Flashback Returning Home (Huskabar)

[Volanaro]

13 Winter, 461 AV

How far could a city fall. Volanaro allowed a sigh to escape his lips as he cast his gaze about the city in his wanderings. His hood was raised over his head, the wizard's rather extravagant robes catching the attention of passerby as he traversed a dirt-ridden street. It was filthy, over-run with what looked to be purely scum and thuggery. When Volanaro had lived here as a mortal, in the wake of the Valterrian, there was destruction.

The world was split asunder, with an enormous percentage, the Nuit was unsure of the exact number (Could anyone be certain? Such a cataclysm surely swallowed information regarding the past.) Before the cataclysm, what Volanaro remembered of... Sunberth, as he had heard a local refer to it as, was a place of prosperity. Vibrant grey eyes rolled in their sockets as disdain rose in his mind.

Perhaps there could be something of use here, at the very least. Volanaro had wandered for an age, time meaningless to him as he witnessed the construction of new cities from the shadows, both cursed with immortality and blessed with it, the Nuit wanting nothing of contribution to the new society. He was, instead, a witness to it.

Fingers pressed to the stone surface of a nearby building, fingers traversing the grain, the sensation off-felt in his undead state, but it was there. He frowned as he separated from the building, walking down an alleyway, the dark flooding in as his perception of what was around him faded. It was here that he began to hear footsteps. He did his utmost to hold the snort that escaped him, instead allowing a deep, unnecessary breath to fill his lungs.

Someone that is attempting to strike out at a child, I presume? How... cowardly. Of course, I am nothing of the sort. His palms opened as he began to mould Res. It built in his right hand, taking solid form, aqueous and thick, almost pasty in nature. He willed the Res to dilute, the consistency rendered far more liquefied, the manifestation hidden within his sleeve as he listened to the footsteps. They grew closer, the sound of a clumsy hand fumbling for a weapon in the darkness. Closing his eyes, Volanaro willed the res to flee from his body, the predator entering his sphere of influence. In the darkness, it (for Volanaro had not heard a voice to discern gender) approached.

He allowed one more step before allowing the res to part from his body, fleeing from him as a single tendril of ethereal liquid. It looped around the predator's neck, the being only feet from the Nuit child at this point, his dagger raised before... Volanaro closed his fist, willing the Res to transmute at the surface as water, leaving the remaining concentration in the interior untouched until he switched to his second affinity... air. The res responded to his directive, the interior res spawning into cold, freezing air, which in turn froze the water surrounding it.

The resulting quick-freezing of water forced the liquid to expand, the tendril collapsing onto the man's body before freezing into pointed shards. The man had not the time to scream, for his throat was ripped asunder, body collapsing to the floor as the dagger fell with a clang. Volanaro picked up the thing, not bothering to look for the sheathe as he stepped out of the alleyway, a soft hum escaping him as he sought to part ways from the scene of murder. Volanaro knew nothing of what laws may exist in this place. Was murder a crime? He wasn't sure. Nor did he truly care.

[Huskabar]

