Plotting his revenge was Sylas' third favorite past-time. Right under world domination and cuddling his bats. He'd be lying if he said that the thought of Emilia Vanis begging for mercy didn't excite him just a little bit. Of course he was going to have to be careful. She'd proven herself a worthy opponent, especially in strength and he'd be a fool not to admit it. Foolishness and over confidence was for heroes who got praised for breathing. Sylas was cunning, he was smart. He sat by his dark rosewood desk, feeding mice to his bats, thrumming his fingers on the rich wood. He smirked.
There in Hypnos Tombs of Dreams and Nightmares sat a familiar spell. The ink fading and the page a stained yellow. The paused over the words. It was a spell he'd used often when trying to gain information - nothing told the truth like someone's subconscious. He'd also used it often when attempting to drive the Queen to madness, it was a useful spell. But it would also mean showing his identity and leaving his body vulnerable in the cave.
Currently, the only real threat to his life was Emilia Vanis and if she was under the spell then she couldn't come here to kill him but it was risky - the spell was old and temperamental at best. It's stability relied heavily on the user's emotional control.
It'd be fine, he decided. Emilia may be stronger than him but he's a beast of shadows. She won't be able to unravel him and she won't see this coming.
He uses the day to summon up a golem, to protect his body while he phases into dreamland. It's a sticky process, boiling mud and bones into a cauldron, until something vaguely terrifying comes out. Usually it's hit or miss. A tiny bee sized creature coming out of it or something the size of a goliath.
Rarity is a good omen though, and this time a fairly reasonable sized creature pops out of the cauldron. Rangy limbs and grey fleshy skin. A long nose and a pair of bat wings. It's eyes are charcoal dark and doe like. It clings to him once it awakens. "Papa, papa," it wails.
"Yes alright," he tuts, patting it's head softly. It dries it's tears on his shirt and he wonders if he poured to much unicorn horn into the mixture - it always tends to make things so much more emotional. He sighs, ruffling the creature's droopy ears. "Do you know what you have to do?"
The golem looks up at him in contemplation before his eyes light up in recognition. It nods it's head, "Proteccc papa."
"Yes, that's right. I'm going to sleep for a while and you'll stand over me and guard me alright?"
It nods it's head vigorously.
Sylas glances at it with skepticism. It is somewhat cute he supposes. In the way blob fishes have their charm. "Suppose I'll name you Blob then."
Blob smiles shyly, wringing his hands together, "Blo.."
Satisfied, Sylas moves over to his potions cabinet and tabs a few drops of Night Amores, on his tongue, which should stabilize the spell a bit.
He drapes himself on his chaise lounge like a gourmet meal presenting itself to the feast and repeats the incantation three times. Always ending on Emilia Vanis. Emilia Vanis. Emilia Vanis. He pictures the golden hair and blazing eyes. Imagines her holding him down, her hand gripping his jaw, turning him to face her. He sleeps.
Moving through the dreamscape is like travelling on train tracks, completely naked and at the speed of light. You know exactly where you're going but there's no steering wheel and no seatbelt.
He finally shifts into an elegant white room. Immediately recognising the architecture as that of the royal castle. He snarls, he thought she'd be staying at the academy like all other magic users but she'd apparently wormed her way under the king's charity. The slimy git. Two of his least favorite people, joining forces. Just what he needed.
He turns towards the bed, there strewn about the sheets is the heroine. Her silky strands flow down the white sheets, and over her pillowcase in waves. The moonlight makes her skin seems dewy and fresh. Her soft breathing is the only sound in the room.
She seems a lot smaller, now that only her upper body is visible and her armour is gone. He brings his hands together, pulling up his magic to strengthen the formation of the spell. Then he moves towards her with slow, drawled out steps.
The last time he'd tried this spell, he'd gotten close to assassinating the king. Before the royal mage had shuffled in and broken the spell. Those two had always been insufferably close. But his old teacher wouldn't be keeping watch over the little heroine. He'd never liked foreigners. Racist bastard.
Sylas moves forward, he stands between her and the window so that his form casts a shadow across her. He reaches for the dagger in his holster and brings it towards her, the metal glints sharply under the moonlight and her eyelids flicker.
He'd like to prolong this. To torture her. To humiliate her and give her, her fair payment in treatment. But she's the only thing standing between him and the crown. So he raises his dagger and shoves it down into her heart.
Her body flinches and strong fingers come to grab at his wrist. His heart rate spikes. He's waiting for her to give in, for her body to shudder and deflate, for the blood seeping into her white sheets to turn her dry. But her grip only tightens and her eyes flicker open. Big, bright, blue and filled with mirth. She laughs at him, the tinkling of bells filling the room.
His eyes widen and he gasps out, "What the hell are you?"
She tugs him forward by the wrist, up onto the bed, until his thighs are around her hips. It a stretch, the muscles in his legs burn. His vision sparks in confusion as he watches all the blood that had flowed out of her slowly crawl back into the wound, until the sheets are once more pristine and there's hardly a speck left.
She rubs her hands up and down his lower back, pressing her thumbs into his venus dimples, massaging them in. She smiles up at him, "Little bird, you're going to need a powerful weapon to kill me. Best put your toys away."
Sylas grits his teeth, he grasps her shirt and tears it open. The dagger is still stuck in her breast but there's no blood and no swelling and she's acting as though it tickles. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Are your tits so big they stopped the blade from reaching your heart," he snarls viciously.
She burst out laughing, the sound pouring out of her and disturbing the silence of the night. Her eyes twinkle.
He's had enough of this, he struggles out of her hold. Her fingers tighten and her eyes turn cold. "Where are you going? I thought you came to kill me."
"You are... Infuriating," he spits, finally freeing himself. He moves to get off the bed but she pulls on his shirt and tips them both over so that she's laying on top of him. Her shirt is still halfway unbuttoned and peaks of soft curves swirl in his vision. The dagger slips out. She throws it to the corner of the room. Then it's just warm creamy skin begging him to stare, to memorise the plains of her body.
He turns his head to the side, away from the window, so as to admire the rather drab wardrobe in the corner. "What are you doing?" he whispers, considerably softer than his usual spitting tone.
She hums. "I wonder..." Her hands sneak under the sheets. Slowly her fingers trail down his shuddering chest and over his lean waist. He flinches.
"Wai-" he gasps out, eyes rolling to the back as her hands curve around his shape, cupping him. He writhes under her, pushing and pulling and whining. Then his eyes shoot to hers. "You fucking pervert," he spits. "Let me go! Let me go right now or so help me-" Her grip tightens and he squeaks, looking down with wide frightened eyes. "Let me go..." he whispers pleadingly.
She smirks, "I thought you were going to kill me. Surely you would allow me this last meal." She presses her weight down onto him and his whole body heats and flushes. Her lips cup the rim of his ear and he shivers, holding in a keen. His blood pressure rises, his panic settling in, the magic of the spell shakes in his uncertainty and he glimmers a translucent purple. She pulls away and tilts her head, a small childish frown playing on her lips, "Leaving so soon? We were just getting started."
He reaches up and pulls harshly at her hair. She allows it, enjoying his fury, enjoying his fear. Like a cat hissing and scratching.
"You're going to rue this day. I'll make sure of it."
"I promise you I will. After all, I was so close to getting a taste of you." She brings her lips down and presses a wet kiss against his collarbone. The feeling of her lips makes him shudder. The magic splits and he fades into his own body with the memory of her lips on his skin.
He wakes up to Blob screaming in his ear," Masteeer. Masteeer. Someone at the warddds."