The Meeting

[FireAngel]

“Fire. What an unexpected surprise.”

There was a chill to those words that even the heat from the flames rippling and pulsating around the tall, svelte woman could not banish, a polite façade masking irritation at the sudden appearance of the Seraph Chaos Angel of Fire and Death in the immense tower of the sleek, graceful Fallen. Eyes so pale a blue that they gleamed very nearly colorless and settled in a visage of impossible beauty did not flicker nor waver when the flames in the small brazier flickered and danced wildly prior to the appearance of the warrior-angel in the private archive of the Beauty of the Aratar. Instead, the slender volume of ancient chants was set aside after carefully marking her place and the tall, lithe woman stood to greet her unannounced visitor.

“Forgive me, Beauty, for I know how you loathe unexpected surprises.”

There was a mild undercurrent of tension rippling through the husky voice as Fire felt the leaping, writhing orange flames reaching from the puddle that spilled out from the small brazier by her own command reach and coil like longing serpents around her sculpted legs, as if seeking a way to merge back with those racing through her veins. The fire dancing on the wicks of the candles illuminating the small sitting area in the massive tower chamber reached and leaned for the tall woman with the black, leathery demonic wings tucked tightly to her back in a myriad of folds and creases, the yearning reach causing the shadows in the room to ripple and sway as if living, breathing things creeping from under the couch piled with silken pillows and table settled nearby.

As if well aware that she tread on treacherous ground, the Chaos Angel seemed to exhale a quiet breath that snaked around the flames leaning and reaching for her, righting them again so that the darkness flickered no more and the two women stood facing one another like a pair of goddesses, each magnificent in their own right – one with long, gleaming crimson curls tumbling over the black wings like a cascading waterfall of blood, the other with snowy white locks like a field of virginal snow; one baring pale alabaster flesh that gleamed sleek and toned with lithe muscle and sleek curves, the other in a black gown of long sleeves and trailing to the floor while hugging the svelte torso that was ripe and curved in an hourglass shape that seemed to beckon the touch of an admiring hand.

A peeling back of succulent crimson lips in the barest of smiles was all the response Beauty would give as pale blue eyes lingered over the long legs incased in black leather thigh high boots, the figure of the Chaos Angel rippling a tension that was near-palpable. When the rest of the figure was skimmed by those glittering, pale pale blue eyes, she could see Fire’s long, lean muscles were hardened into iron ripples, her entire body like a bowstring drawn tight, waiting to snap. The rarity of such an occasion was such that the Fallen was curious enough to let the imposition pass, instead offering silence.

“I have a favor to ask of you, of an urgent and highly personal nature. And then, I will have another.”

A slender, white brow arced over the flawlessly pale brow of the Fallen as the Chaos Angel spoke, and it was with a supreme confidence in her position among the Death Angel that Beauty held up a delicate, graceful hand to stop Fire. Canting her head so that a thick curtain of the pale white locks tumbled in wild abandon over her shoulder, partially masking the brilliant glitter of eyes nearly-white, she held the crimson gaze of her guest.

“Another favor, Fire? As I recall you begged a favor in the return of your mortal husband’s life. Now a second and third favor? You become indebted to me, Angel of Fire.”

Fire could not deny the truth of the statements and met the unnerving gaze of the Fallen Angel who had been old at the birth of her Demon God without flinching, the flame licking at the inky well of her pupil hissing to match the fury surging hot through her fiery blood. It did not stop the hot blaze of rage that roared through her at the unnecessary reminder nor the splitting of lush ruby lips in a snarl directed at a nearby shelf of scrolls. Crimson eyes blazed when they returned to the slender woman who stood unmoving in the face of such deadly fury.

“I am well aware of my obligations to grant your boons when they come, Beauty of the Aratar, Fallen General of the Host of the Heavens, and I will abide by my given word. Will you aid me, or no?”