Along the darkened slimy corners of the foulest of city streets, a young man rolled against the cobblestone ground beneath him, exhaling a series of viscous coughs, clenching his eyes, as he fought his own breath. Oh, how he hated every single detail about this horrible excuse for civilization. Pfft… Sunberth… There was absolutely nothing civilized about it. Of all the places in all of Mizahar, why did he have to be born in Sunberth. He knew he would leave this place someday, and never come back. He would just let it rot and fester. He was certain that he would find his calling, and rise so far above the filth, all of the riff raff surrounding him throughout these years would be crying out his name in envy. His near-vengeful fantasizing was cut short with the deep aching pain of a starving stomach. He clenched his abdomen, rolling against the waist filled street corner, as he closed his eyes tight, hoping that this unbearable pain would fade away into blackness, just like the sight of the dirty streets. Everything wrong and tormented with this world could just fade into the beautiful blackness like magic when he shut his eyelids… But not the pain. Never the pain. He knew that his father would be back soon with dinner, but he was tired of eating rotten apple cores, spoiled cabbage, and fish heads… Oh god, the fish heads. If he had to stomach even one more, he didn’t know what he would do… Then out from nowhere, came a tall man, smiling broadly, as he looked down on the young man, kneeling forward, “Are you alright? You don’t look so good. Here, I have something for you,” said the man, as he reached down into his pocket, gripping at the contour of what seemed to be- Could it be… could it even possibly be… Yes, it was. From his pocket came a large golden flakey warm loaf of bread, and with a gentle smile the man handed the loaf to the longhaired teenager. This was unreal in every aspect. Never before had such luck found it’s way to this unfortunate boy. He scuffed down the bread, bite by bite, each more tantalizing than the last, and though it was his first instinct to close his eyes, he would not. This delicious loaf of bread was one thing he did not want to fade into blackness. The man continued to smile, as he watched the crispy delight vanish before his eyes, and as Huskabar looked upward, the man was still peering back at him. He leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Well.. You have now gotten something you want,” his hand reaching out to trail through the teen boy’s hair, the once delightful smile twisting into something impure, demented, and corrupt. “Now it’s time for me to get something I want,” the man said, before sliding his hand down along the palm of the young man’s back, before pushing him back into the darkness of the alley, where no peering eyes could help him. He struggled and called out, but to no avail, as the gnarled hands slid down along his hips. It was so foolish of him to expect something actually good to happen to him without a cost, and he knew that now. He slowly clenched his eyes, letting all of his surroundings fall into pure blackness, which he knew would not block the pain. Suddenly noises began to spring up from some sort of commotion just outside the corner, and as the man turned to look behind him, Huskabar immediately seized the opportunity, connecting the blunt force of his kneecap with the fragile pouch that was the man’s groin. As the large man fell down to the floor, the young teen took this moment to thank him with a well placed kick to his ribs, and the honor of a spit to the face, glaring down with pure malice, before darting around the corner, having no intent on being there when the man finally got up. He spun around the corner, making it only a couple steps before coming face to face with another teenager, and there was something about his eyes, and he did not know what, but he instinctually tugged at his arm and said, “Quick! There’s a man around that corner, and he wants a little more than whatever coins may be in our pockets!”

[Volanaro]

Sunberth was clearly a deteriorated shell of what it once was. Not only was the dilapidated place an utter shyke-hole, an eyesore that deserved nothing more than to be razed and rebuilt anew, but it was also a paradise for the amoral. Debauchery, criminal activity, and worst of all, thievery littered the place already infested with filth, it seemed, Volanaro able to garner the bit of information from a young man who had appeared out of the nothing, grabbing hold of his wrist and essentially pulling him with him as he sought to run from an older man. Looking back, he noted that the fellow was already incapacitated, writhing in agony on the floor and not making chase. Volanaro wondered to himself why the other boy was still running, the child, who looked possibly two years or so older than his current host body, clearly in charge of the situation.

But, he relented, not quite able to do anything about being pulled forward, his legs parting to allow him to run, the material of his robes catching at his knees and making the motion slightly more arduous, but Volanaro kept the trouble to himself. He was lucky, at least, that he had bonded with this body already, knowing that if this had transpired just weeks before, his synchronization would likely fail with an attempt to run and send the Nuit child crashing to the floor. It was a relief, to say the least.

The Reimancer still held the dagger that was his prize in his free hand, the steel foreign in his hand, for he had never, even in his 500 years, bothered to hold a weapon. In the more recent centuries, after his initiations into both Reimancy and the discipline (if it could be called that) of Leeching, he never felt the need to defend himself from a physical threat. He had been attacked by creatures in his travels, but the implementation of Water as a means of leverage was enough to, more often than not, resolve the issue.

A tendril of water could do just as much damage, if more discretely, than a ball of flame. It was always a satisfying process when the water attracted other liquid, the boy Nuit forcing the creatures with the audacity to strike at him, mostly wolves, to quite literally implode. The thoughts invaded the Reimancer's mind, distracting the Nuit from the current situation as he simply followed the other boy. When the duo finally distanced themselves from the fallen attacker, Volanaro pulled on the other's arm, bringing the two to a stop without quite breaking contact with his skin. Fingers gripped the 'older' boy's arm as gray eyes of thundercloud looked up to meet the other's gaze, "Now. I would, friend, deeply appreciate that in the future," his words were spoken in a polite tone, a smile even adorning his lips. Though, the smile was a lie.

His hand constricted the boy's wrist as he imposed his will upon the other's djed, willing it to flow towards Volanaro's hand. He sought to take it from him, to show him the consequence for gripping Volanaro. His words were sickly sweet as he continued his sentence, "You asked permission before touching me. I become... agitated when disturbed." He held the contact for a mere five ticks, siphoning the djed, feeling as the corrupted essence filled his nerves. It was much like swallowing alcohol, the burn both pleasurable and slightly painful to the unprepared.

