A Little Confrontation

[Mariana Xiechai]

Run. It was all she could think of to do. Right past the people outside, discussing something amongst themselves. Some small notion of association with them rang at the back of her head, but in her state of borderline panic their faces were reduced to formless masks. There was concern in their voices, but Mariana contributed it to something irrelevant and deviated around them as she exited the tavern. Her passing was announced by the clanging of her plate-mail boots on the damp cobblestones, and the rainwater bounced off of her shoulders as she descended into the sewers.

This place was the definition of loathsome to her. Water she did not mind; pure, crystalline drinking water, the kind of water that rippled within the Pool of Stealth. This tainted water beneath the city, filled with feces and urine and any other assortment of necrotic waste, made bile rise in her throat every time she happened by the entrance to these convoluted passageways. In this moment, though, these factors did not contribute to her decision as she plunged into the darkness. The fermenting liquid splashed on her leggings and sullied her shoes, and nausea swept through her stomach as she hit this proverbial wall of stench, but she did not hesitate more than a moment before pressing onward. Though their association only consisted of a few meager weeks, the akkaio knew quite well that Erythros would be coming here to try and escape. She’d deduced long ago that, for whatever reason that baffled her idea of logic, that bothersome little elf liked it down here.

Blast you. I’m going to rip you apart, when I find you. Blast you, blast you, blast you!

Her footfalls were enough to distort her sense of hearing. Typically even in darkness, her other senses could make up for the lack of light. The lack of sight. But here, where the tunnels looped in a tumultuous way, and where the rancid scent permeated the air about her muzzle, she could not rely upon those other innate abilities. She had to be able to hear.

All manner of vulgar cursing droned in her head as she snapped off the clasps holding her boots to her feet. She gagged and her gut wrenched as her bare feet touched the soiled ground, the sod squishing up between her toes. To provide solace, she envisioned forcing that dermorian to take a sterilized, miniature brush to her feet until every last speck of sewage was gone. She thrust her muddy boots into her travelsack, too inflamed to care that the muck on them was then allowed free access to the other hapless contents of her bag. Again, she began her mad dash into the sewers, deeper into the grime, and closer to her deprecating friend.

Because he was belittling. He was pathetic. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt this level of insurmountable indignation running through her person. The casual and careless contact that came from day to day life, she could forgive. She could forgive that easily, because who in their right mind would stop to think that such benign gestures could be bone-rattling to her pathetic person?

This...this was different. He had known. She’d told him how it was, how she felt. What had happened to her, and the effect it had. And that man...that worm had taken that knowledge and used it against her. Used it to intentionally hurt her. His fingers groping at her neck had wreaked havoc on her stability, torn a gaping hole in her self-confidence. And he’d all done it with flickering red eyes of rage. A lip curled up in disgust at the recent recollection. Disgust with him. But more, disgust at herself. At her own weakness, this Achilles heel that she could not seem to eradicate no matter the passage of time nor the attempts at denial. She was broken, and he’d made that fact surface in bold and embarrassing relief. He was going to pay for that.

Now traveling in relative silence, her ears tuned to sound and her palm emitting the faintest red glow, Mariana could hear him somewhere up ahead. Hear his heavy breathing and tireless running. Running away from her. As you should, you scrawny wretch. Wait until I get my hands on you...

A confession of love! That was what had been eagerly dancing on his tongue, what he had been extending to her. The fact sent another wrathful tremor through her bones. Love, and yet his first act after this admonition was to harm. To discredit that love by stating that it was wrong, a perversion, a lie. Why, because of who she was? Did he think she was such an unworthy pile of refuse that he found it fun to toy with what was left of her emotions?

Mariana’s fangs dug into her lower lip as she skidded around a corner, sloshing the opposite wall with the dark, foul-smelling water. Her eyes fell upon him in the sparse half-light, emitted from an iron-wrought candle holder sticking out awkwardly from the wall. His face was cast in dark contrast by it. His red hair seemed to take on a glow, and it too obscured his expression as he began to turn towards the sound of her approach.