The Death Angel was no fool – that much Beauty had always known. Nor was she rash or impulsive. Beauty knew beyond any doubt that her alliance with the woman who was also Death Living was a powerful thing as well as mutually beneficial. The FireAngel was the only one able to wield Fury, the Demon Blade and God Slayer, a weapon that even the Fallen would fear had they met on the field of battle, and with that sword at her command, Beauty was loathed to see it turned against her own slender, delicate neck. Too did the Angel seem intricately connected with Clan Heart through her mating with the Reaper, a merry little band Beauty held the weapon designed to kill the mate of the FireAngel close as her own Champion and General. And then was the unexplainable truth that she had slain her own Master, a Demon God who reigned over the Ninth level of Hell, a feat Beauty had manuscripts of tucked away in her own archive as ‘lore’ in some lands.

“You have not told me yet your favors, Fire. Do you hope I will blindly acquiesce?”

Another time, Fire might have smiled, might have acceded the way her hopes were dashed and the woman she faced still waited for an explanation; this time, fingers closed into tightly bunched fists that stayed carefully at her sides as her head dipped but once to acknowledge her words as correct.

“I did, and I knew you would not. Very well, Beauty. My favor is this: my son is slain and my Master hunts my son’s soul. My Avatar has it safely hidden, but I have work for him to do which requires he not be hindered by my Master’s desire for my son’s soul. I need you to hold my son’s soul in safekeeping against Erosis, until this business is ended and I return for it.”

And immediately, the Fallen Angel knew why the angel had come and with such chaos and tension running hot through her until Beauty could near taste it on her tongue, her eyes so pale a blue as to be nearly colorless blazing as full implications of what she said settled in her mind. Her rich crimson lips split in a cruel smile as she took a slow, lazy step forward, the slit racing up the side to nearly her hip parting to reveal a long, statuesque limb that was a flawless marble pale color, like marble, and then hidden again as the sheer black material whispered and settled in long folds from the trim hips again.

“Ah, Fire. You dabble in the affairs of Gods again, do you not? And now your God has slain your son for your impudence, and you need me to protect him, because you know Erosis cannot come to the Vale of Beauty, nor level His powers here, yes?”

The question was given as a mere courtesy, the chilling knowledge that she was right dripping from every low, husky word, the silence of the massive archives stretching as if in anticipation for acquiescence that again, the Mistress of the Tower was right. What came was not the submission of self to the haughty beauty that gleamed impossibly bright amid the velvet backdrop, but instead a vicious burst of blue flames as the tension in the Chaos Angel seemed to reach its breaking point, snapping like a line drawn taunt.

Fury was a blurring arc that seemed to manifest from a blue tongue of fire lapping at her closed fist, every line in Fire’s body as hard as iron as she moved like death into a dance of violence with the whistling hum of the razor-sharp edge of the sword taking the lead, slicing through the air until it hovered at a pulse from slicing the tender white flesh exposed by the fall of white hair.

“If I dabble in the affairs of Gods again…”

Each word was spit with a vehemence that was as rank as acid, sliding along the gleaming silver blade that threatened to slice open the vein pulsating along the side of Beauty’s neck, her crimson eyes burning with a black flame that seemed to pull the light into it, the appearance of the Demon Blade and God Slayer enough to have whipped the flames in the archives into a frenzy again.

“It is because I have a God that dabbles in the affairs of my children. You are not a mother, Beauty, and much of your ignorance in this affair may be excused because of that, but I tell you this, and you mark my words – I will not allow Erosis to have my children. And I will kill any who stand in my path and threaten my children’s lives. My own God and Master included.”

The silence that followed those words was like a blanket wrapping around them both, the gleaming Fallen Angel feeling the threat of metal unlike any known to the mortal world and forged in the fires of Eternal Damnation whispering death at her throat. Beauty had scarce seen the warrior-angel move before Fury had been simply there, though the stillness of the Chaos Angel told her that while she did not intend to carry through on that threat, the words that were uttered were very much meant and issued with such a silken menace that they would have pierced terror to the hearts of most.

A pale, graceful hand lift slowly as the pale, pale blue eyes remained unblinking on the enraged gaze of her guest, Beauty laying her fingers against the flat of the blade and slowly pushing it down, away from the threat of her throat, her lips peeling back in that mirthless smile that seemed to cast her features in an other-worldly light. As the blade yielded to her light pressure, a slender brow arched once again at the Chaos Angel, pushing it down again until it no longer threatened the icy arch of her throat.

