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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Oct 20, 2009 15:39:01 GMT -5
There wasn't any smoke before the fire. It was just suddenly there, all consuming and oppressive, searing the flesh from your bones and crawling hungrily along the rooftops. It was alive with a distorted kind of glee, crackling merrily upon the flagstones and almost appearing to chase the children from their beds before devouring them as well. To the citizens of Caillou it had just been another overcast, Autumn day. But that was no longer the case. The picturesque square was scorched and smudged with ashes and the blistered corpses of its former community littered the boulevard. Where screams had once shattered the ambience of the pastoral village, a supernatural stillness now oozed through the place, only the dancing of the ebon flames giving life to the otherwise eerie spectacle.
There was sudden movement from a nearby cottage. A young woman darted from her self-made sanctity, half mad from the slaughter and shrieking of demons and vile creatures. She appeared to be the sole surviver (for the pretty young women were always left until last) and she even got as far as the gates of Caillou before whatever calamity had infested an otherwise peaceful town caught up to her.
Vyncent Schwarz was having a good day. Not even the clouds could dampen his spirits today. It was with complete elegance that he swept up behind the pretty little thing, and it was with a content smile that he drew his rapier. Her scream was cut short as the black blade sliced through flesh and pierced bone, eventually sliding like silk through her breast-bone, only the echoing crack telling of the pressure being exerted. "Come now, sweetheart." he purred in her ear, seemingly oblivious to the wreckage behind him, "You didn't really think you were going to escape, did you?" his smirk was a knowing one, and the poor wretch in his arms was soon put out of her misery, albeit reluctantly so.
Chaos glittered in his scarlet eyes, and with none of the flair that he'd approached the woman with, he let her fall to the floor, that macabre, howling song filling the air from his blade. His Amor. He lifted the rapier ostentatiously, a jaunty little smirk on his face as he turned it in the fire-light, the blood that dripped from it making it shimmer. Vyncent was undoubtedly a slave to his passions sometimes, but there was never a happier slave in the world.
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Post by Angel ♥ on Oct 20, 2009 15:51:20 GMT -5
(ATTENTION FLICK; I'm going to join in a couple of posts time to give Altair and Vyncent some quality bonding time, so it's gonna be one on one between you and Chi until I join, okays? So it's your turn to post.)
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Post by FLICK on Oct 21, 2009 0:28:37 GMT -5
The inn was dim and smoky. Altair picked his way through the half-light cast by guttering oil lamps to the counter, where a sweating bartender cleaned glasses with a dirty rag. The demon’s golden eyes fluttered over the furnishings with distaste before coming to rest on the man before him, whose own displayed astonishment. Altair doubted that he had ever had a patron dressed as well as the one that stood before him. His white and gold-trimmed shirt, black trousers, gold-buckled boots and the gold chain that hung around his neck were probably more costly than the barman’s yearly earnings. His gummed eyes glittered with greed—Altair’s with vicious cruelty, veiled behind a veneer of false interest.
“Sir?” the man inquired roughly.
Altair smiled coldly, showing a row of white teeth. Canines carefully concealed beneath his lower hip, he spoke. “I have business with you. We shall talk in the back.”
The man glanced at the stranger, unnerved by his golden eyes and raven’s hair, but greed took the better of his misgivings. After a quick scan of the other drinkers and the conclusion that they were too drunk to try and steal anything, he gestured with a greasy hand for the wealthy nobleman to follow him. When the man had disappeared through the doorframe into a dark room, Altair vaulted the bar and followed him.
The back room, if anything, was dingier than the bar area itself. Racks of dusty bottles lined the walls, all sorts of gin and port and spirits probably too sophisticated for the average customer ever to have heard of. His eyes subconsciously scanned the room for danger with the precision of an eagle’s, and when he was satisfied that nothing could possibly endanger him, bar perhaps the crash-landing of a dragon on the building, his pale, patrician lips curved in a smile. The bartender, if possible still uneasier now, had to ask him twice for his business before the demon condescended to respond.
“Last night, a man stayed at your inn.” This was not a question; it was a statement of fact. “Wearing fine clothes… something not quite right about him. I must know the name of the place he travelled to.” He peeled off a glove as the bartender nodded his acquiescence, licking his lips nervously. Traditionally, it took money to get him to inform on his customers, especially ones that had drunk as much has the man the previous night, but this noble had the power to ruin him if he chose. More importantly, perhaps, he had the sensation that he was in more danger from this golden-eyed man than he ever had been in his life.
