thunderous, booming voice that reverberated back to her in a bizarre fashion. She gawked, still stunned into silence as his voice bored into her brain.
“Do-do you see the wings? The head?” Mildred blabbered, trembling.
“Y-you can see that?” Tazaro blurted, amazed as he looked back and forth between his mother and the ta’hal.
“Hard to miss!”
“Um...Yeah. The pair of wings was pretty unnerving to me, too. The tail is worse.” Tazaro answered, rubbing the spot on his chest that the thing had sent his blade through. He shivered again as the whole-body chill experience nagged at him. “He’s an asshole, too.”
Bartholomew ignored their staring at him and stooped down next to the fire, reaching over it to see if it would still burn him. Nope. Nothing.
Mildred watched the towering thing stoop to a level of about eight feet and reach out a long, muscular arm, complete with claws. It balanced itself on its three tails, curled to form a springy spiral, and its wings adjusted to tuck against its back. The stalky head on its shoulders jerked and twisted in an alien-like way as it continued to look around.
“Pair? I see two pairs. And, three tails.” Mildred admitted. Bartholomew looked up at her, surprised.
Oh, so you see my proper form. Bartholomew said, his bulbous eye fixing on her as his head turned around on its stalk. She shivered in fear and averted her gaze.
“Proper form?” Sheeva asked, wanting clarification.
Did you think ta’hal are just clever, handsome things with devilishly good looks and wings, Sheeva? No, no, we come in many varieties. You could not begin to comprehend our stature. He purred, puffing his chest and stroking it with a clawed hand and a grin on his face. He pretended to inspect his nails in pompous mockery.
“Try me,” Sheeva growled, upset at the assumption. Bartholomew snorted and cackled.
Maybe some other time. I notice you killed Llyud and rescued the damsel in distress. What a hero you are, Sheeva! He stated, not seeming to be earnest whatsoever.
“And where were you during all of that?” She snapped. Bartholomew snickered at her.
Around. You’re hilarious when you lose your shit, you know. Do you feel better after your little temper-tantrum, child?
Sheeva sent Bartholomew a scowl.
“Vilg oui.”
“What happened to the other man? The other man called Zakaraia?” Mildred asked.
She felt the mass condense, then expand, emanating pure fury. It made her tremble even more, and she clung to her son’s arm with a death grip.
Zakaraia, you say?
“Did you know him?” Sheeva asked. Bartholomew remained silent, thinking. His eye fixed on her again.
Did you see his proper form, as well, Mildred?
“No, I didn’t,” Mildred answered.
“Sorry–I was asking Bartholomew.” Sheeva clarified.
Mildred opened her mouth, then closed it. It seemed that Bartholomew had been able to direct his question to only her, somehow. Bartholomew turned his back on her, and Mildred saw rows and rows of thick, hard scales. A decorative shield made of stone rested between his shoulder blades, and the hilt of a sword jutted out over his right shoulder.
And where is Zakaraia now? Bartholomew asked, taking a few steps away from the others and clasping his claws together behind his back.
Despite his back to them, the head on its stalk still kept its gaze on the three of them, and Mildred closed her eyes, no longer willing to put up with the disturbing thing.
“Dead. I killed the man.”
Bartholomew turned back to face Sheeva, eyes widened. His minty-blue eyes glimmered with impressed amazement, and a long eyebrow curled up into his forehead. He blinked away the look of surprise as quickly as it’d shown itself, then crossed his arms and stood tall.
Is that so? I did not know you were capable! That is quite a feat. Where did this happen?
“Are you blind? A body that oozes black blood is hard to miss.” Sheeva countered.
Bartholomew began to cackle, tail swishing behind him and scales ruffling. His wings twitched and bobbed with the intensity of his laughter.
How naive of you to assume he can be so easily killed! Aha, the bastard got you, too!
“What do you mean, he got me, t–” Sheeva’s stomach dropped as she thought about it. The cackle was incredibly unnerving. She looked to the building, now doubting herself. She grabbed Abraxas and took off, running inside and to the room.
She skidded to a halt at the entrance to the room where she’d fought Llyud, then lurched forward as Tazaro barreled into her. She stumbled forward, shot him a look, and turned back to search the room. A scattered pile of ash lay where Llyud’s burning remains had been, and as she turned to look towards the back of the room, she stared in terror.