The djed filled the boy Nuit's body, a deep, pleasurable sigh escaping his lips as he released his hold on the other boy, crossing his arms as his gray eyes of thundercloud cast their gaze upwards to stare into the taller boy's face. He kept his palms open, his lips slightly parted should the need to retaliate yet again arise. The Nuit did not like being touched, especially since he felt neither pleasure nor sensation from it. It was the being steered that had truly bothered him. This boy was, after all, only human. He had no right to commandeer him like a vessel.

[Huskabar]

The young man’s mind was racing, as he dashed forward with the other, every last inch of his body trembling with fear, as he looked over his shoulder. He let his legs carry him, until they could not carry him any longer, panting for breath, as his body slumped over, but as he turned to catch the gaze over the other boy, he could not help but notice that he showed no signs of physical exertion, and if that was not odd enough, and the longer he spent by this younger boy, the stranger he seemed. He felt the small fingers pressing against his wrist, as the two set of irises locked for what appeared to Huskabar to be an eternal moment. Something strange was happening within him, and gradually he felt his body weaken, as the near-black green hued tints danced with the dangerous stormy grays of the other. in a gaze that could go on for a lifetime, as far as the older boy was concerned. The words the young boy spoke spiraled in his head, like an endless army of marching drummers, every step and strike of their instrument growing just a little bit louder than before. There was one thing that he was completely certain of, and that was that there was no possibility in this world of him closing his eyes, and inviting the blackness into this moment. As he saw it, It was only for him and this other boy. It was their moment, and no one elses. He nibbled down against his bottom lip, as he felt surges of energy leaving his form, making him truly helpless if not only for this moment, and unlike earlier with the strange ere older man, Huskabar was beginning to enjoy being helpless. His body then fell to one knee, feeling the hand let go of his arm, gasping even louder than he was before, a small droplets of moisture ran down his skin. His eyes gradually peered back up to the boy, before snapping back out of the moment, “What… What did you just do to me?” he said with a false tone of anger, still cherishing the chilling burn that traveled his veins. He slowly but surely made his way back up to his feet, his eyes still locked with the other, as he gripped his own wrist, running his thumb along exactly where the other boy’s thumb had been. “Are you some kind of monster?” he said, unsure of what had happened, though in truth he was beginning to think there was an unspoken beauty in monsters. It was the very next moment that he regretted that thought. “You little sniveling bastard!” came the voice of the man, who had managed to recompose himself, though the older boy could not help but take note of the way he was standing, and it was clear that he was still in pain. “Oh, I see you’ve invited a friend, and he’s even prettier than you. You should really grow out that hair though, boy, just like your older friend… Just think how beautiful you would be!” he said, as he reached down towards a sheath hanging from his side, pulling out a long waved kris, before pointing it at the two boys. “Here is what is going to happen. I am going to get my way, and if I don’t, this is going to all get very messy very fast. I hope I make myself clear” “You are pathetic,” piped out the glaring brown-haired teenager, and though the baffled predator tried to interject in this display of courage, Huskabar continued, “Completely and entirely pathetic. What have you ever done worth living for? You aren’t even fit to be buried in the muck of the scummiest marsh, and you know this, don’t you? You are an insect, and no matter how much pain you cause, you know it is temporary, and you know you are simply spiraling to that moment when you are nothing more than a splatter on the tread of a boot. Well, let me explain something to you right now, you vial waste of human life, I am that boot, and it may be moments from now, perhaps months, or even years, but you will see that tread coming towards you, and you will suffer in horrible terrible agony, because if there is one thing I am truly good at, it’s holding a grudge.” The man took a moment to look down to his blade, gritting his yellow tinted teeth, his hand giving a very slight tremble, but then after a passing moment he gripped tighter on the hand of the weapon, shaking his head, as a devious smile reintroduced itself upon his expression, “The pathetic one would be you if you thought that would scare me, you little rodent.” He his eyes glared at the two of them, as he moved readily closer, “Suffering…” He gave out a great boisterous laugh, “ I am going to teach you both the meaning of suffering. You don’t even know the definition yet.” said the man, as he raised his dingy aged blade, licking the tip of both top canine teeth, as a devilish flare sparked deep within his hellish gaze, filled with confidence in the fact he would get exactly what he desired...

