Rebuilding the Past

[Armand de Leon]

*Pop*

The sound was soft, and probably wouldn't be heard over Vylrath's monologue. It wouldn't matter even if Zaero, the women, or the Orc heard it. It wouldn't matter if they happened to glance at the new arrival before it spoke. The Avatar's entrance wasn't intended to surprise any of them, or to interfere with the drama between Zaero and Vylrath. Entering in such a way was simply more convenient than walking to the lake.

Armand's Avatar was dressed simply in a tunic with soft leather boots, a style popular in Meridian prior to its sinking beneath the waves. It was of average height, for a human, and wore its hair clipped neatly at the shoulders. The only oddities, beside its decision to add another distraction to the gathering at the lake, were the six wings of pure white that were neatly folded at its back.

"Oi, Vylrath," the Avatar greeted the former Demon, and made its way toward him. "The boss wants a word with you." The Avatar paused to glance at Zaero, then dismissed him with a wave of its hand, "I'm sure that whatever you're doing is oh so important, but... Well, no. Whatever you're doing isn't important. Please remove yourself. This is a private conversation. And you smell bad."

[Paroxysm]

The Orc halted her advance, something was off and that something was the complete and utter absence of her opponent. It didn’t make sense, really. Not only was the father a coward, but the son, too? That was just pure bullshit--after all, the Orc recalled quite clearly that Trydian had some annoying kingly complex in which he was the chosen ruler of whatever. And now he’s gone? That was wow. Just wow, nothing else.

“Hrmph.”

The Orc grunted, turning to fully face Zaero, and it was clear that she blamed him for the new turn of events. He just had to go and kick Vylrath, didn’t he?

Vrar-a was so surprised by these turn of events that she did not even start towards Zaero, like she normally would have, and not to be friendly and full of camaraderie. No, this would be when she started a fight with the man, but not now. Now she was disappointed and annoyed. Instead, she focused more on the fact that if the leaders of this broken nation could barely stand to defend themselves, chances were that they couldn’t even mount a defense for their sovereignty. Perhaps she would send word to her Clan, have them come and claim the land in their name. After all, an army of Orcs would not be so keen on running away; too bad, the same could not be said for the former rulers of Xexoria.

Eventually the woman would dismiss these unexpected turn of events and focus on what was happening now, now yet another person had shown up, this one seemed to know Vylrath on a personal level, but not enough to defend the man--or at least that is what it appeared to be. Still, Vrar-a did not care. She didn’t even feel like fighting anyone else, this was all a lack luster venture and only one man was to blame for it--Zaero. Still, her acquaintance hadn’t quite shown what he was capable of, either, and it would be worth watching how he’ll finish his business with Vylrath. Interesting or not, the Orc would finish watching things unfold from wherever she had come from in the first place.

Her last words would echo slightly, "you owe me."

[Jen]

She would be gone before they noticed her, lurking like a caged animal in the dark shadows of the thickening jungle. Her heart beat evenly, quietly, as she watched the scene. Her eyes fell on Vylrath and she nodded, briefly, to his request. Kahlan closed her eyes and with a breath deep enough to fill every space in her lungs -- she exhaled over the palm of her hand. As if the fates themselves had decided to amuse her whim, Kahlan watched the air shimmer in a small area very briefly. She raised her free hand and positioned it within the shimmering mass. Straightening her body, cloaked in darkness as if it had never left the pits of hell, Kahlan snapped her fingers.

If anyone was adept at the arts of magic, and should they have been close enough -- they might have seen the taut string for a fraction of a second, they might have heard the echo of the snap that seemed to span planes of existence, and not just the world as they now knew it. Kahlan pressed her palms together over the shimmering mass, folding them in what could be considered prayer, trapping the essence of Vylrath between her hands. She brought them to her face and inhaled sharply, as if it were a drug and not the magic and essence of her former lover.

"Be at peace." The words were spoken low, from the depths of a deadly jungle and a darkened cloak. Beside her, Kahlan glanced at Isabella and smiled. They had come together and they would leave together. One monarch to another, the whole world had gone mad and they knew that now. There was no use to pick up and dredge up the past and replace shining towers where rubble remained. That was left to the next generation.