His body was not there. As Sheeva hurried to look for a blood trail, no drop of blood was found.
Sheeva jerked her head as they heard a scream come from outside the compound.
“Shit!” Sheeva swore, grabbing Tazaro and running back outside to Mildred. Her fears were proven as she saw Zakaraia standing there, alive and well. His robes were dry, clean of any blood or caked dirt. He held Mildred up by her hair, a knife at her throat.
“Let her go!” Sheeva commanded. He shrugged his shoulders.
Nah. I don't have to. Sheeva watched as he shook Mildred’s head threateningly, causing her to cry out in pain. Sheeva felt herself shake and took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to say.
“Let Mildred go! Fight me instead!” Sheeva bartered. He laughed.
Oh? You would sacrifice your life for this woman? He asked. Sheeva blinked, then replaced it with her most threatening glare. She was not about to lay down and die, but she owed it to them to at least distract Zakaraia while they got away. Hopefully.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Sheeva, what? Are you really–
–don't, Tazaro. I’m…aware of what I’m doing.” She cut him off, causing Tazaro to flinch. “Let Mildred go, Zakaraia. They have nothing to do with this. You took my kill, and I demand to know why!” Sheeva insisted, despite the nerves wrangling her gut.
Fine. This should be fun. Zakaraia said, dropping Mildred and stepping towards them.
“Tazaro, take your mother and run. Do not stop.” Sheeva ordered. Tazaro sprinted forward past the man, honestly surprised that he’d let him. He picked up his mother and ran into the forest, hoping to put as much distance between them as possible.
“Answer me: Why interfere? Why take my kill? You had nothing to do with Llyud!” Sheeva spat, holding Abraxas at the ready.
“Nothing to do with Llyud? No, no, I had everything to do with Llyud. You saw the man. He was conceited, arrogant, and no longer useful.” He stated. It made Sheeva shudder.
“No longer useful? Explain yourself!” She commanded. He sneered and shook his head.
“To a skulka like you?”
Sheeva took another deep breath. Since demanding answers didn’t work, perhaps she could convince him to answer her.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? You may as well tell me.” She bargained, trying to stop her trembling.
“Why? You’re just a frightened little half-breed.”
That truly shook her.
“Who are you? How do you know what I am?” She asked, racking her brain to remember if, somehow, they had crossed paths before.
“The name’s Zakaraia, at your service, little half-breed.” He crowed with an elegant, mocking, theatrical bow.
She felt herself lift her foot to take a step back but planted it and instead shifted into a fighting stance. Her wings slid out of her back, and she stretched them, plumage puffing with adrenaline. Maybe she could convince herself that she’d be fine.
“Tee-hee! Build yourself all you want, little animal! You’ll only fall harder.”
Sheeva did not validate his taunt with a response, still waiting for an answer to her question.
“Fine, fine, all business; no play. Oh, Father, how predictably boring! Llyud owed me his life, so I used it as I saw fit. The fool never imagined I’d be the one to kill him. He held the hopeless dream of dying of old age if it hadn’t been you who’d killed him. But I couldn’t let you do that; that would be too generous of me!”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Llyud had simply been a pawn?
"And, Cecilia? Were you behind that, too?"
He snickered and pointed at the idea, brimming with glee.
"Oh, no, that was all him! Foolish as he was, the bastard had some golden ideas! Tell me, how did it feel to have your feathers plucked? Never told Tazaro how you got out of the cage in that drug den, did you?" He jeered. "Newsflash for you, you scared little mutt. You may call it vengeance, but that's just murder by another name. All those poor, innocent criminals!"
Sheeva dropped her head and lowered Abraxas in shame, grimacing as the scent of blood mixed with the stuffy underground Iphsium den wafted to her nose. She tensed as the stone-on-stone noise of the giant mortar and pestle they used to powder her feathers grated her eardrums and shook her head at the screams that echoed throughout the compound. Regardless of who got in her way, she blindly slaughtered her captors.
She snapped her head up at movement with a sharp gasp and watched Zakaraia tap his chest, reach almost elbow-deep into it, and pull out a sword. Just the sight of it unnerved her, and she felt herself shiver in fear. Black blood dripped onto the cobblestone as it trickled down the blade, and as he brandished it with a showy, dramatic flourish, the sword became clean and glowed with a shade of indigo. Sheeva saw the edge of Abraxas shake in her vision, trembling as she wondered what she had gotten herself into.