She lunged forward, paws extended, and shoved at him. Into him, a forceful push that sent him stumbling back against the moss-encrusted wall and below that rusty metal holder. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a sharp pain in those eyes. They were green again, bright green and pleading, with a depth of sorrow that stretched out and lashed at her heart.

It didn’t matter now. This elf was beyond the point of reconciliation.

“I don’t PLAY games!” Mariana shrieked, keeping her biting grip locked on Erythros’ shoulders. Her statement reverberated, magnified, through the tunnels. Menacing and infuriated, she held her face mere inches from his, glimmering white teeth visible.

Erythros’ hand flashed up, apparently not totally immobilized by her harsh hold. It curled around the frame of the candle, and in one swift downward motion he jerked the hidden switch. The wall behind him ground against the floor, the only warning before it swiveled with a frightening speed and delivered him, alone, into whatever doorway lay beyond. The stone slammed into Mariana’s paws and easily broke her grip, leaving her standing solo and gape-mouthed. It took her a moment to realize what had just happened, and when she did, she let out a guttural shout and slammed at the barrier that had imposed herself between Erythros and, in her mind, well-deserved retribution. She tugged at the same metal mechanism, but with no luck at reproducing the same results.

With a final vehement curse at the camouflaged entrance, she clenched her trembling fists at her sides and stalked out of the sewers.

~~

Ixi Veno.

Erythros stumbled onto the path, grabbing the torch that was slung into the wall out of sheer forced habit. He held it low to light his steps, but other than that simple movement, seemed almost catatonic as he traversed this concealed underpass.

Ixi Veno.

He kept that thought repeating in his head, over and over, a loop re-play to encourage the numbness that had settled over his nerves. The Whisper did not speak to him, seeming content to leave him in his own bitterness and self loathing. That was the truth of it. Only when it needed him did it contact him. In this morbid mockery of affection, it kept him locked in addiction to it, unable to escape from the tangled web of deceit and lies and promises of enlightened understanding. More enticing than anything was the promise of knowledge, and with each passing day it seemed that promise became more hollow and empty. Sand leaking out from between his fingers. A tree carved out by termites and left as a plaything for passing winds. He hated the whisper, hated it, hated...

IXI VENO!

The halls were full of ritualistic chanting, melding together to form an incoherent cacophony that usually would have been welcomed in his ears. The robed figures gathered around the unnatural, flickering black light would have been a sweet invitation to home.

The doubt had infected him like the plague. He could fight it no longer. It was true; it had consumed all of him. He could no longer even manage to delude himself into believing otherwise. For so long he had somehow held to the belief that ultimately good could come of the killings, but this blissful ignorance was to be his no longer. His eyes had been opened to peer into the depths of his own soul, and the revulsion that this revelation caused shook him to the core.

A red carpet appeared beneath his feet, the final announcement that he’d come to the end of his journey. The sight of it had his innards in knots now. He moved down it, past the long pew-like benches, past the prostrate followers of the Flame, up towards the altar where the most prevalent source of its power flickered. Black fire, nothing natural about the substance. Fire was supposed to provide life and light, but this stuff, this leached both from wherever it could manage, wherever it could touch. The thought that his passions had once offered sacrifices to this thing, the fact that they still did, nearly induced vomiting.

His feet stumbled up the few stairs that allowed access to the Flame’s pedestal. He stood before it, nothing more than a wisp of a man now, reduced to emptiness, to a dead thing on stubbornly moving legs. The sound of a throat clearing, his own throat, cut through the constant steady chanting that danced in the air, and he waited for a moment, staring into the heart of that unholy fire.

“Ixi Veno,” he rasped out, running his tongue along his lips. “Ixi Veno.”

“Hah! Good, good, pet. Well done! Well, well done.”

The Whisper’s pleasure sickened him now, and he tried to squelch that effect. It could peer into his thoughts, see his emotions, peel past the layers and...

“Layers? Please, don’t flatter yourself. I’ve heard your inner commentary the moment you stepped into my domain.”