-----------------

Isabella smiled and crossed her arms as she watched the scene unfold. So much pain for so little effort on their part. All she had wanted to do was fix what had been demolished in her absence. Right a wrong that was inevitable in the eyes of the gods. Indeed, as a Vuri without Vylrath she would be at a loss. Oh she could still produce Vuri, and strong ones -- but she was not willing to put herself through the torture. At least not now. Perhaps Caela would be stronger and more willing to fight in this world that was tilted and backwards.

Isabella glanced at Kahlan, knowing how difficult it must have been for her to release Vylrath's soul. His true soul, his demonic soul. She prayed that Caela was far enough away by now that it would not seek her out. That it would not try to latch itself on her. The hell she had been given by her father since Isabella's death was Vylrath's fault. His demonic self was incapable of remorse and liked to torture. Perhaps the Vuri would cancel out the demonic entity that was Vylrath and none of them need worry about it at all.

"Take care, my child. This world is a dark and dangerous place to rear children."

A brilliant glow of emerald green erupted behind Isabella and she turned, tearing her eyes from the scene to smile. She was going home, with Kahlan, to a world that she might enjoy without feeling completely at a loss. Following the once great ruler of Ulster, Isabella glanced over her shoulder before she disappeared completely into the Faerie. She wouldn't have the presence or magic to come out again unless she was with Kahlan. She smiled and stepped downward, ever downward on the spiral of green leaves and oak.

When the portal finally closed, Isabella was gone -- any tie with her that anyone might have had or felt would be severed completely until she should return. Those closest to her might find the severing of her tie painful, but brief. She was not dead, just unreachable and untouchable.

-------------------------

"Father, I'm pregnant. Its Vuri. Its yours. It will be a Vuri and a son. This you should know before you fall into oblivion and purgatory."

Caela was already nearing a distant coast of the island. It wasn't the opposite end of the island but it was nearer the place they had landed. Nearest the Vuri temple bathed in Vylrath's blood.

Oh, people might try to demolish the structure, erase the sense of unease within it, or completely cleanse it of the Vuri scent, need, and breath. No matter the building, no matter the time or structure used, the walls would eventually obtain odd characteristics. Black sprays, black handprints, black rivulets of what could only have been blood, and they would manifest as if the darkest of demons were plaguing the building. The plants inside and around the building would never look quite right. They would always have a bluish tint and bear fruit out of season or flower out of species. They might fear the ghosts that walk the night, the demons that plagued the edifice, the child that died with her body split and her mind deranged.

Whatever the Vuri might have been, whatever they might have brought to Xexoria, well that might have to wait a while. The creatures plagued by the Vuri curse were, if anything, incredibly patient fallen demons, humans, and faerie. They were not dead, despite the current failing of their creator -- and their blood plague would not die. In fact, the one key creature, the proverbial "mother" of the Vuri was not dead -- but spiriting herself away with the seed of her father growing inside her. She would be gone from the island before anyone knew she had even left the area of the fight. Her daughter, Sebilla, right there with her and fleeing all the same.

The one true human in all of the magical mess that had become Xexoria.

[Vylrath]

…but the skies did not churn, nor did the landscape crumble…

It was something else entirely unexpected.

He could feel the awakening of the spirit, but it did not seek him out. It would search for innocent souls and attempt to corrupt the corrupted even further...

Vylrath began to feel a foreboding feeling- like when a man fears a great nagging from his wife. He searched the area for the cause, until he saw the Avatar speaking to him. He said something about a boss wanting a word with him, but he wasn’t employed by anyone and held no obligation except to himself. He was thoroughly confused and had a right to raise an eyebrow at the odd creature.

“I’ll go with you, only because you raise my curiosity and because this man has done nothing but annoy me.” He was speaking about Zaero, of course, who would probably be just as confused as he was. Vylrath spoke to Zaero once last time. If the man wanted to speak with him, he would have to search him out. He knew that Caela would be safe in the sanctuary, her blood was inevitably tied to his, the protection apparent.