“They travelled along the north road, Caillou way. He left but an hour before you arrived, sir, you could still catch him! Is it the girl you’re after?” Altair’s eyes bored unblinking into the man’s head and his mouth fell open slightly, pointed canines just exposed. “I mean,” he faltered, “she was a pretty thing.” He grinned lasciviously. “Wouldn’t mind having a go with her my—”
He got no further. Altair’s golden eyes flashed in sudden anger, and before the bartender could finish the sentence a white hand was at his throat, fingers tearing into the flesh and cartilage. Altair swung with the shoulder and threw the man by his throat across the room. The bloody remains of his windpipe were still in his hands as he smashed against the racks, and broken glass and stinging spirits rained down upon his body. Altair was on him in another second, breathing heavily with barely controlled rage. He bent close to savour the palpable fear as the man’s terrified eyes stared back at him, unable to find the air to think, or talk, or… live.
Altair strode silently from the room. Vyncent Schwarz might be lax enough to leave potential informants behind him, but in his role as De Vaux, Altair would not… no matter how drunk they were. Golden tongues lashed from his red-stained right hand, and as he left the inn, he had no doubt that the four alcoholics and the bartender left inside were dead.
The smoke rising from the gutted village was easily visible as he approached. His breath quickened. Forgetting his displeasure at the overcast sky, clouds roiling angrily overhead, he quickened his pace. Vyncent was here. There was no question… and if Vyncent were here, then he would find his daughter.
Golden fire sprang lazily to life at his fingertips, gliding in bright tongues about his body. As he approached the square, his pace slowed, each step arrogant. He caught the eerie song of Vyncent’s rapier before he saw it, noticing the glimmer of firelight off the bloody blade. Ahh, Amor… even now, hundreds of years later, she sung with the same vicious power that had enchanted him and led him to his botched attempt to steal the blade.
At that, the lines of his jaw hardened. It was not a defeat to remember now, when he needed a victory against the more powerful demon. The High Demon’s back was still turned when Altair spoke, his tones clipped and noble.
“Vyncent, old friend.” The words were laced with bitter irony. “It’s been many years.” The almost overwhelming urge to demand his daughter pounded roughly against the inside of his chest—but Altair was not one to enter into a discussion without careful calculation. He was uncertain how Vyncent would react to the demand, and almost certain that his fellow demon would be more reluctant to give him Etoile if it became clear the extent to which Altair longed for her. Demons were, after all, a spiteful race by nature.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Oct 21, 2009 15:10:35 GMT -5
Spiteful wasn't the word for this. Since he had set his eyes on Etoile all that time ago in Le Couvert, and had realised just whose daughter he had stumbled upon, Vyncent had made it his personal mission to do everything in his power to make Etoile as unlike her father as was possible. Every rumour of Altair had been smothered, upon any mentioning of him the topic had swiftly been changed, and as far as Etoile knew her father could very well be dead and gone. But, in the back of his mind, the demon had known that he'd be located eventually. In fact, he had counted on it. He'd just been biding his time, and waiting for the day when he could show Altair's own daughter back to him, having been under the wing of the man he despised so much, for so long.
He had been waiting a very long time for this day.
Even though the stench of charred bodies was overpowering, and the haze of smoke had settled upon the village like a veil, Vyncent could pick out Altair's scent even before he spoke. If it hadn't been for the subtle clues in his voice, and in Vyncent's slight change in stance (he had tensed up ever so slightly) then anyone looking in would have thought that they were actually comrades, and Altair had simply decided to join in with the slaughter.
Although the other demon couldn't see it, a satisfied, cat-like smirk had ghosted across Vyncent's expression, and he didn't lower his rapier. "Not many enough, I see. I still remember the sound of your voice. Grating, as usual." he observed without turning around, although the obsidian fire that danced along the rooftops and stole through the streets of Caillou was slowly receding, shooting along the ground in searing lines of black towards the nexus of chaos that was Vyncent. It circled around him, licking up his fingertips and caressing his cheeks, as if he was choosing to draw his energy in. Just in case he needed to use it.