Erythros froze, every muscle and tendon tensing to attention. His breathing stopped, bated, waiting. It would surely kill him now. It would reach out and wrend his very soul from his body. If he even had a soul left after everything he had done. It would flay his flesh from his seemingly ancient bones.

“Oh please, I’m far more creative than that, you’re so incredibly cliche.” The voice curled around his mind, playfully caressing it, nibbling at his ears. “You really don’t think I saw this coming, my unwitting little adulterer? You really don’t think I knew all along how this would end?”

Nails drove into his chest, red-hot as though they had just been pulled from the furnace, and he crumpled to his knees with a shout. All he could see was red, pulsating read; watching his own arteries and vessels beating with fleeting life right before his eyes. The heat centered in his mind and he screamed as it pierced through him, digging into the base of his skull, wracking his body with spasms of pain. It latched onto the various nervous centers in charge of mitigating the severity of agony and plucked at the strings as though they were a lute, making his nerve endings all cry out in tormented anguish together as one.

He couldn’t even take in enough air to scream.

“ADULTERER!” It accused, the pinpricks of pain now traveling towards the red tattoo on his arm. It wreathed beneath his skin, the mark of his unceasing dedication that he had readily taken into his own flesh. Now the Flame used that decision against him, utilized the physical manifestation of property to increase his tortured senses tenfold. “ADULTERER! How dare you think you could get away from me? Hide the truth from me? REVOLT you, do I? After all this time together, you thought you could simply walk out and turn your back on me?!”

Erythros curled up on the ground, a fetal position, a defeated position. Tears leaked from his eyes and formed rivulets down his face, a wet and consistent trail. He just wanted to die now, Dakkru’s realm be damned. Being entrapped there forever would surely be better then all of this. Mariana hated him now, as she always should have, and the arms of his perverse phantasmal lover were now locking him in a fatal stranglehold. Perhaps it would even provide him with true death.

“Kill you, heretic? Oh, that end would be far too sweet for you, my precious traitor.”

The flame withdrew its spiked tendrils and left him gasping for air, writhing on the ground, hands desperately trying to find something to latch onto.

“No. That wouldn’t be enough. Far too merciful. I’m going to destroy you utterly, heretic. But I’m not going to have the grace to tell you how it shall be done.” An uncanny giggle clattered amongst the sparse crowd, the onlookers that watched this display with a mingle of shame and fear. This was the punishment for betrayal.

Erythros found himself forced to his feet by two other followers of the flame. He did not have the energy to even raise his head to look about him, at the high-vaulted ceiling and the archaic writings scrawled upon the age-weathered walls. Those holding him up were anonymous beneath their hoods, but it was strange to know that at one time he likely would have called them friends. Accomplices with an alike mission and steady purpose. Now they had betrayed him, saw him as an ill-functioning body part that could no longer serve its purpose and so must be separated from the integral system. Such a fluctuation could not be allowed to persist in these hallowed halls, and so must be dealt with accordingly. Their grip upon his arms was icy and dug into his very bones, a pinching and callous sort of grasp that took away any inclination of compassionate understanding or notion of companionship with the elf. That, too, confirmed the proclamations he'd been musing in his head since his entrance to this place.

Now he was on the outside looking in, and suddenly what he thought was beautiful was revealed to be more hideous than anything he could have imagined before. The velvet draperies that swirled with deliciously rich colors no longer held their attractive appeal. These ancient halls that had once clutched the very vestiges of promise and baffled his mind with tales of history no longer eluded to such high and lofty presumptions. Now it all looked old, just old, a cult that had long ago burst into existence from hatred and deviously masked itself in false veils of wisdom and seductive deceit. It had crooked a finger beneath his chin when he was still young and full of vitality, and then had vilified him before he actually connected the dots and came face to face with the condemning nature of his crimes. An empty dilapidated shack upon a hill, these regal labyrinths that he had thought only hid themselves among the sewers had now become as one with them.

