The sun hovered directly over Demei-Azrael Toussaint, taunting him as he crouched on the forest floor, head in his hands as he groaned in exasperation. He ran his long fingers under the blue hood that covered his midnight hair, pulling at the knots in his curled strands. His pink lips pursed, his nose scrunching in annoyance.
All the knights and servants, the horses and the mules, had walked away and left him without ever turning back for their master. The eldest Toussaint son resigned himself, setting his ass on the hard iron-oak trunk. He watched as the sun danced across his fingers, the canopy casting shadows in between, "This is what you get for not saying anything."
His quietness would be the death of him.
A sudden shine caught Azrael's eye, widening with sudden realisation. The large, crowded and archaic forest danced with energy, a mystical blue glow sparkling as the trees exhaled. Crossing his legs, Azrael focused his concentration on the forest itself, the conditions perfect for strengthening his energy core.
The canopy of iron-oak and steel-asp trees eclipsed the sun, shielding Azrael's cloak from overheating underneath the summer rays.
He breathed in.
Leaves allowed ample, shimmering lights to descend for bright saplings to sprout in the fertile soils below, swooping vines waved from a couple of trees and a plethora of flowers blossomed brightly beneath the canopy.
The trees breathed out.
Their bright energy began to swirl around Azrael in a whirlwind, occasionally getting drawn towards him as he sucked in a deep breath. His eyes remained closed, their blue glow shining through his eyelids and the hood.
The veins of his arms sparkled, climbing up his muscles and glistening through his clothes until they found their way to his heart, condensing in a roaring circle. The toxins which had built up within Azrael began to sweat, permeating through his skin.
His skin neither burned nor scarred, the toxic droplets falling on the flowers around him. Bright flowers were no more, the other blossoms closing to protect themselves as the unlucky ones withered away like weeds. The hot stench shone in the air, visible to the naked eye.
A cacophony of beastly sounds resonated through the air, drowning out the peacefulness of the forest. His eyes snapped open in a flash. The wind howled, Azrael's gloved hand snapping to the sword strapped to his waist. His newly strengthened muscles tensed as he stood up, his breath quietening, that mystical blue glow dissipating into the air around him.
He stepped forward, his heel touching the ground first before the outside of his foot rolled as it followed. His human ear couldn't detect the sound his feet usually made, Azrael deeming it safe to continue moving. It was a technique he'd learnt while hunting deerabbits with Alka Hadeon; more like Alka Hadeon beat it into him than taught him if Azrael thought about it.
Well, at least the method worked.
The leaves on the ground barely rustled as he slowly inched his way back to the foot path, his technique perfect and unwavering. Alka Hadeon could be watching for all Azrael knew.
Not like he was scared or anything.
The foot path was a sacred yet tentative truce between the Others and the Three. The Three – which consisted of elves, dwarves and humans – had forced the Others into submission saying that so long as the Three stayed on the path that cut into the Others' homes, the Others couldn't so much as touch them in fear of extermination.
Azrael snorted at the short description, whispering to the sky, "Very frugal on the explanation, Narrator."
Oh shush, I'll explain the history behind it later. Now as I was saying…
But for those Others that were a daring few, Azrael was ready. When nothing popped out of the bushes, he exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding, his grip on his sword lessening.
"What're you doing?" Azrael jumped in his shoes, the feminine voice invading his preoccupied thoughts. Alka Hadeon would definitely beat him up for that.
If he found out.
If.
IF.
Which he wouldn't.
Azrael turned to face the voice, his covered eyes homing in on the elf that had spoken. They narrowed at her, his lips downturned in a frown. "None of your business."
Her small hands clutched her satchel tightly, dual swords strapped to her back. The callouses on her hands which had probably reddened from pain were proof she worked hard at maintaining the way of her sword. She tilted her head, her green doe eyes sparkling with mischief, "Were you scared of the sound?"'
Azrael ignored her taunt, his face wrenching away as she tried to peek beneath his hood. "It wasn't just a sound."
Her delicate lips pouted, her pointed ears flicking slightly out of annoyance, "Then what was it?"
He leaned in close, his breath on her face, "Stay on the path and you don't have to find out."
Azrael shoved her shoulder with his, not caring if she stumbled. He'd have to walk now if he wanted to make it to Toussaint Manor before nightfall. A sadistic chuckle left his lips as he imagined Gibson, his butler, finding him missing from the carriage.
"Oi, Mister! Wait up!" The elf's loud voice reverberated through the trees. Doves shot into the air in front of Azrael, their sharp beaks skimming his hood as he ducked out of the way. His cape twirled as he turned sharply to face the elf.
"You better quiet down, Elfie, before you lose your head." Azrael hissed at her, her wide eyes narrowing at his threat, her milky forehead furrowing deeply.
"My name is not Elfie, it's Isolde," she stated proudly, her chestnut hair fluttering in the summer breeze, "and the Others can't do a thing while we're on the path."
Azrael rolled his eyes, shutting his mouth when he realised he'd just be arguing with a stupid fool. The tightness in his chest settled down, the annoyance he felt drifting in the wind. Alka Hadeon's booming voice echoed in his ear, Never argue with a fool. A fool will just come up with a bunch of silly retorts until people can't tell who's the fool anymore.
Azrael huffed a laugh. For Alka Hadeon's wisdom he sure had a rough temper, usually following it with something like, Kid, if you can't even remember that, I'll just have to beat it into you!
A shudder ran down his spine, memories of pain and suffering coming to him in flashes. Tuning out the elf's loud cries that aimed for his attention, Azrael continued on his way, observing the forest itself. It had changed from the warm place he had once been in. This part of the forest groaned wearily with the wind, the young vines that grew from the floor strangling the base of the trees.
Azrael had come across a similar scene when he was smaller, barely at his hip if he compared himself to his height back then. A grim smile adorned his scarred and freckled face, remembering at how he'd been drenched in Arachnae blood – a spiderlike Other which only became docile after much pressure.
A harsh object collided with him, a sharp cry ringing out as Isolde shouted, "WATCH OUT!"