“Well? I let everyone go. Strike me down if you’re so strong, Sheeva.” He goaded.
She swallowed her fear and raised Abraxas, finding courage in her noble plight and the familiar design on the blade as she eyed it briefly before fixing her stare on her target. She took a deep breath and charged, thrusting the steel toward his masked face.
She only managed to spear the air by his face as he blocked her strike, lifting the blade above his head. A zing rang out as he dragged his blade along the steel to catch her guard and twist the blade aside. When she stepped back, he pushed away at the last stretch to slice upward at her head. She let out a surprised yelp as she backed further away. The heat of the charged sword rushed across her nose and made her eyes sting.
He stepped forward to slash, but she blocked that without much effort, trying not to acknowledge the blade so close to her head. She threw aside his strike and stepped forward, trying again to run him through with the opening she had made.
With a thrilled sneer, he stepped aside and retrieved a knife from his cloak as she speared the air. Sheeva gasped as he slid the blade against her neck, controlled enough to rest the full of the blade on the nape of her neck. The cold of the steel behind her ear and the edge nestled in her hair sent a wave of fear down her back before he ripped it away, severing a chunk of hair from its bind and slicing her ear. Sheeva yelped, jumped back again, and blocked a downward slash of the knife.
As Zakaraia cackled about something, Sheeva put up her guard again, though unnerved and panting from adrenaline. Abraxas shook even more in her hands.
As she felt blood trickle down her neck and onto her shoulder, Sheeva shuddered, then reached up a trembling hand to heal her sliced earlobe. Calloused fingers warmed the cold spot the blade made on her skull, and the softness of freshly cut strands brushed the back of her hand.
"Be grateful I didn't cut off your entire ear, half-breed," He commented with a growl, wiping the blade off on his clothes before tucking it back into its concealed holster.
She swallowed the unease in her throat, fearing how deadly experienced this man was with a blade.
Her skin flared and her eyes widened as he rushed for her, bounding in only a few steps. She blocked a strike from above, bracing the steel of Abraxas with her palm and her stance in solid footing. She bucked the blade away and went to slice at his chest. He stepped aside and changed his hold on the sword to jab the pommel-stone into her stomach.
Sheeva dropped Abraxas and doubled over, stumbling backward a few steps. Zakaraia grabbed her hair, jerked her off her feet, and threw her aside.
She clambered to the ground, coughing as she struggled to catch her breath. As soon as she recovered, Sheeva snatched up Abraxas, hurried to her feet, and rushed him again to stab him.
In the blink of an eye, he sidestepped, turned his blade, and thwacked her alongside the face with it. She cried out in pain, tripped over her feet, and fell to the ground again.
“You’re so slow! It’s disappointing.” He pouted darkly. She looked up at him, shaken at his speed and trembling with embarrassment. She didn’t dare reach up to caress her throbbing nose and cheek.
He cackled and drove his blade into the cobblestone deeply enough that it stuck when he let go, and Sheeva’s face abandoned her in showing her wonder. Zakaraia stepped away from his weapon and circled around Sheeva’s recuperating ball as he contemplated something with another show of mockery as a finger tapped his chin in casual thought. He stopped in front of her, then raised his arms and stood in a martial stance.
“I don’t think I need a weapon. I’ll beat you with my bare hands.” He puffed with a challenging glint in his eyes. “Feel free to keep hiding behind that blade of yours, child.”
Sheeva stood, trying to quell her frustration. She focused and felt the warmth of her passive shield crawl across her body. It tingled and gave her a slight boost of confidence.
Holding Abraxas in her left hand to block with, she kept her right hand free to strike, regained her foundation, and charged again. Taking a page from his book, she shoved his punch out of her way with her forearm and attempted to return his breathtaking jab as she drove Abraxas's handle towards his gut.
He wheeled the punch she countered into her side. Thankfully, her shield held up, and she pushed through to drive the pommel-stone into his stomach.
Zakaraia grunted from impact and slightly hunched over. Emboldened, Sheeva used the proximity and moment of stun to step to the side and slash at the back of his neck, determined to behead him. She missed, barely able to witness him drop to a knee and sweep her feet out from underneath her.