“You will finish your mission,” The Whisper continued, again stroking his thoughts with ethereal fingers. “You will see to it that that ever so precious little priestess utters her confession, or I shall kill you...” It halted, and again that raucous laughter presented itself, biting and totally manic. “No. No, not that. If you do not, I will chain you to that wall...”

The dermorian weakly raised his head and stared at the brittle looking cuffs welded to the stones indicated, and his eyes were upon them when the whisper continued its verdict.

“And I shall force you to watch as I skin that little akkaio of yours alive.”

Reserves he didn’t know he had presented themselves at this proclamation. His back arched and he struggled against the men’s holds, screaming and crying out in protest. “No! No! You won’t! I won’t let you, I’ll...”

“Silence!”

The pain descended upon his head again and he slumped down, nearly rendered an unconscious heap in the sheer force of it. His head bobbed limply upon his neck and his arm throbbed, the colors of that tattoo going from a muted red to the inky candor of blood. It almost appeared to have been set aflame.

“You will do as I have requested, or I promise you, my pet. I shall do precisely that.”

A shudder traveled down the length of Erythros’ spine, and his chest heaved in ultimate dejection, in defeat. For there was nothing left for him. His leather shoes scraped against the floor as the men dragged the empty husk of an elf away.

[Mariana Xiechai]

I'm not sure I conveyed quite the emotion I wanted to and I may add some stuff later, but since I haven't posted in a blue moon I figured I'd just add it anyway. 

[Caraick]

 

That is all.

[Mariana Xiechai]

 
  Glad you liked it.

[Aramara Meibi]

thrilling

[Mariana Xiechai]

This is surprisingly hard to do with a broken chat log. Man I wish I hadn't had my computer wiped. Mrrrr.

Since I haven't yet, thanks to all those who did fill in vital bits and pieces. 

[Jilata]

hm... reading your story makes me want to work on a part where Jilata joined that mess... 

I really enjoy reading it

[Mariana Xiechai]

Hey, if you're inspired to write, write away! (Just promise to let me read it when you're done )
Glad you guys enjoy it. 

[Mariana Xiechai]

Not sure if I'll finish this or not, unless it's wanted. Story's kinda stagnated, I took too long to write it after the fact and working with broken logs is pretty much impossible.

[Phantomboy86]

BUT WE HAVENT HAD THE DRAMATIC CLIMAX!

Finish it yo! Just ask whoever was there to hand you any log bits you didn't have, or take artistic license and make up what you cant remember

[Mariana Xiechai]

* Mariana Xiechai snickers. "Alrighty then, batman. Just for you."

[Phantomboy86]

* Mariana Xiechai snickers. "Alrighty then, batman. Just for you."

*Travosh feels special

[Mariana Xiechai]

Stepping back out into the open air cleared the raging fenki’s thoughts. She sagged against the cement wall for a moment, taking the breeze in through her muzzle to chase out the last potent remains of sewage scent. Her whiskers quivered slightly at the stirring of wind, and she moved towards the nearest fountain, calmly washing the grimy muck from the soles of her furry feet until none of it remained. Eyes fixed on the now cloudy water, she bid her train of thought render itself coherent once more. Bid that her anger dissipate and disperse, since it did her no good to cling to it. Emotion fogged the mind and rendered thoughts incapacitated. Far better to gain control and then re-evaluate the situation at hand with clearer vision.

Paws braced against the edge of the fountain, Mariana watched her flickering reflection, somewhat tarnished by the mire still swirling upon its surface. Now that the searing sensation of of animosity had abated, the face that stared back at her held an almost mournful expression. She reconsidered the events that had transpired without the taint of being victimized, but rather what had been going on inside of the perpetrator’s head. In truth, he had not physically hurt her. A cornered, injured animal that had launched a counter attack where there wasn’t an initiation to begin with. The more she let the images replay, the more she regretted the way she had reacted. He may have been a cornered animal, but she’d played the antagonist who prodded it with a stick. She’d only honed in upon his transgressions and disregarded the other cues his expressions had provided.