“Calm yourself, Fire. I did not say I would not help you. Your God cannot touch me. Have your servant bring the soul. I will keep it safe. But think carefully on this, Fire – your boon you might not be so willing to grant when it comes.”

Crimson eyes blazed into the gaze of the tall, pale woman wreathed in black fabric like shadows whispering around lithe limbs as Fury slowly shifted in and out of focus until it became a single long, licking tongue of blue flame hissing and writhing and pulling itself back into her palm, from there settling as a pulsating, seething sensation that the cuffs at her wrists emitted eternally. With the aid of the Fallen for her son secured, Fire let the Flames of Eternity diminish entirely from her hands, her features twisting briefly in a violent snarl as her head shook slowly.

“You know already my terms. So long as you do not call for the life of one of my own… Expect my Avatar soon. You will know him by the flame in his eyes.”

Gleaming white curls shimmered as Beauty dipped her head in acknowledgement to her as the flames in the small brazier hissed and seethed and rippled back to life again with a fury that could not be explained by the small lumps of charcoal burning merrily in the pit. They reached to curl around the long, svelte limbs of the Seraph Chaos Angel of Fire and Death like longing serpents, hissing and licking at gleaming alabaster flesh, coiling around the lithe body. And then, before she could make further comment, the fire consumed the tall angel, crawling over the black demon wings that stretched slowly and dripping like token teardrops from the clawed ends, rippling and blazing until they blinded the Fallen Angel. When she could see again, Beauty was alone in her archives, high atop her tower, the small fire in the fire-pit burning merrily again, the flames dancing on their wicks and curling towards the ceiling.

For a long moment, Beauty eyed the book that had been set aside at Fire’s first appearance. For a moment, she considered picking up the book and letting her Champion and General deal with the Avatar of the FireAngel. Only the sure knowledge that Shogun would not allow the servant to pass had her moving on silent feet out of the archives. Still, she could not ask her Champion simply allow the servant an audience with the Fallen Angel, and so to that end, Beauty exited the massive chamber high atop her tower to find him and let him know that they were to soon expect a… guest.

[FireAngel]

Shogun:

He stood in silence, clad in the twisted emerald and white armoured plate that shared a pattern with that worn by his kin, including the one he had been born to kill, The Reaper. It was organic in part, curved, sleek, bladed, every edge a weapon if it was required to be. Attached to his forearms were the twisted skeletal forms of two long dead drakes, bound in eternity to the armour and his soul, their flames flowing through him, a constant, self sustaining inferno born of their hatred and despair.

As he stands one of the skeletal forms twists around, watching him like some great abyssal serpent, its twin remaining inert and silent. It then glances back behind him a moment and hisses before he looks up at it, cold crimson eyes locking with the hollow black chambers and forcing it to withdraw and return to its inert state. He knew she was coming. He did not need his weapons to inform him of something of as much import as that.

There is silence and he turns, the armour retracting slowly as he does so, allowing her to see the more 'human' side of him, a side he hid from most like most of his kin. But she was one he trusted, one he served, one he would remain loyal to. She did not approach him in his meditations unless there was some great event that required her to do so. He bows in silence, kneeling down and waiting the word of his Lady.

'What brings my Lady to my solitude at this hour...?'



Beauty:

She did not need to ‘search’ for him. She never needed to ‘search’ for him. Like a whisper of a butterfly’s wings, his location would flutter over her mind with but a simple turn of thought to her Champion and General, her feet silent over stone as she moved to her tower-lair to find him. The chambers taken and claimed by Sho were much like he himself – massive, imposing, impressive. Even when he stood like a great statue, he appeared no less fierce as she approached him from behind. The hissing and twisting of that skeletal extremity simply confirmed what she knew he would know already, her pale, pale blue eyes locking on the lifeless red stare of the drake yet her step never slowing for the greeting that feral thing gave before she felt his will overcome the murderous tendency of the thing.

As he turned to her, those cold, brilliant eyes gleamed at the retracting of armor, the sentience of his form visible with the act, the Fallen’s slender, sleek figure like a sultry dream interrupting his quiet meditations with a flicker of impossible beauty like a bright beacon in the night. She moved where others would never dare, feeling the killing brutality of her Champion like a dark, velvety caress against her skin the closer she came, until as he kneeled, Beauty stepped directly before him and felt that coldness wrap around her like a dark blanket.

