Zalasfir held up his free hand, palm facing towards them and spoke a word, one harsh and sibilant in nature. Discordant noises assailed them; they recoiled at the touch of it, a shrieking in their ears, a dizziness that sent their senses spinning. It took all their effort to just retain their footing, to keep from tumbling over as the world span about them.
Then the sound was gone and as they recovered, they saw a sight hard to behold, for Zalasfir changed before them. His features sloughed away, his robes began to merge into him and he grew thinner and longer. Ears melted into the side of his head and his nose flattened, disappearing from view. In their state of disorientation, it was hard to watch, the warping of form and body, of a man disappearing, emerging forth into a being not of their kind.
“I am not like you,” hissed Zalasfir, tongue flickering from between thin lips. “Think you that I came all this way for mere knowledge? Fools. I came for this.” He took up the Soul of Angfaeled between two scaly hands and raise it. A green hue came across the gem, sickly to behold.
“Snakeman!” Aedmorn gasped.
“So you name us,” Zalasfir responded. “Soon you shall call us masters. With this I shall become as a god that walks the earth, and all will acknowledge me, warmbloods as well as cold.”
“You can not,” Ivkarha cried out, shaking her head to clear it. With a low growl, she raised her sword, making ready to spring but Zalasfir spoke another discordant word and she stumbled back, crying out as she did.
“Can not, you say? With the Soul all things are possible to those who believe. You warmblood are so easily distract, so easily tempted and corrupted. Not I; not my kind. We have the will, the belief to carry us to our goals, and I shall do as I say.”
Ivkarha cried out again, a loud shout of rage and anger, forcing herself forward against the pain and noise, one hand grasping her head as she came. Determined beyond measure, she pushed forward, one heavy step after another.
Zalasfir turned all his attention upon her, all the dark designs of his will, eyes boring into her. She recoiled at it, face contorted in pain and anguish.
“Stop,” spoke Aedmorn, his voice cutting through the discordant noise, a voice ringing with command. Soft it was, yet melodic, the voice of a cruaith unleashed. Only as Zalasfir turned his attention away towards Ivkarha was Aedmorn able to muster up the strength to do so. Of a sudden the pain fell away from them and their senses returned.
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Grim blazed Ivkarha’s eyes as she stood upright once more, taking a firm grip open her sword hilt with both hands. Zalasfir hissed and slithered backwards, putting the table between himself and his foes. “Attend me!” he called forth.
Still hanging back, Kato shook his head. “No,” he replied, “Think you that I shall come to your aid now?”
“I do not think he means you,” Aedmorn warned, looking towards the door. A hissing could be heard from elsewhere in the building, and a slivering. Bursting through came another of the serpentmen, grasping a poisoned dagger in hand. It charged towards Aedmorn, dagger raised, while a second one entered through the door. Kato found himself forced into the fray as it moved upon him, cold intent and poison ready to strike him down.
Swift came the serpentmen onwards, and they struck with the blinding speed that only a snake could, daggers flickering forth, poisoned tips. They opened wide their eyes and poured forth their malice and hate into their gazes, so that their foes were mazed by it, reactions blunted, wills sapped. Sword and staff rose to meet the daggers, barely turning them aside as the serpentmen pressed forward, venom coated steel mere whispers away from scoring flesh.
Ivkarha could spare her companions no concern, with Zalasfir afore her. She made to advance towards him and he slunk away, keeping the table between them, first one way and then the other. The sound of steel and wood clashing echoed around her, her eyes set upon the serpentman, taking care to keep her vision away from his mesmeric eyes. She could still feel them upon her though, the eyes boring into her and a lethargy descended upon her, sapping strength and purpose.
She struggled on, pushing forward, step by step, resolved written large across her, gritting teeth. She could not - would not - allow Zalasfir to best her, to retain the Soul of Angfaeled, to bend it to his will and desire. To allow such a thing would bring horror untold to the lands, of a cold, remorseless power forcing all to bend to it, to worship it.
The crystal in Zalasfir’s hands began to glow brighter still, the sickly green casting its malevolent hues upon the room so that all were bathe in it. Her skin crawled at the touch of it, for it felt more than just light; it felt as if it was sinking into to her, changing her and all that it touched.
Her steps faltered. A thought came to her; why was she fighting him who was so much more than her, so much better, deserving praise and not hostility? She was worthless in comparison, a worm before his might and majesty.
She looked up and met his wonderful eyes and became lost in them, sword dipping down. She could not fight him; she had no chance to defeat him. She should just accept her fate. Whatever he decided for her was for the best, of that she had no doubts.
Zalasfir had halted his advance and a cruel smile spread across his serpent’s face. “You see it know, do you not. The way the world will be, all of it.” He stroked scaled fingers across the surface of the crystal. “This is just a foretaste of what shall be once I have full mastery over the Soul.”
“I see, oh master,” Ivkarha intoned. All thoughts were lost but for him that stood majestic before her. “What now, great one?”
“Now? Now you die.”