Dim green light bathed parts of the room, shadows rippling with the occasional movements of the water in the tank. Perhaps the swaying of the city in the sky brought the subtle motions to the water. Dalaran was suspended high above the frozen north and harsh winds did buffet the city, the spires even shifting slightly in the winds on occasion.
If the play of light and darkness was of any mind to the girl tucked in the blankets on the chair there was no sign of it on her face. Amber-colored eyes devoured the book she carefully held propped in one hand, elbow resting on the armrest of the chair. In her lap a slug-looking creature wiggled once, like a disappointed cat when it’s owner pulled it’s hand away. But the page needed to be turned! Amavia smiled down at it and as soon as the heavy vellum was moved her hand returned to stroking the homunculus in her lap.
Jeffrey swore to her it had no awareness but as it arched back under her hand - a reaction to the sensation of being touched only, it couldn’t like it! a logical mind would scream - Amavia smirked. Mothers always understood their children better. She could attest to that herself.
The water in the tank swelled ominously, and several vials rattled on their racks. A bit of dust and rubble fell from the ceiling, as if there was a commotion directly above. That was not so unusual in itself, as people often dueled in the Underbelly for bloodsport and coin. There was no way of knowing exactly where the lab was in the maze of sewer passages. Something resonated though, a hollow ringing sound like the toll of a distant church bell, something Dalaran distinctly did not have.
It grew louder, or perhaps the echo merely drew closer, and the gargoyle outside the door stretched his stone wings in a sudden flurry.
His screech nearly extinguished the dripping torches out in the hall.
Without anyone to supervise them, their burning oil had fallen upon the thick sewage waste and set small patches of it aflame. Of course, tucked away in the lab and secure behind the door, how could she have known? The unmistakable sound of arcane missiles striking the stones blasted somewhere off in the distance.
Her brow furrowed in annoyance at the sounds. Interruptions were less common in her dorm room but she preferred to be close to her darlings. Amavia gestured with the hand that held the book, the tome hovered there as she rose, suspended by arcane magics. It was removed from her lap and set in the blankets after a kiss between the eyestalks. Nothing- would threaten it.
Heavy robes swirled around her ankles as she quickly descended the steps. The wand secured in her sleeve fell into her hand with a flick of her wrist and the lab doors were opened slowly, the girl remaining to the side to make herself less of a target as she peered into the corridor.
There was little to meet her save for the burning sewage, and the pebbles that fell from the groaning tunnel ceiling. The slimy wrought iron ladder at the end trembled violently. For a moment it seemed like it would collapse on itself. A torrent of flame roared downwards suddenly from the opening above. So intense was the heat that it scoured every last trace of slime clean off the ladder. Parts of the metal even glowed bright red like a poker left in the fireplace too long.
A hot, dry gust brushed down towards the lab. The kind to make hair stand on end in anticipation for an explosion or deadly back draft.
There wouldn’t be time to draw the heavy stone door shut to shield herself. Quickly she spoke the words to create a shield around herself. The ward looked like a soap bubble, rainbows skittering across it’s surface and serving as a barrier that would shield her from flame, frost, or arcane schools. Were it shadow....the girl shuddered. Best not to think on that.
Amavia spared a glance over her shoulder at the being on the chair and concentrated on twisting one of her spells to suit her needs. A rough sheet of ice rose like a barrier between the homunculus and the door. Crude. It would have to do for now. Abjuration was one of her strong areas but she’d yet to practice a way to protect others with it. Eyes left the small wall of ice she’d called up and returned to the hall. All of this in a few seconds. Wouldn’t Teacher be proud?
The upper half of a man's torso fell through the opening, striking the hot ladder on its way down. There was a savage roar from above, and a few gunshots. This was clearly not a duel, or at least one that had moved far too close to home. The roar sounded tragically familiar though, and wounded as well. Like a cornered animal in its pen at the hour of slaughter.
Distant voices shouted, "Traitor!"
At that cry, the howl she'd come to learn so well, Amavia left her place in the doorway and moved near the ladder and the opening above. Lips pressed hard enough to be bloodless, she hurriedly ascended the rungs, praying that the shield and her gloves would protect her from the heat. Even if it burned her she was going to get to the opening and peek above it to assess the situation.
The rest of the body that had fallen earlier came crashing down now. It was sopping wet with blood, and covered in slashes. It had truly been 'torn into ribbons'.
The girl shrieked and hugged the ladder, her cheek pressed to the hot metal till the shield protecting her there wore away. She pulled away with a pained yelp and shoved herself through the opening. Were there something up there she'd just have to handle it. Another quick incantation as she patched her shield. Employing the arcane, she disappeared from sight and her own vision grew a little hazy, almost colorless as she did so.