”My Champion. My General…”

The titles were murmured like a silky touch in a husky low voice to match the hand that drift in a soft stroke over the flat angle of his cheek, his face nearly eye-level to the lush fullness of her chest as he knelt on the floor. Curious as their bond was, it was forged strong, the killing machine a being of such magnificent brutality that his very nature was like an addiction to her darkened soul.

”I would not have interrupted you, my warrior, but I have just received a visitor.”

The Fallen knew the delicate state of balance that the Clan Heart roved in. Lush, crimson lips that were impossibly succulent and mobile curved in a smile of such winsome beauty that it was almost forgiven immediately for the cold cruelty in that smile. She would give her beloved General a gift.

”It would seem BlackHeart’s mate is distraught again. Her God has slain her eldest son, and thusly, thrown her family into chaos. She sends her Avatar to me with the soul of the child, for safe-keeping against her God’s retaliation.”

And here, her hand slipped from his cheek to find one of those laying skulls attached to his arms, stroking the eyeridge over one glowing crimson orb with a gentle caress, feeling something akin to hatred vibrating from the thing held passive by his willed control. Beauty could have sent Sho off to kill the Avatar quite easily then; but she would have then betrayed the FireAngel, and that was something the Fallen found herself reluctant to do. Upon settling the matter with her God, Beauty knew that Fire would then come to settle that betrayal with her. It was not what she sought – the alliance was more beneficial than making an enemy of the Death Angel.

”While I know you would see BlackHeart killed, my love, I fear this is one time when we must honor the FireAngel’s request. You need not kill the Avatar…”

‘But neither need you escort him easily here’ was what she did not finish with. Instead, her head snapped upright as the eyes so pale a blue as to be very nearly colorless seemed to shift in and out of focus, a soft, sweet-smelling breath exhaling from her parted lips as a quiet snarl flashed like a shadow over her features, feeling a tug at something far down within her very self, like a string tied around her soul was pulled tight, plucked, and then released. Someone was in her Vale. She could feel it, as if it were a touch, tangible on her skin; and if the Fallen could feel it… Those hauntingly pale eyes lift again to find his dark gaze, knowing that if she felt that intrusion to their solitary vale, then the one who served as her protector would be able to feel it as well.

Slender, nimble fingers lift again to very lightly brush over her Champion’s face, the touch feather-light, teasing and as elusive as the woman herself. Her eyes shimmered with a chilling beauty in a visage that seemed almost ethereal and framed by silky white locks tumbling down to brush over a svelte, narrow waist that he could have easily circled with his hands, a vision of such glory as to have made the very Gods weep with envy and longing.

”He is here… Why don’t you go greet our guest, and bring him to my library.”


Shogun:

He stands, the armour covering his form once more, the hate-fuelled flames of the bound drakes surging through him as he turns his cold, crimson eyes toward the horizon, even as his Lady pauses, knowing full well what she felt at that moment, knowing full well of the exact point of intrusion within their silent domain.

It was a delicately maintained solitude for them both, the land kept in silence as not to disturb either of their thoughts or moments. He regularly hunted for intruders and trespassers, meeting them one and the same each time, condemning them to agonising death through the flames. Few survived and those that did had learned to run quickly in the direction they had come from. Even nature was afraid of the Executioner's patrols, the animals fleeing from his path much to the twisted delight of the skeletal dragons which would hiss and snap at passing prey.

He turns the gaze to the direction, feeling the drakes stir, feeling their hatred. They too sensed this new prey and wished to 'play'. But he knew well enough this prey was to arrive...intact. But that did not mean that such a trespass would be taken lightly nor accepted in such a way. As the armour closes over him two great skeletal pinions crack and grow from his back, flames igniting about them and the armoured being simply steps forward and leaps from the spire, gathering the flickering flames about him.

The flames flicker. They spiral, they swirl about him and then they are pulled inward. With the hate-filled shrieks from two long dead dragons there is an implosion and then nothing other than the lingering scent of smoke and ash as the Executioner slips into the flame and toward the next waypoint the prey would near...