His blade flashed as he turned on foot with a flourish, the High Demon finally facing his 'old friend'. Although it was true that Vyncent's real idea of friendship might involve him pointing his sword at his acquaintances, there was definitely much more of a threat in this action than in any other so far. "Why, Altair," he gave him a sly smile, "You're looking a lot better since the first time we met. A lot less charred. And bloody." There was obvious laughter dancing in his eyes now, the fire condensing around him and stirring the tips of his silvery hair. "Heard you became a noble. How'd that work out for you?" he asked as though he was really curious about the ins and outs of Altair's life. No mortal would be able to pick out the venom laced in his speech, each word picked as carefully as if it was a knife that he intended to throw at the other demon.
He tilted his head suddenly, fresh mirth lighting up in his eyes. Altair was on edge. He could practically hear his heart thunder in his chest. He wanted something. And Vyncent got the strangest feeling that he knew what that something was.
"So, old friend. What's brought you following after me like a lost child this time?" he asked, twisting Amor in the air so that she was pointing directly at his throat. "Surely, it can't be the same thing that had you trailing along after me before. I did think you'd learned your lesson." he sneered.
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Post by FLICK on Nov 7, 2009 20:13:50 GMT -5
Vyncent, then, must have been waiting nearly as long as Altair had.
Their rivalry ran deep - hundreds of years, one would think, should have been enough for ANYBODY to settle their differences, but when the two were the most powerful Fire Demon in Demia, even all Syrunn, and his jilted ex-protegé, perhaps one would be forced to reconsider. Altair's feelings, at least, had not changed since the last time he set eyes of Vyncent: an odd mixture of contempt, hatred and jealousy. Contempt, for his shameless surrender to his urges; hatred, for the 'slight' (if being taken to death-and-back-again could be called a slight) he had suffered so many years ago - he had a convenient way of forgetting that he had, after all, tried to steal the sword; and jealousy... ahh, jealousy, for his power, his legacy, and his sword.
The sword... he could hear her singing now, her eerie tune filling the smoky air, bolstered to a fullness he had never heard before by the blood and death around her and the wailing of her stolen souls. But Altair kept his purpose clear in mind - not difficult, when it threatened to flood his entire being. The sword called to him, but he refused to be tempted. It was her attempted theft, after all, that had caused this rift between them, so long ago... a rift that, apparently, would not close until one or both of them were dead.
But it was not Altair who had reignited their feud, not this time. Vyncent had, and Altair knew that his fellow fire demon was relishing every moment of their confrontation.
"And I still remember yours. Your tongue is as slippery as ever. And your penchant for destruction hasn't waned at all." He glanced around the shattered town, his pencilled eyebrows slightly raised, his eyes displayed only mild interest. But he knew Vyncent would catch the subtle signs - the disdain that floated gently his patrician features, the contempt that twitched gently at his lip. This was not an act: such destruction, while, perhaps, appealing, was not altogether to Altair's taste. But that would not stop him wreaking it on his enemy to get his daughter back... or even if he did.
Altair bristled at Vyncent's reference to his earlier failure. "I'd imagine it's a lot more comfortable than being an outlaw," he growled, but at the reference to a lost child any outward cordiality dropped. This was enough banter. Vyncent knew as well as Altair why they were here, and no number of verbal stabs would change the truth. Altair's raven-black hair swayed; fire crackled at the tips of each lock, and sparked at his fingertips. He felt it rise within him, ready, waiting for when it would be needed... soon.
"Enough," he snarled, the word escaping him in an ugly twist of his mouth. His hawk's eyes narrowed, his features hardened. The appearance of a refined nobleman was lost, and his demon heritage was suddenly visible everywhere: the ugly cast of his delicate features, the ivory fangs that dug into his pale lips, the predatory gleam in his flaming, golden eyes. "You know why I'm here, Vyncent."
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Nov 13, 2009 9:43:34 GMT -5
"I'm glad you noticed. And you're just as bound up in your own narcissism as always, I see." Vyncent sneered at Altair's observation of his complete dismantling of the town around them; the gaunt houses, the broken, splintered stone, the charred bodies. That's what had always managed to aggrivate him about his 'fellow' demon, even before the rifts of indignation had driven them apart. Vyncent knew what he was, a creature of vileness and torment, and he embraced it. Altair, in his eyes, suppressed it and rejected it, and his self-denial was irksome.
Which explained, really, why the change that occured in the other demon didn't show on Vyncent's face at all. The shadows of corruption, the twisted glimmer of catastrophe in his eyes - all of these things were already present in him, constantly, and the High Demon grinned sardonically at his opponent, flashing gleaming fangs at him as he sheathed his sword. "I know, yes." he confirmed, breaking Altair's gaze for a second to let his bloody coloured eyes dart about the ruined town.