Sheeva stumbled forward. Zakaraia launched her into the air as he kicked up, his boot scraping the bottom of her chin. The sickening, sweet taste of blood flooded her mouth, and a sharp pain gripped the inside of her cheek. When he caught her by the hair, she felt her shield fail as he pulled her to her knees and drove his knee into her face.
She blinked sluggishly, overloaded with pain, unable to resist as he turned her head and looked at her bloodied face. A smack echoed in the courtyard as he slapped her and laughed with cheer. She cried out as he pressed his thumb on her broken nose and smeared the blood on her cheek. Her mouth soured, and her brain felt like lead in her skull as he pressed his palm against her forehead.
“Perhaps I shall go after that other friend of yours. That psychic. Cassandra is her name, right?” He taunted.
As her mushed brain picked up on the threat, she glared at him as well as she could as hot tears of anger welled in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. He stepped closer to her, tilted her head back, and dug his thigh against her throat.
“Don’t you dare!” She grunted through a constricted throat and gritted teeth.
“Oo, so angry. Bet Hasch is the only one to make you that angry, isn’t he?”
Sheeva finished fishing out the small knife she kept hidden in her boot and drove it into the inside of the thigh he pressed against her throat, then twisted the blade as fast as she could to create a gushing wound. The ooze of warm blood spilled over her chilled, frozen hand.
He barked out a scream and backed away, releasing his hold on her hair. Coughing, she fought to stand and rushed him while he was staggered. The knife she held slid into his side with no resistance, and she yanked it out and sunk it into his chest as he doubled over.
She tore his cowl from his head to reveal his face, then stepped back and took a knee from exhaustion. She forced herself to watch, waiting, silently pleading for him to stop moving and die. He panted, on his hands and knees, covered in blood.
His lips stretched into a thin, half-cocked pained grimace, a taunt in his red eyes. Short, black, matted hair stuck around his head and covered his ears. A scar from some type of beast diagonally spanned his face.
His face was entirely new to her, shooting down her theory that they may have crossed paths at some point in time. Terror gripped her when he began to laugh again, and she watched in anguish as he healed his wounds and stood. She looked at the pale skin that showed through the holes in his robes, and her eyes widened. There were no signs of scarring or bruising, something she could not manage herself with such deep wounds. She doubted the doctor that resided at the temple could even attain such skill.
Zakaraia snapped his fingers, and she cried out sharply as she felt her nose shift and fix itself. The knife clattered to the ground as she held her face in pain and swore.
“You got guts! Hah! I’ll give you that, but you’re gonna need a helluva lot more than that piddly knife to kill me!” He snickered.
He found her sword, slid it across the way to her with his foot, located his own, and brandished it again. Sheeva fought to cast her passive shield once more; the effect now a stinging burn that pinched its way across her skin.
Sheeva took to the sky, diving down and tucking her wings back, wanting to get speed on her side. He jumped back as she slashed downwards, and as she spread her wings to push herself forward, he leaped aside and blocked her strike, using the momentum to throw her into the wall. She barely caught herself on it, then took off again.
She swerved up, dived down, and tried again, missing and teetering off track as he pushed her when she passed him. She landed on her feet and turned to face him, annoyed with herself. He laughed at her, waiting for her to strike again. With another jump and swoop, she hoped to land a hit, but as he blocked, he bucked her away and into the ground. She hit it hard and rolled to a stop, discouraged and ashamed with herself.
“Tee-hee! Fly and dive, fly and dive–you’re so predictable!”
Scrambling to her feet, she gave an irritated growl and cast a weak, almost ineffective healing spell on her wrist that she landed on awkwardly. It should not have twisted; her passive shield should have held up, but if she were honest, she was too riled up to think straight. Sheeva hid her embarrassed look. Indeed, she lacked experience fighting a foe while flying, only having mud-crafted puppets to work with, and those were only as good as she could manipulate them to be.
“You have wings and a sword, but you don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” He taunted, laughing at her expression as she briefly considered that he was right. She could hold her own against the common man and even her long-time rival, but Zakaraia was on a completely different level.
“Hell, even your father put up a better fight!” He laughed.
Stunned briefly, Sheeva blinked.
“You knew my father?” She asked.
He flashed her another cocky smirk.
“That murderer?" He laughed. "His death was a good riddance to the world. It's a shame he didn't see you grow up, half-breed."
Sheeva huffed, putting herself back into the fight. If her speed was ineffective, she would try brute power.