Myn:

Without pausing, without slowing, without tiring, Myn maintained a pace that would have out-stripped many of the four-legged beasts in the forest that he'd travelled through to get here, and for a length of time that would have left many of them exhausted. He moved fluidly and gracefully through the vale towards the tower that he could see in the distance, the tower where he knew that the Beauty of Aratar resided; his target and destination. Finally he neared completion of the task that his Mistress had laid before him, though he knew that here, in this Vale where he would be safe against the fury of the demon god, he was at the mercy of the fallen angel, and that might well be more dangerous for him than an encounter with Erosis himself.

It was a possibility that he would be so very happy to leave unexplored, given the opportunity, but it seemed that he was the only one who would see him complete his task and leave without trouble or difficulty. When that burst of flames leaps from the tower it does not escape his notice; nor did he miss the shrill cry that sounded through the valley before whatever it was that left the tower reached the ground of the vale before him. With no way of knowing here just exactly what it was that would likely now provide a barrier to his passage, Myn simply continued onwards. He was the Avatar of the Living Death. His Mistress had set him upon a mission, and whatever it was that he would face here, he could not allow it to stop him from reaching his goal...

[Vile Aratar]

(First off I want to ask forgivness...lol It would seem that lortab by itself would not even touch my back pain but when coupled with a few beers it works...quite well I guess you could say. Anyhow....her goes...)

~Many years had gone by since last he stepped foot in the Vale, since he last beheld the awe inspiring looks of his beloved. There was no particular reason for his leaving, he had been prone to prolonged absences in the past. Some might call it wanderlust. His age was more than that of the planets and yet he still had the need to explore. The last trip had been quite beneficial as he had learned a few new tricks to add to his already deadly arsenal. Quite possibly his most favorite thing to do for the moment was shape shifting. He now took the form of a White Admiral caterpillar, one of the most horrid looking creatures he had ever seen. Everything was calm for some time until a slight rumble began to disturb the blades of grass upon which he was crawling. Quickly, as quick as a caterpillar can be, he mad his way to a more sturdy vantage point and let his eyes play across the land until he caught the swift moving form of Myn. Who was this and what was his purpose here in the realm of the one that was made for Vile as he was made for Her? Beauty had to know what was going on, and if she didn't that would mean he could come back and have a little fun with this 'intruder'. He concentrated for a split second and a loud snapping sound filled the area as the caterpillar leapt into the air and instantaneously shifted into Viles true form, the form of the Fallen.

Vile easily stood seven and a half feet tall with straight, raven hair that fell to the middle of his bare back. His body was more perfectly sculpted than the finest of statues and even more impenetrable. Massive black wings seemed to rip through his shoulder blades and began to cut through the air with amazing speed. All of this happened so quickly that by the time that Myn would have noticed, all that would be left would be small cloud of black, razor like feathers and the small shock wave that was sent through the air upon the transformation.

Speed matched only by Beauty carried Vile to the library in just a few short seconds. Vile stopped just outside the room and seemed to melt into the floor as he silently took the form of a large, albino Burmese python. He slid quietly into the room and made his way around to be behind Beauty and was still for a few moments. Before she had time to notice him he began to use another 'trick' he had learned recently and attempted to project into her mind that he was there, her mate from the moment of creation. Slowly and uncharacteristically gently he began to coil around her left ankle. Gradually he worked his way up and around every inch of her leg and then around her waist, up her side and perched his head just atop her right shoulder. He let the length of his body drape down her back for a fraction of a second as he shifted back into his angelic form and whispered into her ear, his lips barely touching her skin.~

Beauty, my love. Forgive my absence.

~To any but her his voice would sound wretched, something akin to fingernails grated upon a chalkboard. Beauty, as was always the case, would hear something different though. A rich, velvet, melodic ringing was what his voice would sound like to her.

Vile was as his named implied, the most undesirable, most deadly force and yet in her presence he was a liquid state of calm. Everything within him seemed content when it was only the two of them. She sated even the most deep seated anger which he held and made everything feel at ease in his wretched soul.