“Looks like you upset your girlfriend! You had better take care of your woman, before you take on a fight with a man.” He signaled for the Avatar to take him to Armand, not caring about what state he left Zaero in. The Orc amused him, but not enough to pursue a battle with her.

Wait for me in the sactuary. I won’t be long.

[Nayt]

And before anything else could happen--before the spirit could say anymore, before Caela could react any further, and before the avatar would even have a chance to take an imaginable breath--

Vylrath would feel a tremendous pain within his chest. The action had been so quick, it was nearly unimaginable. None of them would have been able to keep an eye on it. Something had been prepared, numerous times, over the course of their meeting with a true monster--and it had come to fruition, but not in a way that would be at all satisfying to Zaero. Vylrath wasn't going to fight back, and fighting a spirit would just be silly. Yes, of course that was something of invariable importance, but Zaero wasn't going to deal with that yet.

Not today, if he even addressed it at all. It was a living, breathing person he wanted to fight and kill, not a nigh tangible spirit. Clearly, the man had no drive for greater powers.

Nonetheless, the pain Vylrath would feel would be focused primarily within his chest--namely caused by Zaero's hand. With a step to the left and a forward step, he had shoved his hand forward, that hand covered in a dark flame, and would undoubtedly put his hand through Vylrath Xanathi's chest. Where? Through the left side, of course, but he'd only graze the man's heart, perhaps even cut it open a little. The main damage would come in the form of the "reformed" demon's left lung and esophagus, both of which would be pierced indefinitely, as Zaero's hand could very well push through the ribcage of the man and out of his back, puncturing and tearing through all organs along the way--but it was even worse than one might imagine.

A simple stab wound could be sewn up, after all. This simple instance, of one hand shoving his hand through another man's chest, would provide a cauterizing effect.

Zaero had come here to injury Vylrath terribly, and they hadn't taken him seriously.

This was merely just desserts . . .

[Vylrath]

He didn’t get a chance to really finish his sentence with Caela. She would feel his life force drain and the pain that followed. Her mind might be clouded with the feeling of dread that was left in Vylrath, who was now left with a humiliating defeat from someone he barely had a connection with.

In his own puddle of blood, he didn’t claw at the wound, or beg for mercy. His eyes might glaze over and his breathing might become labored, but he did not beg for his life. If he was going to die, then he wanted to die in his new homeland.
His wound would be seeping with a strange madness. Its corners would be brimmed with a thick blackness not caused by shadow or the leftover blood stain –he was trying to heal himself. Unless he had flesh in his system, he would probably die.

The ground underneath his form seemed to curdle from the beings dying essence. His skin looked like it could be coming off, his features more distorted than they had ever been in his previous existence. His eye sockets had sunken to a degree that he might not even appear of this world. He looked almost spectre’, especially with the way his body reacted to his dying form.

At least he knew his family would be safe from the demonic spirit, but he pitied anyone who might come across such a thing. During those moments, he regretted his action, but it was quickly forgotten with his last heavy breath.

He had promised to bestow his power to Trydian when he died and he had kept that promise. Even now, his essence would be feeding itself into Trydian. Trydian would be overwhelmed, possibly losing control of himself momentarily, but it would wear off, allowing the boy to return to normal. He had promised him his essence, but he had never said HOW much of it…the last part of his Vuri soul went into the unborn son. Caela would feel the presence and maybe even resent it. Maybe this new son would be better than his father in personality and wits- the Vuri could only hope.

Unless someone prevented his dying form, he would gladly pass into the next realm of Death.

[Armand de Leon]

The Avatar arched a brow at Zaero and Vylrath, then shrugged. It wandered over to Vylrath when the area was clear of all the others and knelt down. "You just got owned, y'know?" The Avatar cocked its head to the side and snickered. "That was pretty stupid, allowing the twat to hit ya. I can't heal that shit, but the boss still wants to talk..."

*pop*

The second Avatar, nearly identical to the first save for the colour of its tunic, walked over and knelt down beside the first. They both looked down at the dying Vylrath and shook their heads in unison. "I'll get started. Keep him alive long enough for the extraction to be complete," the second Avatar addressed the first and began removing items from a belt pouch.