"Etoile."
He spoke the name with such a fondness as if he was referring to his own daughter, even if anyone who had known him for more than a minute would know that there was no chance of this fondness ever being real. But provoking Altair, particularly when he was in this state of mind, was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Anything could tip him over that fragile edge, and it wouldn't take much taunting to push his control right out of his hands. Vyncent was enjoying this.
"She's quite a beauty, you know. Looks just like you. Although, she wouldn't know anything about that." he chuckled maliciously, the chaos in his eyes growing just that little bit sharper as the black fire around him danced in its swirling, violent vortex, and he took a step forwards.
This reunion had been centuries overdue. The ground beneath their feet started to tremble, and as Vyncent clenched his pale fists, scorching flames ignited around them. They were close.
"She barely even talks about you anymore." He was pulling out all the big guns now, and the hideous delight in his eyes made it clear that he wanted Altair to get angry. More than that. He wanted him to lose it completely. "I suppose she doesn't cares more about other things."
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Post by FLICK on Nov 27, 2009 20:55:20 GMT -5
And that was precisely what aggravated Altair about Vyncent - his weakness, his addiction, his pathetic foible. His feeble surrender to his mood, his urges, his animalism disgusted the cultured Altair, who saw control as his greatest attribute - Vyncent's embracing of his inner darkness was vulgar, flashy and ostentatious, removed from Altair's taste for finer cruelty. True violence, he figured, was like an expensive chardonnay - best left to mature, and never drunk to quickly. He had not the coarse tastes of petty murderers or cutthroats: Altair was a connoisseur, a gourmet, and his tastes ran to the extreme.
His anger was like a leashed tiger. Sleeping, it took several prods to rouse, and more to flare... but even roused, it was restrained, measured, always careful and plotting. But when the leash was cut, and yes, Vyncent had cut the leash, it was uncontrollable. His denial of his primal urges could never smother them, but rather they grew in their captivity, and when they were acknowledged it was with a violent, lustful release almost beyond compare.
Vyncent's words disgusted him, every one. How dare he, Altair fumed, speak of his daughter in those tones. There was no affection within him, that much was clear, but it was doubtful Etoile realised the extent to which she was being manipulated. His daughter... His.
The gold ring like a wedding band around his finger shimmered and burst into golden fire, running along his arms and coating his hands in shimmering tongues of flame. His eyes burned unblinking into Vyncent's pale face and his fangs dug into his lower lip with barely constrained rage. There were scarcely seconds left. There was rage, there, but also pleasure, sick satisfaction and anticipation of the bloodshed and destruction to come... It had been altogether too long since he had indulged himself. One human throat, now, that was nothing, but to face a fellow demon in the ruins of a gutted town... this stank of a lost age, opportunities lost to them in an eon of armies and nations.
"Every word you speak is a knife, Vyncent," he snarled. "Knives were never your style. Too delicate."
And flames burst from every pore of his body like an unfurling golden flower.
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Nov 27, 2009 21:28:05 GMT -5
"Indeed. They were much more your style. You like delicate though, don't you. Pansy." he was smirking now, rolling his eyes. He could feel Altair's anger, he could feel the deep undercurrent of chaos that rolled through the ground itself, made it tremor and quiver. That's it. Let it all out, let it all go. As mature as he could let his anger grow, as leashed and chained down as it was, it wouldn't make a difference to Vyncent. His rage, on the contrary, was a tiger that was all too used to the fine art of disaster and bloodshed, gleaming talons always poised and ready to maim and lacerate. It was wild, an entity in itself, and the mere act of performing a savage brutality to an innocent (or guilty) creature - now that was better than a thousand glasses of expensive chardonnay.
Dark mirth danced in his eyes as the flames erupted from Altair's body, meeting instantly with the whirling black cyclone of Vyncent's fire, intermingling in places, tentative ebony embers reaching out in places, testing the waters... or in this case, fires, of Altair's power. Play time was over. The ground beneath them was beginning to crumble into nothing more than a charred wasteland from the heat of the blaze, and Vyncent took another step forward. He wasn't talking any more. It was rare that he used words to cause pain, anyone who had met him and somehow managed to survive the encounter could tell you that, but every now and then, he decided, it got the job done.