He moved his body in tighter to hers as he wrapped his ebon wings half way around her. His arms moved down her sides and slid around to let his hands come to rest on her stomach.~

My inamorata, I'm sure you already know but, it would appear that you have a visitor making his way to meet you. Shall I dispatch him for you or is his presence welcome here?

~Without even seeming to move he slid around and positioned himself in front of Beauty, his rich almond eyes staring down into hers as his hands rested upon her hips.~

You have no idea how I have longed for your touch...if you forgive me I promise to never leave your side unless you should ask me to, love.

~His hands moved from her hips and down to take her hands lightly as he continued focusing upon her eyes.~

[FireAngel]

Things were never what they seemed to be in the Vale. Time moved differently inside the ancient stronghold of the Aratar Clan and there was a heavy layer of pure power that could neither be swept away nor absorbed. The massive stone tower in the distance was a Citadel to an archaic race once angelic in nature, but fallen from their grace by the cruel whimsy of the Gods. Through the millennia of their existence, those worthy to bear the surname of Aratar had come and gone, but ever had She remained within the Vale, that mysterious place that drifted between the worlds, shielded from mortal eyes and shrouded in myth and legend; so long had she and her Champion been in that Vale that it had become known as The Vale of Beauty.

There the female occupant had become shrouded in myth and legend as well, a woman of surreal beauty, unaging, unchanging, a woman incomparable by human or elf, Goddess or nymph. Crafted by perfect hands to achieve perfection itself, her curves were sleek and supple, a provocative hourglass shape that cried for attention while glossy white locks fell like a virginal snowfall to frame a visage of undeniable beauty, as if every desire had been brought together and breathed life into and given a name. Beauty. Eyes so pale a blue they were startling, very nearly colorless in hue and shade, seemed to pierce through what they touched, gleaming with a dark understanding and knowledge and framed by silvery-tipped lashes; eyes that saw everything and whispered of secrets and mysteries that the adolescent races of man would never know. A witness to the vision had once babbled for a full day and night straight in a grip of madness and desire for a woman who had but passed him on the street.

Oft would curiosity-seekers and the occasional rogue sorcerer come hunting for the cause of such whispered rumor, myth and lore, their curiosity and bold searching providing her Champion and General with easy ‘prey’ to amuse his time with, for he was vigilant in his protection of his Lady. It was rare when one was sent to find the Fallen of the Aratar as the Avatar had been, and even expected, he would not have had an easy time finding the Vale of Beauty.

As the massive double doors to the magnificently appointed library swung open before the gliding figure, the illumination from hundreds of candles flickering to life on the walls spilled a shimmering golden light over the willowy figure hugged by a sleek, black gown clinging possessively to the delicate curves, reaching up to plunge greedy fingers through the silken waterfall of white locks tumbling in a glorious cascade to dust the trim curve of a narrow waist, a long, marbled length of leg exposed by a slit in the rippling fabric all the way to the slender flare of slim hips. The weight of age and knowledge seeped into the room came from the towering height of shelves lining the walls filled with books, an archive as magnificent as any could be known, collected over the long span of life, some writ in a word never spoken in the mortal world, a hushed silence in the cavernous library that was hardly disturbed by her passing through that arched doorway and across that vast expanse to where a smokeless fire crackled bright and fierce in a hearth easily spanning half the room.

Slender and nimble, a hand gestured in a sweeping gesture before that hearth, the dark tendrils of an ancient and terrible mind slipping out like inky serpents to wrap and coil in a graceful dance with the flames, moving and twisting in a writhing, sinuous dance with the leaping, snapping, hissing orange and red fire and showing the progress of her Champion across the Vale to intercept the Avatar of the Death Angel. The two would come together in a magnificent clash, another dark tendril writhing and spiraling through the shadowy flames to reveal the shape of the servant of the FireAngel, coming, and with him, the taste of ‘Death’, such as the term would apply to the humans of the world – for others such as the Fallen, death had a different meaning, a more unequivocally eternal meaning. Too could Beauty feel the unraised soul that he delivered, the entire reason for his presence in her Vale.

It was the black comet streaking through those flames that drew the near-colorless blue eyes to close. A sensation. Knowing came then, the caress of familiarity. He came closer. Closer. Before her General and Warrior could intercept Myn, he was there. There was nothing that she could not feel, could not know. The flickering play of flames off alabaster features highlighted the incredible beauty frozen in an icy façade.