The first Avatar touched a fingertip to Vylrath's chest, near the wound. It closed one eye and muttered words of power to itself. The wound wouldn't heal, but the spell would stabilize the man for a short time. The second Avatar lifted up a crystal that was azure in colour. It slid the crystal into Vylrath's gaping wound and smiled at its partner, "It's so convenient that an exit has already been prepared. Alright, let him go. I've got it from here." The first Avatar nodded once and removed its hand.

The second Avatar murmured to the crystal and a brief pulse of light came from it. The last thing Vylrath would see was a deep blue, like the waters that had swallowed Meridian, and then nothing at all.

*pop*

Both Avatars vanished, leaving the empty husk of Vylrath's bloody body on the beach.

[Vylrath]

Could he be going to heaven? That'd be an inane thought for someone like him. He knew he was being transported somewhere, but it would remain a mystery now. The scene engulfed him into an absolute darkness, that he had once been familiar with in his past. He would welcome death and he was sure that he deserved it. Whoever his maker was, probably had some extra plans for him- none that were too comfortable, he assumed.

He would not be able to contact loved ones, or call for help in other realms.

[Nayt]

It wasn't long after Vylrath fell that Zaero slapped the blood from his hand and spun around. That same hand was tucked deep into his pocket as he began to walk away. The deed was done; Vylrath was defeated, even if the fight was far too easy. That wasn't really what he was looking for, anyways; an easy fight or a challenging fight mattered little to him, only the sweet victory in the end. It was almost kind of funny, really. Two people so proud of themselves, boasting themselves to have such power--and one was cut down without the slightest bit of difficulty, and the other ran off by the sight of an orc chasing after him alone.

It was funny, and Zaero, cursed by his Glasgow scars to smile forever, may have looked like he was amused by it, but his lips were not curled up nor down.

"Tanaka, get him and let's go," Zaero muttered to himself, "I've lost my appetite, but I'll get it back later."

In the distance, where Tanaka had stopped Barclay, there would be yet another moment of commotion, but it wouldn't last long in the slightest. Barclay was to be taken and moved, and it was that simple. In the end, there was very little the man could do about that.

The fate of Vylrath did not weight heavily upon Zaero's mind as he walked. Even if, somehow, Vylrath were to survive, he'd always know that he was bested--that he had ultimately become a shadow, in the end--but not a willing shadow of Trydian, like he wished to become. Zaero had made him a shadow, a shadow of his former self; a metaphorical shadow, truly. Even in the afterlife, he'd be able to know that any traces of power left in him weren't nearly enough to defeat this patchwork man, and were he to ultimately survive, he'd have to live with that very knowledge. Never again would a boast of his superiority merit anything more than a chuckle from his peers.

Zaero's will was done.

The man ceased to walk as soon as he entered the shadows again, where a palm loomed over tall boulders and cast their forms against the light to form great shadows, darkness to barely conceal Zaero and the way his image seemed to grow darker and darker by the second--fading, perhaps, amidst the shadows, where he was ultimately the most comfortable. It was a cruel irony, really; the desert environment of Xexoria had been so harsh and weighed upon the man heavily, and the only real break he managed to get from it was that of the curse--and even it failed to alleviate the unseen pains the desert caused him, at least for any real length of time.

As his image faded to darkness, Zaero hung his head slightly. It was almost sullen, the way he looked, as if he wasn't happy with what had happened here--or, perhaps, that his afterthoughts were far from satisfying. He shut his eyes and let his lips curl into an unseen frown.

"You disgust me," he said at last, aloud, perhaps to be heard, perhaps to be unheard--and yet, who he spoke to would forever be unclear. Was it to himself? To Vylrath, Caela, Isabella, or Kahlan? Tanaka, Barclay, or Vrar-a? Or was it to the mysterious him that Zaero hatefully associated himself with? Perhaps he didn't even know.

With his parting words, Zaero faded within the shadows and at last departed from the Vuri . . .

Rebuilding the Past//Fin.