[Volanaro]

At first, Volanaro consideredlying to his new 'friend.' Magic was not something to be taken lightly, or gossiped about. The discipline was despised by most, and Volanaro could not be sure if he was going to regret telling him the truth. But, then he saw something. A sick, twisted joy materialized in the other boy's arm, a false anger fled his lips as he half-heartedly accused him of being a monster.

A valid accusation, for I am neither human nor ghost. I am a being of a far higher order. Those with a mortal life's span forever fear. Tanroa and Dira stand above them, mocking them in their mutual apathy.

But, before Volanaro could answer, it seemed that their prey had caught up to them. Shivers of pleasure continued to roll through the boy Nuit's body, filling his form with the excess djed that pooled in his body. He felt an almost vicious trance come over him, the desire to do more with his magic rising, to cast more. There was also the matter of there being a threat in his vicinity. The simple matter of there being a threat, one that so openly vocalized its desires to instill pain and the 'lesson of suffering', encouraged him to the extent that he required.

Volanaro pulled off his hood, his thick, dark brown locks splashing into his eyes before with a quick movement of his hand, they were cast aside. He raised his hands, his sleeves rolling back towards his elbows as he began to generate his Res. To the older man, it would seem as if he were doing some sort of preparation for a dance, or even to fight. A laugh exploded from the man's lips as he looked upon the Nuit in disbelief,

"What're you doing huh? Preparing for the ballet, boy? Going to talk your way out of pain with a pretty little dance? Ain't gonna happen, kid. Gonna teach ye' both a lesson."

The opinion was not kept for long as Res began to pull from his hands, taking gaseous form rather than the liquid he had transmuted before. An easier cast, for the threat was both in front of him and mocking him. He wanted to put more... force behind the blow. Afterwards, the two were going to have to run, again. "Muster your djed, boy. We will need to run again after this."

There was a cold certainty in his words, a calculating tone that belied the boy Nuit's age and appearance. The cracks would begin to show, but Volanaro did not care. It seemed that his new 'friend' did not mind... Quite the contrary, in fact.

Res manifested before him, a crimson, ethereal-looking wave of miasma was what it looked to be, sickly and corrupted from both the mage's inner nature and the djed he was using to make the Res. The older man laughed loudly, waving his blade before them as he said, "Run? There won't be an after this, boy! I'm gonna-" The foolishness of mortals. They believed that their long, pitiful droll of speech was worthy of Volanaro's time. And, it was not. Res had traveled forward as the man spoke, slowly seeping into the man's throat. It traveled down his windpipe, beginning to spin in the man's lungs.'

Reimancers, from what Volanaro understood, liked to simply throw their Res, Volanaro preferred a much more... effective method. Of course, it was far more taxing to do so, requiring both full focus and a fairly large amount of Res, but Volanaro's reserves of djed were larger now, epsecially with the corrupted djed his friend had so generously bestowed upon him.

The man noticed something was wrong as the Res tapped against his lungs, spinning wildly within the confines of the twin organs. Eyes widened, but before he could speak. Transmutation. The Res, rotated in the man's chest, turning into a flurry of cold air, which spun within and expanded the man's lungs to a width that they could not withstand. Both organs collapsed, holes punctured in them. The man coughed violently, blood spurting from his lips as he collapsed to the floor.

The boy Nuit turned around, his robes flapping about in the wind caused by the motion before he began to walk away, quite unconcerned as to whether or not his new 'friend' followed.

[Huskabar]