She kept her feet on the ground and ran forward, hoping to slice up into his side and knock him into the air. If she destroyed his foundation, he could not defend himself well, and she might finally have the upper hand.
He still blocked her attack, but as she desperately channeled her energy through Abraxas with a determined grunt, she broke through and flung him into the air. She leaped, driving her blade across his stomach as she passed him. She grabbed his arm and attempted to behead him again but missed, feeling the dense resistance of bone against the blade as she sliced between his shoulders. She flipped and kicked him back to the ground with a channeled heel drop. He lay there, sprawled, and she hovered for a moment, waiting...hoping he was done for.
Horror took hold of her again as he coughed and stood, then turned to face her. He laughed as he pushed a pair of feathered, blood-stained wings out of his back and jerked his sword out of the ground.
“Shall I show you how it’s really done?”
Her stomach dropped at his threat. As she watched him flap his wings, she held Abraxas in front of her to block his intended strike, then jerked her face up, confused when he never struck.
Slowly, she realized she lost him somehow. She looked left, then right, just in time for his boot to collide with her face and throw her to the side.
Sheeva barely had time to react as he zipped in front of her and kicked her off course again. She cried out and watched her vision spin as she tumbled higher into the air. In the next second, he was in front of her again. He drove his knee into her stomach, and she coughed for air as the impact broke her passive shield. He grabbed her by the collar and held her in the air as she strained to take a breath.
It seemed she had just barely caught her breath again before Zakaraia whipped her around, and grabbed her left wing in one hand and her right arm in the other. She screamed in pain as he violently twisted her limbs, sending blinding white pain behind her eyes. She felt the rush of wind and gravity’s pull as he tossed her up, caught her by the ankle, and lobbed her, full force, toward the ground. She could have sworn she heard the grinding of bone in her head as the broken wing flailed in the fall.
She crashed to the cobblestone and lay still, trying to push through the pain of taking a breath. He landed, watching as she struggled to push herself up with only one arm, sucking for air with pained cries.
“After I finish you, I’ll go after Mildred and Tazaro. Their deaths will be on you, Sheeva. Just. Like. Rose's.”
The threat made Sheeva gasp in a short breath and freeze.
Sheeva wrenched her eyes shut and tightened her fist. She would not have it--not like this. It would be over her dead body.
In a brave, final effort, she got to her feet, blinking staggered as she fought to focus through her blurred, double-vision. Using her unbroken left arm, Sheeva gripped Abraxas as well as she could and rushed for him once again, trailing a messy sigil for her roots spell. If she could pin him down, she could risk a potential, up-close and lethal strike.
He closed his eyes, focusing, and stating something in a foreign language, snapped his fingers. A dark bubble quickly expanded from his center, and as Sheeva crossed the barrier and stepped inside, his face became indistinguishable and split into shards. Sheeva’s ears registered an increase in pressure as they ached and needed to pop, like a rapid ascent into the sky. She felt the intense, sluggish drag of her body as it fought the effects of the spell he cast, moving as though gravity’s force had been doubled.
In the unnatural, compressed moment, she cast her roots spell. They crept up his legs as slow as worms, but he made no attempt to move out of the way and rather, seemed to succumb to their restraint. As they wrapped around his thighs, she channeled a last-minute change, and as thorns burst from the vines, one helpfully embedded itself in his thigh, causing a gash.
Directly in front of him as she pushed on, she thrust the blade forth, her hands a warbled, blurred mess of skin. It took her a muddled minute to realize Zakaraia had moved just enough to avoid her strike as it grazed across his chest, then another to comprehend that he struck her with something as she felt a widespread tingle, almost something pleasant. The tingle spread across her body from head to toe.
The vines receded and he finally moved, unaffected by the weight of the spell. Her head lolled to look behind her, wondering if he was there. All she could discern was the red of his eyes, fuzzy and hazy.
As the next second passed and the bubble burst, her body’s movements caught up to her, and she barked out a startled cry as she fell and rolled across the cobblestone, brain overclocked as it tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. She felt something warm and wet, and as her vision crept back to her, she saw blood oozing from many cuts along her outstretched arm that lay along her wing, pinned beneath her shoulder, and craned out unnaturally. The trickle of blood from her chest alarmed her as the pool on the ground grew to cover her elbow.