The akkaio raised her paw and cut through the surface tension of the water with claws unsheathed, tearing streaks through the steadily rippling mirror. The last of the tainted mud disappeared in a miniature vortex down the fountain’s drain. She formed a bowl with her paws, letting the liquid leak back out between her fingers and splashing her own face to enforce more clarity. Tiny rivers trickled down the bridge of her nose and from the corners of her eyes, her visage now giving the inkling that she had been weeping. Not one for such an indication, the fenki snapped her fingers and dried her fur with a quick burst of heat, swiveling on her heel and listening to her feet pad padding softly upon the earth.

Solace. She needed more time to think, time to organize her thoughts into a precise and compendious document so that she could better interpret the text. There was more going on here than met the eye, that much she was certain of. All she needed to do was to figure out precisely what was being enacted behind the curtain, and then all of the undecided and baffling events would fall neatly into place.

“Mahiana!”

The akkaio jerked her head up at the voice, knowing it all too well. She emerged from the alleyway just in time to see Miomai bounding towards her, a bundle of exuberant, inexhaustible energy. The clamod skidded to a graceful halt by somersaulting head-over-heels and landing with her arms stretched over her head in victory.

“Mahiana, we should go PREY for Dakkru!” She clasped her paws together beneath her chin and implored her with wide, black, shimmering eyes. Her nose twitched to add to the effect, and although her appearance was ragged and the suggestion rather violent in nature, her tendencies were disturbingly childish.

Smiling with familiarity at her non-rhotic friend, Mariana reached out to give the top of her head an affectionate rub. Miomai's hind leg beat the ground in a steady rhythm in response, and the akkaio chuckled to herself, already feeling some of the tension lifting from her shoulders. The fact that the small fenki before her was what one might consider a sadistic killer didn't seem to phase her; she'd always seen Miomai as a child that needed guidance rather than an iron fist of judgement. Although she was fully grown, the armored enkidukai held firmly to this belief, and had refused to give up on the clamod through numerous boughts of insanity. She understood all too well how difficult it was to overcome adversity, and though their challenges were different in nature, this truth held fast within her moral compass.

“Sure, Crazy Twin,” she replied. “We'll go prey for Dakkru.”

The clamod's face shifted with delight, and she pranced off towards the arena, her daggers already flashing into her hands and weaving in an eager fashion. Mariana followed, descending the stairs away from the tavern and the exit of the sewers, her mind on other things.

Stepping out onto the plaza, Mariana was about to call out to Miomai and request that she slow in her hasty retreat for game when her gaze fell upon Erythros. He was standing five paces from her, his face filled with pain and his eyes pleading. He was half-hidden by the balustrade that marked the beginning of the stairs, but he was there, plain as crystalshine.

“Fancy seeing you here, Erythros,” she called, proud that her voice remained stable and steady. She had been sure to temper herself before leaving the fountain, and she thanked herself for that forsight now. She certainly hadn’t expected to see the elf again so soon, but she was quickly learning that she likely would never be able to predict his actions.

There was remorse in his eyes as he stepped forward. He held his arm strangely, limp and immobile by his side, and he had trouble meeting her gaze.

“Who's the ELF?!”

Miomai had bounded back towards them, sensing perhaps an intriguing development. She observed with mild curiosity for a moment, arms crossed over her chest, and then spontaneously began to groom her fur as though Erythros were no more interesting than a stain upon her coat.

Raising her paw, Mariana beckoned to the dermorian. He approached as bidden, but with an agonizing slowness, dragging his feet upon the stone floor, gaze downcast. His hair fell before his brow so that she could not peer into his eyes, and this bothered her greatly. They would be her only warning.

“Erythros, this is Miomai, my...friend.”

In response to the introduction, the clamod let out an ear-shattering cackle and pointed straight at the elf, proclaiming: “Looks like you've got him TRAINED!”

Mariana watched as he drew nearer, and his despondence melted away the remains of her anger. Her eyes softened, and she placed one foot in front of her, waving again, encouraging. “Come closer, Erythros. I wish to speak with you.”