”My Own…” The two words were breathed knowing it was he. She could feel Him. The one she had been made for, even as he was made for Her. In bringing one such as He into existence, the Gods had loosed a weapon of incomparable force upon the living, a destructive ferocity, a macabre violence that was found to be without mercy, nigh uncontrollable; and beside him, the Gods had placed she, the calm to his tumult and he the wielder of stability in her chaotic dark.

Cool, rippling scales grazing over the trim curve of her slender ankle drew her eyes shut as for the moment, she was silent, feeling the gripping, writhing play of the serpentine body wrapping around her svelte limb and moving up with intimate slowness around the taut waist and along the lean lines of her ribs, brushing across the lush fullness of her breasts and coming slowly to the thick nest of lustrous white locks, the wedge-shaped head of the python resting atop that gleaming pillow of curls shimmering with the flickering orange and yellow glow of flames pouring down the long, slender body that hugged as close as a lovers to her own. Her eyes did not open as she felt the weight of that serpent change, alter, and the pulsating brush of his own power move through him. He had learned much more in their time apart. She did not need to feel the kiss of his lips over the icy, fragile flesh at the delicately curved lobe of her ear to feel the seduction of his words, of his voice, of his mere presence.

And still, her eyes did not open.

He would be as he had been the day she had last seen him, of that she knew. The Aratar were ageless. Timeless. A thousand memories crashed through her at once as gloriously inky wings stretched and moved, feeling the velvety embrace of a thousand thousand glossy pinions half-curled in possession around the slender frame that was as still as a statue, a living statue in memoriam to a haunting glory unmatched in the heavens or the earth below, feeling as if she were becoming whole once again as his hands touched her, massive hands that could have easier broke the slender limbs that instead he caressed, the strength of his embrace as they folded once again around her, the radiant masculinity of Vile mingling with her delicate femininity to make them once again whole. Beauty was his stability. Vile was her strength.

Inamorata. His ‘pet’ name for her – the only she would allow to ever call her such an intimacy and with such familiarity. As he moved, the silvery lashes slowly swept up to reveal the incredible hue of those pale, pale eyes, the plump, crimson lips parting slightly with a quietly sighed, sweetly-exhaled breath when at last his long-missed face came into view, her head tilted back slightly so that the slight flutter in the hollow of her throat was just glimpsed beneath the fragile, ivory flesh.

”Vile. At long last, you have come home.” Her husky voice was like a soft purr that seemed to drift into his ears, a melodic sound that was meant for him and him alone, like a siren’s song, beckoning the angel into the sweet embrace of her icy pale eyes. Slender, delicate fingers slipped into his massive grip, lacing them together until they were as one again. ”Make me no promises, My Own Heart, for I know you will wander again one day. To ask me to forgive you of your nature is to ask me to forgive my soul for belonging to yours.” With a throaty murmur, understanding and absolution were given both to him.

Beauty found herself unable to speak for a moment longer while her eyes drank in the chiseled sight of his features, her right hand very slowly loosing from his grip to lift, his height towering over her own slighter frame, yet with a simple twisting of her will, she rose with the lifting of that hand until her feet dangled from the floor without the aid of the twin great, white wings that she could unleash from her shoulders to mirror and reflect his own onyx wings. The very soft brush of her fingers through his obsidian locks was like a butterfly’s wings kissing the petals of the perfect rose, feeling their silky texture as that touch slid through until her hand rest softly upon his shoulder.

”Our guest is expected. My protector will attend him, my beloved, and bring him to us here after he has done so. For now, I seek only your presence. Long have you been gone, Vile.” To most, his name would conjure images of something horrible and repulsive, a foul being of gruesome nature, but upon her hypnotic lips, it was something seductive, a throaty purr that captivated and entranced. Long, sharp nails very lightly brushed the delicate skin at the nape of his neck as those eyes near-white gleamed into his penetrating gaze, the intensity of her eyes alluring, as though she could read the depths of his soul. ”For what do you return?”