She stared at all of it in terror, and as she felt a warmth pool over her thigh, Sheeva’s humiliation grew as she believed she’d wet herself, and she struggled with the ache of a pain in her thigh. The stench of iron mixed with dust, rocks, and feathers hit her nose and pulled her beneath the ground.
His laughter pierced her mess of a brain, and she pleaded with her body to look for him, to get up and move. Panic set in, and she urged herself to get up once more. She could not muster the will to move, and shamefully, she did not want to.
“Ah-hah! That move always gets me! The look on your pathetic little face was priceless! I’ll remember that one for a zillion years!” Zakaraia crowed as he applauded himself with claps that echoed on the walls.
Sheeva began to weep, riddled with dread and frustration. She was going to die, alone, with nothing but intense pain, blood-soaked warmth, urine-drenched pants, and a cold, hard, cobblestone floor to comfort her. A whimper of fear crawled from her throat as she heard the click of his boots while he approached her. Discouraged and in a moment of pure, self-preservation, she screamed at herself to get up and flee, but as her hand and foot merely twitched, she could only stare at the leather, studded, steel-toe-plated boots that stopped in front of her face.
He kicked her shoulder and pushed her over with his foot. She sobbed again out of pain as the fractured wing twisted beneath her. He sneered and held out his palm, and as she felt her brain tickle, she figured he was fixing to make her head explode. As her head slowly cleared, Sheeva locked her eyes with his.
"Leave them alone! Take me instead!" She cried.
He seemed to soften, stooped down, and pawed at her frightened face, seeming to take his time as the pads of his fingers trailed along her skin and his thumb caressed her jawline. She ripped her face from his pawing fingers, but as he clasped his long hand around her throat and forced her to look at him, she froze. When he leaned his face close to hers and nuzzled a cold, sharp nose against hers, she wrenched her eyes shut and braced herself for the disgusting claim of a kiss. The kiss never came. Instead, his lips brushed against her cheek to rest against the shell of her ear, and she whimpered in revulsion at the slimy prod of his tongue.
The breathy chuckle made her skin crawl and her stomach churn with nausea as it made her eardrums itch.
“Just kill me, you bastard.” She pleaded, turning her face away.
“No.” He denied. The long, bony fingers wrapped around her throat squeezed and pressed against it, driving primal fear as she wheezed. The sharp bite of his teeth on her earlobe made her sob, and she lost the precious breath she had sucked in. She choked and snapped her hand to pull weakly at his sleeve.
“You beg me to kill you, but I don’t think you want to die.” He grunted and hissed as her nails dug into the back of his hand. “All this fight for a blind, old bat and a fool?”
Sheeva’s brain latched onto the visage of Tazaro’s face; the bright, cheerful, orange eyes, his broad, unabashed grins that accentuated his dimples, further framed by wavy, chestnut-colored locks, and the stark contrast of the roughness of his fingers as they stroked her cheek and the back of her hand. The intense shiver of her body as it fought subsided as she succumbed further to delusion. She grasped the wrist of Zakaraia’s arm weakly as the hand tightened around her throat.
“Sleep, Sheeva.”
She choked but slipped away even further as Tazaro’s calm voice washed over her senses. A grateful sigh flowed from her lips as she felt the soft, heavy, soothing bearog-fur blanket she used in the workshop suppress and weigh down her body. Her hand dropped from its futile grasp, losing herself in the memory of cedar, pine, and sawdust. Her face heated in her last moment of embarrassment and modesty as she briefly imagined them sharing an embrace, as she had seen of other couples. Her heartbeat slowed as she entertained the idea.
"Sleep," Tazaro's voice repeated, and as Sheeva faintly registered the warmth of lips upon her cheek, her heart swelled in jubilation as her eyes slowly closed. The warm hand, calloused from holding the various woodworking tools, relaxed around her throat to caress her cheek, and her head fell to the side as she attempted to maintain contact with the comforting thing.
Sleep. Yes, She thought. Perhaps, she would not sleep but rather die in her sleep, and if such a place as Fidelia's Beach existed as Mildred believed, maybe, she might be able to be reunited with Rose.
Delighted and succumbing to the belief, her body began to float into an eerie sense of peace as a wave of invigorating warmth covered her from head to toe. Pacified by soft sands, Sheeva briefly registered Rose helping to adjust her heavy limbs, arms crossed over her chest before resigning to the pull of darkness.