~~

He forced himself to look up at her. Forced his eyes to lock with hers, even though it brought out his retributive guilt like an electric jolt. His feet were moving of their own accord now, no longer controlled by his higher brain functions but forced forward by the steadfast actions and signals of his brain stem.

“DO as she says!” The other enkidukai was saying, but her presence barely registered. The only thing he could think about was the danger Mariana was in, the danger he had put her in by allowing himself to get too close. She stood smiling at him, of all absurdities, and her voice held only concern, instead of the wrath he had surely earned.

“Where have you been, my friend? I've been...looking for you.”

His legs gave out, no longer having the conviction to carry onward. He sunk to his knees and looked up at her, and made the selfish request that he longed to make, rather than the admonishment that would have kept her safe: “Forgive me.” The sharp, cloying, heated feeling of tears crept up the back of his throat and lined his eyes with moisture. His arm throbbed with a keener pain, but keener still was the knife twisting in his gut. He had to make a decision. Had to warn her about the impending doom, and force her away from himself. To save her.

She was confused, of all things. Utterly dumbfounded by his display. It was evident on her face, and in her words as she addressed him.

“Well, being left in a sewer alone isn't my favorite circumstance, but my word, Erythros.”

Miomai let out another cackle and again indicated him with her finger, her claw unsheathed in her excitement. “I need a sehvant that sinks to his knees befoah ME!”

Mariana did not acknowledge the other fenki's words. She stepped forward and closed the gap between them, stooping down to join him on the cold stone floor instead of standing above him. She moved to try and tug at him, to pull him to his feet. “Come, stand up. It's alright, I forgive you. Please.” Her paw hovered over where he held his arm against his own body, to minimize its jostling. “What happened?” She asked, voice swathed with concern.

The tears tore past his eyes with a violence. His chest heaved with a sob, and he was unable to look at her any longer. His shame was a force that bent his head, made him look down and away from her. His fingers dug painfully into the throbbing tattoo beneath his sleeve and added to its tormented state, attempting to distract himself from the internal sense of self-condemnation.

Look at her! Look at what you have done! She cares for you, and here you sit, ready to feed her more lies, endangering her with your mere presence. You will be the death of her, and she will die with spite in her voice and scorn for your name.

The feel of arms wrapping around him only increased his sobbing, because now she was giving more of herself, facing her phobia in an attempt to comfort him. Her armor was chilling, a stark contrast to the warm heart it protected. “Erythros! It's alright, I am not angry with you!” She exclaimed, and he once again looked up to peer at her. A smile cracked her face, amiable, inviting. “See? It's alright, I forgive you,” she reassured.

“She fohgives too EASILY!” Miomai stated, punctuating the truth with a thump of her hind foot against the ground.

She's right. If you only knew, Mariana. If you only knew, you'd understand that not even you have the capacity to forgive what I am.

“You're injured,” she continued, while he tried to regain control of himself. Her paw hovered over his arm, and before he could stop her, she began to channel pure white energy into the arm. Letting it seep into his tattoo.

“NO!” He shrieked, trying to grab at her wrist. But it was too late, and his body was swarmed once more with that pins-and-needles pain, up and down his spine, a volley that continued repeatedly and reached a point that nearly left him unconscious. It would have, had he not felt it before. As it was, he simply sat there, incoherent as he tried to withstand the assault.

Her spell dissipated and she rocked back on her heels, jerking her paw out of his grip instantly and breaking the contact. The clamod said something more, a threat, but it was lost upon him entirely and he did not have the breath nor the motivation to respond.

“If he doesn't want HEALING, he must want HUHTING!” Miomai shouted, the eagerness to inflict more pain all too noticeable in her tone. He could feel her warm breath somewhere behind him, upon his scalp, and he very nearly pleaded with her to simply kill him and end it there. End it all. Her breath drew closer and he felt it near his ear, whispering a promise of escape? No, to goad: “What'll it be, elf? Moah sobbing?”