But now wasn't the time for words. The fire condensed around the High Demon, concealing him in shadows of incandescence. He wasn't still for long, however, flitting forward with speed no human eye could follow (although this wasn't a human fight, so that didn't really matter), tearing through the walls of Altair's glorious golden flames with disregard of whether they would burn him or not, ancient syllables dancing on his tongue as he moved. He only struck the other demon once, but there was magic in the blow, and air whipped around them to cut through the flames and extinguish them, Vyncent pulling himself to an abrupt stop once he had passed Altair, back to back with him. The currents of air still flowed around his left hand from the spell he'd casted, but he shook that off quickly to replace it once more with the comforting familiarity of scorching black heat.
"She's forgotten you, Altair. No amount of petty, childish anger is going to change that." he taunted, grinning horribly.
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Post by FLICK on Nov 27, 2009 23:29:28 GMT -5
"She doesn't need to remember me, Vyncent." Altair's voice rumbled angrily from deep in the back of his throat. The words were not true, but Altair knew Vyncent wasn't going to bother with the truth, and he had never had qualms about lying. "She just needs to forget you." mm, goopy butter goo
Vyncent moved impossibly quickly. Altair barely had time to note the tense in his muscles before the fellow demon was dancing towards him, a hideous, anticipatory grin fastened to his face. He broke the outer rings of Altair's fiery golden aura before the demon could react. A single, guttural syllable of protection burned out of Altair's throat, and the flames folded inwards around him like a closing flower, thickening almost into a cocoon as Vyncent struck. Furled tightly around him as they were, the tongues of solid fire took most of Vyncent's wind-imbued blow, but Altair was forced backwards by the strike.
They were back to back now, and Altair pressed the slender advantage he had while Vyncent stopped himself, whirling soundlessly as flames burs effortlessly back into life around him. He had been staggered by the High Demon's attack but recovered quickly, a sizzling incantation tearing its way from his lips. If Vyncent preferred to fight with the elemental magics, Altair was well ready for him - he had schooled himself well in the 300 years since their initial dispute. It was the strength of Vyncent's fire, and his almost limitless energy reserves, that were Altair's greatest threat.
In response to his snarled words, forked lighting lanced from Altair's fingertips, tearing through the air with a sizzling hiss and the overpowering stench of ozone. Four tongues of lightning short forward, incandescent and shimmering in the smoky air, directly towards Vyncent Schwarz.
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Post by FLICK on Nov 27, 2009 23:30:57 GMT -5
ooc: (I think you should join now Ink.)
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Post by FLICK on Nov 27, 2009 23:31:40 GMT -5
ooc: (Really I only went so I could get some extra posts in.)
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Post by Angel ♥ on Nov 28, 2009 9:15:47 GMT -5
Devastation, destruction, chaos; all of her favourite things coming together at the same time. Ahhh, she was drunk on the fear that wound through the air, allowing it to lead her, alloiwng it to guide her hand. It wasn't anger that had destroyed this village but something much worse, something alltogether more dangerous. It was a game, sheer amusement, blood lust. Nothing more, yet that was all the more sinister. To wreak such havoc for the simple pleasure of it? That was where the danger lay. It had no limits, no points of rest, no moments of regret. They could have blazed their way through the whole of Demia just to see the light of the fire, just to hear the screams.
Etoile had moved away from Vyncent sometime in the midst of their little game, persuing her own victims. She couldn't let him have all the fun could she? That and the churches were always hers, they were her speciality. The wooden doors had splinted and exploded inwards at a whispered word from her, the girl looking every bit the predator as she stalked inside, golden eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light. Whispered prayers filled the air, the words rushed and filled with panic. A cruel smirk ghosted over her features as she walked down the center of the chruch towards the alter where the priests knelt, her hands pressed together in mock prayer, lips moving to mimic the words that they spoke. She knew them all, every prayer, off by heart, not that they would do her much good. Who needed salvation when you travelled with the Devil himself?
"I can help you to find your God." There was laughter in her voice, cruel and taunting. "In fact, I can send you to him right now. Be sure to send him my regards. Au revoir." Cherry coloured flames went chasing down the aisle, surrounding the priests so that they had nowhere to run before slowly closing in on them, inching towards them steadily, giving them just enough time to know that they were going to die, to be terrified by the fact, before they were consumed by flame.
Screams pierced the air as she left, flames curling around the church charring the brickwork. Ahh, sweet destruction.
The half demon paused as she felt the ground tremble beneath her feet, gaze flitting in the direction of where she had last seen Vyncent. That was...perculiar. She could have sworn that she had seen the tips of golden flames flickering above the rooftops along side the black ones. Another demon had come to play? Or were they not demon flames? Either way, she should go and introduce herself, it was only polite.