The young brown haired boy gave a nod to the younger boy’s words, though he did not completely understand him. What was djed? This was a question that he had decided to put out of mind for the moment. His attention was completely focused on the scene unfolding before him. Huskabar’s attempts at intimidation seemed to have failed him, but he thought perhaps his new friend would have a more effective approach. He was not aware just how right he was with that thought. He watched as the elaborate intriguing technique displayed before him, and there was only one word to describe it… Beautiful. He did not even realize exactly what he was seeing, but could this be what he had heard upon the winds of so many hushed whispers? Could this be… Magic? He was not sure, but there was one fact that was certain… Where this boy went, he would follow. He quickly turned, walking from the horrific scene, after taking a moment to sneer at the dead body of the human insect. “It looks to have been the other foot, but no matter… Squashed is squashed,” he said to himself under his breath. It was remarkable how one could not see how utterly worthless they were. This poor fool only took from the world, and had nothing real to truly contribute, and yet he was under the delusion that he deserved to exist. People like this had no right to even breath… Let alone affect the lives of others in any negative way. The young man could only hope that he would never be so naive or ego-driven as this perverse thug laying before him. He thought on this for a moment, before finally shaking his head, with a self-righteous smirk. He wouldn’t let that happen, because after all, he was not corrupt like the corpse before him. It was the exact opposite in truth, for he knew deep within that this world needed to be cleansed and perhaps… just maybe… he would in time, have the pleasure of cleaning it, himself. He gradually turned his body, before sprinting wildly to catch up with the other boy, not wanting to spend anymore time close to the dead body than he felt that he needed. He ran to catch up with the other, darting around the corner, but the truly unfortunate reality was that it had seemed that he had already lost sight of the young boy. An expression of pure disappointment made it’s way across his face. It was typical in actuality, since like the young man had noted to himself before, nothing good seems to find him. Just as he thought his world would make an upward turn, he let it slip through his fingers once more. He turned to make his way back to where his father would be waiting for him, but as he did, he saw the younger boy in the distance. He ran forward, his lungs burning, as sweat rolled down his forehead, and soon enough he was standing side by side with the young boy. There were so many questions swirling through his head, and though he could sense that the other seemed to enjoy his silence, he couldn’t contain these thoughts any longer… “That was absolutely magnificent! Simply astonishing,” He expressed with amazement and joy. He gave a low deathly laugh, quite unfitting to a young boy. Huskabar seemed to have no regard for death whatsoever, or at least not for those that he deemed unfit for life. This seemed to be a philosophy that his new companion shared, seeing no remorse in the depths of his eyes. “Wow, if I could do that, there’s no way I’d be here. I would not stay another single second. So… What’s your name? Where are you from? How did you do that? Oh, and most importantly,” he looked over the cracking appearance of what otherwise appeared to be a young teenage boy… “What are you?”

[Volanaro]

For several chimes, it seemed that the boy did not follow. Volanaro was nonplussed, the solitude and the company of a single boy essentially being the same in the grand scale of things. However, what the solitude did allow him was a moment to think. To consider the Transmutations he had executed. They were, in essence, rather broken. Shards of ice had split off into the man's neck the first time, his death resulting in bleeding out from heavy lacerations in the throat rather than the decapitation he had set out to do. The second... the holes in his lungs were far too small. He watched it happen. The man had not died immediately. It was a slow, tortuous death as his body failed to breathe, and oxygen failed to bring energy and life into the form. A pity, really. Volanaro's Reimancy was far from perfect. Far from the glorious power that he had seen the Reimancer demonstrate on the say of his initiation.

But, it was enough. Not a scratch on his body, and a new toy in the form of a steel dagger, if a bit worn and dull from what looked to be consistent use. It was sufficient. Volanaro had plans for the use of a dagger, though it had little to do with a fight. The boy Nuit's thoughts were put on hold as the other boy appeared before him again, panting and sweating from exertion. Volanaro scoffed at the notion, chuckling under his breath before he listened to his line of questioning. Obviously the boy was not a magic-user, Volanaro had gleaned that much from when he had Leeched from the boy's body, feeling his quantity of djed to be less than satisfactory. He had, in fact, only Leeched him because he so despised being touched. Especially by the Living. Their warm hands felt disgusting upon his cold, dead flesh.

When the questions were posed, Volanaro turned to face the other boy fully, his hood still removed, allowing the other a full view of his face. Features showed faint signs of gauntness, pale skin around vibrant gray eyes of thundercloud. Faint scars were visible on his right cheek, his neck containing lines of weave, stitches holding the skin together. Volanaro's body was nearly eight months in at this point, the need for a new host not yet present, but it was only a matter of time. The boy Nuit wore a scowl upon his features as a single hand moved to brush strands of hair from his forehead, "If you did not wish to be here, you would leave regardless of your inability to do what I can do, boy." The first words from Volanaro's lips set the tone for his conversation with the other. He was not one to suffer the adoration of the Living. To enslave the Living was another matter entirely, but this scruffy, long-haired teenager did not appeal to him as a slave. "It is common decency to introduce one's self before asking them for their name."

The other questions were ignored, Volanaro seeing no point in addressing them without the respect that both his superiority as an undead and a magus demanded. The boy was to learn respect, even if Volanaro had to each it to him, himself. All of Sunberth seemed to be a hive for scum and filth, but perhaps, Volanaro could make something of this one. If he was able to follow his indications. There was little reason to punish him for his insolence beyond the Leeching he had enacted earlier, little need to suck more Djed from his soul. At least, not yet. Overgiving was still a way's away, and if he began to do so, this boy would likely die before the effects faded. Djed was plentiful in the bodies of wizards, but ordinary commoners contained very little.