No. Not more sobbing, fenki. No more sobbing.

His eyes snapped open. He felt something click into place, the will to fight. And his new purpose was quite clear as he looked up at Mariana. He could see her fur being burned from her flesh, or worse, being skinned to reveal the muscles and sinews that lay beneath her pelt. Could envision the Whisper carrying out its heinous threat and using her as a decoration for its unholy walls. The idea of having to walk past it time and again, and again, knowing who it belonged to, knowing that her demise had been his own doing...

“Please, don't,” he managed to rasp out, his eyes still locked on Mariana as he spoke. She mistook him for addressing her and raised her paws, palms facing him.

“No, alright, I won't try to heal you. I am so sorry, I was trying to help.”

The sadness in her was potent. It struck him in the chest; this fact that she was so moved by the idea that she had injured him, even unintentionally. Compared to everything he had done to her, everything that he might cause her, and she was concerned for him.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, forcing his lips to form a faint, ghost-like mockery of a smile. It was all he could offer, but he owed her that much. Owed her a strong facade to help her get through this situation. He was determined that she would not know...

“Tell me what is wrong, so I can help,” she demanded, her eyes flashing with fury. She was angry at his condition, and she wanted revenge for it. The idea was absurd, but it was fact, and it terrified him. Mariana would charge headfirst into the sewers and try to tip the flame over if she knew his situation. Granted, most of that would be purely from ignorance, from not understanding what a truly vile thing the flame was, but she would still do it. And she would die.

“Please, Mariana, you can't...” He stammered, trying to push himself up with the arm that was still capable of moving. Her expression shifted from soft to harsh, a snarl and sneer molding across it. Her words were darts to him, even though she spoke them on his behalf.

“Who do you think I am?!” she said, “If you've got enemies, I'll fight them. If you've got wounds, I'll mend them. I am your FRIEND, Erythros, not your enemy!” she narrowed her eyes, hesitantly put out a paw to assist him in rising. “And I am not weak.”

He reached forward and tried to calm her with his words as he pulled himself up, “I know you are, Mariana. I know you are...” He assured, attempting to placate her.

Miomai felt it necessary to chime in once more, her shrill voice breaking through the tension and making itself known with admirable force: “Nope nope, not weak! She'll kick yoah behind befoah you knew wheah it was!”

 â€śEverything I ask of you, or do. I do because I want to protect you, Mariana,” he continued. He was going to have to beg her, for he had tried forcing her away and she had proven far to stubborn for such a methodology. “Please, understand that.” If fear or resentment towards his own person did not work, then perhaps he could inspire fear in the unknown, and in that fear, keep her safe.

No such luck.

Mariana grinned fiercely, her eyes suddenly glinting. “I don't need protecting, Erythros." She swished her tail, her demeanor uncharacteristically far from calm as her determination grew in volume. “If someone's hurting you, let me go after them.” She frowned. “I didn't get the chance to go after my own demons. Let me hunt yours.”

To finish her statement, she looked up at the buoyant clamod and inquired: “What do you think, Miomai? Think I could take on a couple of thugs?”

“Not without MY help, EVIL TWIN!” Came the instant reply. Those daggers twirled eagerly in furry fists, as though she was already contemplating running through the presumed enemy and enjoying every trickle of blood it produced.

Panic shuddered through him, along with the realization that nothing he could say could steer her from this course. Nothing, perhaps, save the outright truth. And such a revelation was a more terrifying concept than any he'd ever encountered before. The idea that she would hate him, and rightfully so, jarred his system nearly to shock.

He suppressed it.

“You cannot hunt them, Mariana,” he said, urgency tinging his tone. “If you try to help me, they will only hunt you. And however badly I may want...” he trailed off and looked down, forcing even his mind to unhitch from that tangent. Such fantasies would only invoke more pain. “It cannot...It is not possible. Please.”

A snort issued from her already flared nostrils, and if she caught the tone of his near confession, she gave no hint of it. The walls she'd secured around herself were far too thick for such an intrusion. “I don't care who you're involved with,” she insisted. “The darkest of darks. The depths of the Death Realm. The cultist Black Flame. You are my friend, and I will not stand by and do nothing.”