There was a happy bounce to her step as she walked, almost skipping through the town to find Vyncent, her flamed occassionally flickering at her heels. They were fighting. She could feel the tension in the air, the heat from their flames stirring her hair and warming her cheeks. Of course they were fighting, what else could she expect from Vyncent. From the ammount of power that sparked through the air, she would guess that this was going to be a good show.
Her thoughts, however, stopped as she turned the coner, Vyncent and his opponent coming into view, the playful mischief disappearing from her eyes. That man, who was he? The resemblance between herself and him was striking. Same raven colour hair, same golden eyes. Golden eyes? It couldn't be a coincidence, could it?
Altair. Vyncent spoke the name with such loathing, such taunting, but his words were false. How could she forget about the absent father, the man that she had been awaiting all these years. He had come, just as she knew that he would, to find her. Shame that it was too late now, that she didn't need saving anymore. She didn't quite know how she felt, a mixture between a strange relief and a bitter anger. Was she glad to see him or not? She couldn't work it out. After so long waiting, so many times at Le Couvert where she had assured herself that he would come, that he would break down the doors and take her away. It had been Vyncent that had saved her, Vyncent that had taken her away from that place and shown her what she was. Where had Altair been?
The indecision rested in her gaze as the lightening flashed through the air. If they fought, one would die, and she wasn't sure which, if any, side she was on. With a wave of her hand her flames danced forwards, cutting between them before flaring up violently, announcing her presence and separating them. She knew that Vyncent could easily break through the wall of flame, but it was a mere distraction intended to tear their attentions away from their fight and let them know that she was there.
"I would think that an introduction is in order." She murmured, her voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. "I am Etoile De Vaux, who the Hell are you?"
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Post by FLICK on Nov 28, 2009 16:08:57 GMT -5
(Chi's turn now?)
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Post by Angel ♥ on Nov 28, 2009 16:54:37 GMT -5
(Cha, Chi's turn.)
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Post by Vyncent Schwarz on Nov 28, 2009 19:16:09 GMT -5
((I'm plyin', I'm plyin'.))
It was as though time had stopped in those couple of seconds after Vyncent's initial attack, the demon tensed with expectation. His acute hearing noted the rush of flames that surrounded Altair, like his own, and they caught the hissed incantation before the crackle of lightning speared through the air towards him. He did want to play with magics. This had been their first confrontation since his fellow demon's (he used this term with repugnance) defeat at his own hands centuries before. He wanted to make a grand show of this, before putting him in his place all over again. If Vyncent had his way - and he was very, very used to getting his way - then Altair would be leaving this encounter in a matchbox. His ego would be following him in a second, slightly larger matchbox.
With a single, gravelly sounding word, the High Demon conjured the very ground itself up to protect him from Altair's bolts of electricity, and sheer, carved walls of rock shot from the charred cobblestones to hover behind him. The forks of lightning pierced the stone easily, shattering them. Vyncent didn't even have to turn around.
He did, however, glance over his shoulder and give a brief, victorious smirk as the cherry red flames raced in a single line to create a divide between them. Normally, he wouldn't be particularly happy with Etoile's blatant disregard of the fact that he was in the middle of something, and a heated, violent arguement would have undoubtedly unfolded. But today, he decided, she probably had apt reasoning behind her actions. What with her father being there and all. He turned on heel slowly.
His gaze found Etoile, his little protege for the last few years, easily. It was second nature now, to seek her out. Not that she usually hid herself away anyway. She had become as brazen as he had in her displays of brutality, and he had half been expecting her to still be dragging the remnants of some priest along with her.
"Now, now, before you say anything," he threw a cat-like smirk in Altair's direction, a hissed incantation causing a swift breeze to blow out the wall of her flames, revealing the other demon to him, "Let me make your introduction for you." a macabre little grin settled on his face. "Etoile, let me introduce Altair De Vaux. You might recognise the name. He claimed to be your father, once upon a time. Left you to rot in le Couvert for years. Neglected to tell you what you were. Stood by as you got whipped and dicipined and were almost stoned to death. Only, for some reason, he's decided very recently that he wants to come and steal you away. To be a father, or something like that. I didn't get a chance to ask the details. Why are you here right now, old friend?" his hand moved to rest on his sword again, threatening to draw the ebony blade from its scabbard. He could stab him right now, if he moved quickly enough.
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