The boy Nuit waited patiently upon the boy, gray, unblinking eyes set upon his new 'friend'.

[Huskabar]

The adolescent derelict couldn’t stop scanning over every last inch of the young man, and what had started as flirtatious curiosity was now absolute intrigue. Never before had he encountered such a unique being. “Oh? Hmm? Oh, yes! I am Huskabar!” He said with half-cocked smile. “Whatever it is you did, it was incredible, simply incredible!” he said, as he began to consider the possibilities. The young man knew that he had to get in the good graces of this odd being. “I apologize for the bad manners,” he said allowed, as a glint sparked in his gaze, “Being stuck in filth, surrounded by vermin has a way of effecting a person,” said the young man. His vocabulary seemed to be advanced for a young man living in the slums, but credit for that actually belonged to his father. Huskabar always emulated his father’s speech patterns, and though he had wondered why the man did not sound like other vagrants, he never chose to ask, but rather made a silent observation. The young man was unique in the fact that he was very different than the other boys in the area. He didn’t have any interest in growing up to be an assassin or anything of that nature, but rather he always sought the interests of the mind. It wasn’t that he was particularly intelligent… No, it was more of an insatiable curiosity and creativity that drove him, like an illness or obsession, and though he was capable of mocking social patterns, there was something broken inside of him that would not allow him to make actual connections beyond formalities, attraction, or of course curiosity. Even now, it was his curiosity that drove him beyond all else, and he did not see himself as a manipulator, or a false friend, but rather he approached every being of interest to him as if they were nothing more than a living book, just waiting to be opened by the right words, and the pleasant smile. “So, whatever it is you are, can you make me one? I don’t care if you bite me, or scratch me, or however it works!” He said, as he began to enthusiastically walk in front of the other, moving backwards as he spoke, the ebony and emerald tones of his irises brightened with pure fascination. Then suddenly the clumsy teen stumbled awkwardly backward on something… or someone it had seemed, and when he turned to look behind him, he saw a thin beautiful woman. Her appearance was quite exotic, standing at about five feet, and six inches, with well tanned skin, and a thick soft lips, with a narrowed gaze, and bright blue eyes. “Can I perhaps help you boys with something?” she asked with a smirk, and a curve of her hip, and though it did appear to seem that she could wield her feminine wiles with skill and grace, she could not be cursed with a worse audience. Huskabar simply turned and walked away, not speaking a word. “Well fine, waste my time then!” she called after him, before leaning back against the wall. The young man didn’t like the opposite gender very much, nor did he trust them. In his mind they just took up space, and if they were not essential to keeping the human race alive, he would probably dispose of every one of them right along with the human insect, given his way.

[Volanaro]

What the human said was beginning to disgust him. The gift of Un-life was not one to be taken lightly, nor was it to confuse with some sort of infection that an animal could give inadvertently. The Nuit's lips curled into a scowl, his arm reaching forward and aggressively reaching out to grip the taller boy's. He pulled him along, away from the filthy prostitute who had dared waste their time before pulling him into an alley way. He nearly threw him, though with his body's limited strength, it was unlikely that the boy traveled very far.

Rage had wormed its way into the boy Nuit's mind, his vibrant gray eyes staring fixedly at the older boy's throat as he envisioned possible ways of killing him. He could do as he did with the last and employ the use of Cryomancy to literally tear his throat apart with expanding shards of ice, but he chose not to. He could freeze his lungs from the inside with a frosty gust down the throat, but it was not appealing. He could crush the eyes with ice and then tear them out as the boy writhed in agony. But, none of these were suitable to command the Nuit's satisfaction.

Death was the ultimate punishment, but what the Nuit demanded was fear, not punishment. Death was liberation in the form of damnation. No, this was not adequate. Once safely within the alley, which happened, by chance, to be the very same that the corpse still littered from earlier in the evening, the Nuit released his rage. His hands raised, the crimson-coloured miasma that was his Res emanating from it as a gaseous ooze. It coalesced in the air sifting forward to surround the boy's shoes. The Res was left there for that moment, allowed to rest as the Nuit liquefied the remaining Res he had released, a generous amount to be sure. Volanaro pushed himself to the precipice of overgiving, a weak, but noticeable headache rising in his skull, a faded metallic taste lingering upon his blackened tongue as the tendril of crimson Res coiled around his 'friend's' throat.