The Black Flame.

Even this, tossed out so quickly, and with such confidence. He knew of her past, now, she had shared it with him. He could never understand how one so exposed to the horrors of reality could keep her head above water with such assurance, how she could completely deny the effects darkness had upon the world with her flippant dismissals.

Because she has to believe it, he realized. She has to belief she can fight it off. It is part of her defense. She has to believe she can survive anything, because to show her weakness in defeat is her deepest fear.

He hit her where he knew it would cause a stagger. “I know you, Mariana. I know that you would never leave me to spiral down in the dark. It is only because of that that I said and did what I have done. Because I care for more about you than I would have known, and cannot bear to see anything happen to you on account of you struggling to help a doomed cause.”

Affection. She cowers in the face of it, does not know how to react to it. Too lost in her own pitiful state of self worthlessness. Perhaps in this way, I can drive a wedge...

Mariana's jaw dropped, her expression bewildered at his confession. She shook her head back and forth, clearing her throat. “Ah...” she blinked rapidly, brain trying to recover and form a substantial rebuttal. “You...aren't a doomed cause, Erythros,” she said finally. “Tell me, do you feel regret for what you have done?”

I do not, save for what it could do to you. He had to make this personal confession to himself. He had not changed, for the longest time he had served the Black Flame and wielded its power in his eyes and in his veins. He had relished the feel of it coursing through his veins and arteries. Not until he saw from eyes not his own was he struck with the reality that what he served was a malevolent lie.

“I regret what I have done because it keeps me from you.”

Mariana frowned deeply at him. He could see the doubt already clouding her eyes. She did not believe his statement, for it did not synch with her warped interpretation of reality. "I'm no prize, Erythros. I'm just your average high-strung, stubborn Fenki. With enough baggage to crush an army of Clackers. But I want to help you."

Miomai seemed to grow rather bored of this exchange suddenly, and with the attention span of a sparrow that has ingested far too much yarrow, she turned around and bounded off, leaving them to continue their conversation with a simple statement: “WELL, this is boring. HAVE fun you LOVEBIHDS!”

An interesting one, that.

“Again, you don't understand. You are a prize beyond compare, a jewel without equal."

His words only served to bother her, it seemed. Her claws were digging at that scar on her wrist, and she drug them across mercilessly, leaving bleeding scratches in their wake. "Look,” she snapped. “This is hardly about what I am or what I am not. This is about me, helping you. What I am is irrelevant." She continued to assault the raw bit of flesh, the scowl forming again on her face as she grew increasingly frustrated with his lack of cooperation.

"Let me see your wrist, Mariana,” Erythos said softly, putting his hand out towards her in an offer to take it. Let me see the physical ramifications of the mental torment I've put you through.

She refused, dismissing its importance, and continued her barrage of inquires. It was clear she would not relent. She would not let up until she knew his story. Only by that confessional, could he hope to drive her away forever. He had to do what he had feared the most, and looking at the blood steadily weeping from the trivial wound, he knew he had to sacrifice in order to assure Mariana's safety. And if that was what it took, that was what he would do.

“Come,” he intoned, and gestured towards the secluded gazebo beside the Laanx temple. He strode forward without awaiting her reply, dread already climbing into his heart. Come, and allow me to forever sever the bond between us. Come, and I will tell you of the monster I truly am.

[Mariana Xiechai]

Alright, I'm going to need some more help for me to continue this. I've got the interactions between Erythros and Mariana, but I NEED the interactions between the other characters, anything that involved this story. Mariana and Erythros don't have to be present in these interactions, in fact it's preferable if they are not, because likely those are the ones I will not have access to. PM me these interactions if you can, it would be much appreciated.

[miomo]

Miomai is non-rhotic (thanks to Aramara for that word), though she's probably horrible at rhetoric as well.

Keep up the excellent writing, we're all eager for each new instalment.