[The Reaper]

This was his domain. This was his territory to protect, to guard. Born, bred, molded into the form he was the Executioner was designed to kill gods. His movements were quick, leaping from waypoint to waypoint, drawn through fire and death, calculating the movements, the path taken by his prey. He had been sent to retrieve this guest, this trespasser. And he most certainly did not intend to take the easy route.

The Avatar's movements were quick. That was to be expected. They were also terribly blunt and direct, a straightforward line toward his destination, caring not for obstacles in his path, at a speed that would keep him going regardless. The most simple tactical approach was to create a solid block, a trench where continuing onward would be the end of the Avatar, as simple as that. You need not kill the Avatar...

No, he didn't need to kill him. But he certainly wanted to. The thing reeked of the taint of his primary target's mate. Corrupted, infused with her power and as such as much an enemy to him as the Lord of the Shadows himself. Dancing through flame to flame the Executioner moved ahead of the prey, following its route until he found a point perfectly suited for his intents. Just within sight of the destination...to be halted there would be most frustrating. And most amusing for others.

Within seconds he re-emerges from the fiery transportation, skeletal forms of the Dragon Claws rearing, screaming as their flames are directed toward the earth itself, cutting a trench to the very molten core of the world, ripping up stone, soil and plant with little care for the pain it would cause or the death it would bring. A molten trench, arcing across the landscape, spitting up black ash and turning a vision of paradise to one of the darkest hells.

With laughter he lands, his voice cold, twisted, metallic and the armoured form simply stands, skeletal drakes lashing around it, eyes glowing with pure malice through the black smog.

'You will go no further. This is -my- territory. My domain. This can be my hell or my heaven...but for you it most certainly will be your end should you persist....'

[Myn Donos]

Here, in the vale that Beauty of the clan Aratar called home, Myn could feel the power and presence, and since he'd passed through the veil, the dome, the... whatever anyone wanted to call it, or whatever it truly was... that surrounded the veil, he'd known that his own powers, both innate and those granted to him by the Living Death, would be of far less use to him here than he was used to. Without having tried to use them, without having tried to tap his powers or abilities, he knew that their strength would be diminished; here, Beauty's will held sway over all, and even the demon god Erosis would not follow Myn here in his hunt for the Avatar and the soul of the FireAngel's son. Myn would have to rely on his own mental and physical prowess to carry him through to the tower that he knew was his target, but one thing became readily apparent to him as he travelled along his chosen path: someone... or something... had been sent to hinder his progress.

The flames that he had seen atop the tower ahead of him had been the first clue that something out of the ordinary had happened, and when whatever figure had caused those flames had disappeared from view Myn had felt the being that had caused them moving. From here to there, Myn could feel and sense the being and the flames that it seemed to move through, jumping from place to place, but he hardly had the time or energy to waste on focusing enough to determine a more specific location. Besides, if whatever it was was indeed tasked with barring Myn's path, then it would eventually make itself known.

Myn didn't have to wait long.

When the very earth opens in front of him on the tail of flames breathed by the... things... that appear to be attached to the armored being's forearms, he's faced with a choice. It's one that he has to make quickly, considering his pace and the locations of the trench and its source, now planted directly in front of him; he can stop, and see if this meeting can possibly have and end result that doesn't include a confrontation... he didn't consider that choice to be highly probable at all... or he could simply continue onwards, vault himself into the trench of molten earth and simply... swim to the far side and then resume his trek. The second choice was, unfortunately, even less likely to allow him to avoid a confrontation with this armored soul than the first was, and Myn came to a rather sudden stop that left him standing in front of... whoever or whatever this thing was, that seemed to be laughing at him.

Then it spoke, and informed Myn that it would allow him to go no further. He was told that he would find his end if he persisted, and that brought a faint smirk to the thin lips as dark, nearly-lifeless gray eyes gazed up at the being that towered over the half demon.

"It will be my end if I do not persist. If I do not reach Beauty at her tower, then my life is forfeit as easily as you could take it from me; perhaps easier. Since I have no desire to lose my life at your hands or my Mistress', where, pray tell, do you suggest that we go from here?" One dark eyebrow lifted in a half-mocking gesture that matched the hint of sarcasm in the tone of his voice as the half demon looked up at the armored figure that stood over him.