Transmutation.

The process was quick, water sloshing onto the boy's feet, a thin layer of Res polluting the quantity with a crimson impurity. The rest of the water, a tendril coiled at his throat, approximately three inches thick, was also polluted with the Res allowing the Nuit to maintain his control. In his mind, the desire rose, whispers in his head attempting to convince him of the sweet, delicious sensation of murder. You have done it twice already, Volanaro. Just do it! You want to! He disrespected you! The Nuit shook his head, his focus suffering. The Res at the boy's feet transmuting into cold air nearly independent of the Nuit's will. The water froze, and if the boy did not move his feet, they would surely be frozen to the floor.

The rest of the Res did not transmute, leaving a tendril of water around his throat, rippling with the lost of focus, but remaining intact. Just do it! DO IT. He's weak, helpless! HUMAN. MORTAL. KILL THE MOR-- NO! Murder is too simple. Murder is not a lesson. Murder is a tool. Magic is a tool. I WILL NOT. BE. CONTROLLED. Volanaro's eyes had closed without him realizing it, the orbs flying open, unblinking and wide in their sudden clarity. The migraine faded as he realized control over his Res. When his lips parted to speak, the tone was far colder than it had been before, the ice almost flowing from the throat itself as he spoke his words. They flowed from his throat as a whisper, though it reverberated through the alley with unmistakable clarity,

"You will NOT become 'like' Volanaro. You will learn what it is to respect. Volanaro is not an animal that can spread his condition through something as mundane as a bite. Volanaro is not going to submit to the perverse demands of an inferior being. If the aforementioned being understands this, he will blink twice, or he will be destroyed."

Volanaro awaited his answer.

[Huskabar]

The young boy watched with absolute bewilderment, as the younger boy displayed his capabilities, and whatever small amount of fear he felt was completely drowned out by his own joyful curiosity. He watched as the Res took shape, popping up his feet, just in time, to watch the ice form into beautiful shards, just beneath him, and through all of this danger, he still could not help but feel excitement. This stranger thought that threatening his life would get some sort of negative emotional response, but in truth Huskabar did not see his life as worth living until this day, and every sight only fueled his exuberance. When he was commanded to blink, he did so, but not in the expected fashion whatsoever, but rather it was a flirtatious winking of sorts, before giving a quick flip of his hair, and a devious smile, before mouthing the words, “Squeeze harder please.” There was a sick delight that came over the young man, by tempting fate, and frustrating this creature at the very same time. It was as if he simply could not help himself, and was addicted to the danger. Perhaps his life as a lowly street dweller left him hungry for more than just food, or perhaps there was a part of him that did not want to live at all. Whatever his reasons were, it was clear that this young man enjoyed testing his boundaries, and threatening his life did not seem to change that. He slid a hand upward, caressing the younger boys knuckle, as he attempted to grind forward, but was still held in place by the boy’s forceful strong hands. “Oh, Just a little tighter please,” he gasped, with a wide smirk, his hips trembling with pleasure. His eyes were completely entrances with the vision of the flowing aquatic Res, framing the sight of his captivating stormy grey eyes… Oh, how he could get lost in those eyes, and yet the command he demanded, drove the young man to challenge it in an almost playful nature, but in truth he craved nothing more than to submit to this boy. There was just something special about him that drove both his defiance and his lust. Was the boy completely and entirely insane to be so reckless, so bold, so stubborn, so obsessed? There was a very good chance of that, yes, but sanity only belongs to those afraid to part from it. Huskabar had stopped being afraid a long time ago. The tender touch of his finger gradually moved down the knuckle, along the smooth silky cold skin of the arm, feeling a pattern of tiny cracks arising in the surface, his fingers gently caressing the subtle cracks, as his eyes opened wider, whispering out to him, “You are beautiful,” now completely ignoring the dangerous magical energy that surrounded him, gazing straight into his eyes. There was nothing this young boy could do to make Huskabar fear him, and that was the truly scary fact. A man with no regard to his life is capable of far more danger and terror than any monster. Some think that to have nothing is a weakness, but for Huskabar it often became his greatest strength, because nothing to lose meant any risk, such as this would either grant one wish or the other… “Please… Harder,” he said once more.