A dazzling white flare erupted in the tunnel where she had climbed through. It was blinding, but it was the loud bang, intensified by the close quarters, that really did damage. The intense gong sound continued long after the flare had died away. If she could hear or see anything at all, it would have been the dark blurs and shapes of people being torn apart and casters trying to down the monstrosity doing it.
And so it was in that direction she headed. The ripples of her robe trailing in the sewer water was the only sign of her movement and she already began channeling the arcane energy she'd need to blast anyone hurting what her heart told her was her love. Her worgen.
"Put this beast down! Attacked an Archmage! Probably mad with the plague! Down, put him down!" They cried. The numbers of the shadows grew until they filled the tunnel. They weren't 'shaped' like Kirin Tor though, neither battle-mages nor pure arcanists. They had a more uneven silhouette and their colors were grim.
Her ties to the arcane were fading and she could only remain unseen for seconds more. Only seconds to make a decision she'd never dreamed she'd have to. Surely these men were agents of the Kirin Tor despite their looks. Agents of something she belonged to. And, if they spoke truly, he deserved to be punished. But killed?
No.
Nothing could be allowed to do that. No one. Archmages meant as much as insects to her when compared to her beloved.
A spell hardly used came to mind and the application of it was certainly not the pranks she'd planned. With the proper words and channeling she created three copies of herself, urging them to try and weasel between the two sides. After casting that and as her mirrors began to direct blasts of arcane magic at the nearest grey-dressed figures, she launched her own spell. Another blast and this one empowered by her own growing skill with the arcane.
"Get out of here! Leave! Leave before I kill all of you!" Something was thrown in her direction, but it was weak and desperate. It was all for show from the man, the monster, that did not wish her to be associated with him.
As the daze from the flash began to fade away, it became clear that these were not novices in their craft. The already sinking worgen between them was blasted and flew against the wall with a pathetic yelp. His grip on one of their fellows loosened, but not before tearing the arm off a man that fell away screaming. Silver and prismatic shields went up, but many of the blasts coming from her mirrors ate through them quickly.
Amavia cleared her mind and focused on another school, a different magic sphere. Combat was not her strong suit but she worked wonders with defense. She prayed it helped him now.
A ring was summoned into being beneath the brackish water and between the mages and the worgen. She aimed to have it beneath the other caster's feet and she counted down the seconds till it would come to life.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Her eyes strayed to the monster while she listened for the telltale sign that the frost had done it's work and encased them in ice as it was meant to do to any standing on it.
Many of them were encased as planned. The few that remained free of her enchanted bindings launched more arcane missiles, but this time in her direction. Three gunshots rang out, heavy and probably akin to a shotgun her mother had used for target practice at the Orchard.
But these were not humorously painted orc cut outs. They would not be raising a glass of cider every time they made a good shot. No, they were not shooting for sport. If their shots struck mark, it was hard to see. Jeffrey's form struggled to gather on all fours. He'd already been wounded by the fight with his father, but she couldn't known that.
"FIND IT! KILL HIM AND FIND IT! Archmage Worthington's attack will not be left unpunished!"
There was no time to applaud herself for this success and she felt the last remnants of her shield absorb the arcane energies. As it faded away, one of the projectiles hit her squarely in the shoulder and caused her to grunt softly with the pain. No time now to think of that. Look beyond and see with your mind’s eyes, her instructors here had taught her.
She whispered her spell, a counter to the nearest mage. If it were successful it would abruptly end his casting and silence his ties to the leylines that belonged to the school he was pulling from with whatever he was weaving now. She couldn’t spare the time for Jeffrey now as her fingers began the dance for her next incantation.
The caster was effectively silenced, but it only took a minute before they had drawn a glittering violet wand.
She paid it no heed. There would be blows taken and she was more grateful than anything for her hood and the way it surely shadowed her features. Were she recognized....the girl didn't even want to consider the ramifications.
From her lips the spell is whispered and aimed at the one with the gun, trying to polymorph him into a pig. It was a quaint version of the base spell and recently taught to her by a charming gnome for the low price of conversing with him for a few hours. It seemed fitting to her now.
The shotgun clattered to the ground, becoming stuck in the sewage as the pig fell through the air after it. Jeffrey was up and moving now, and he lunged at one of the frozen arcanists. Pink bursts of the arcane exploded around them, as if he had detonated a magic bomb. They casted in unison, like silithid drones under hive command.
Amy cursed lightly under her breath and scowled. Light damn it! Didn’t he understand anything akin to strategy? She glanced back to the mage with the wand and with the arcane she warped the flow of time around her. It was a spell not often used by the girl and one only learned to further impress instructors who never seemed to approve of her. Though they still sometimes smirked at the young woman who tried so hard she was thankful now for the days spent studying this spell.
No wonder dragons hated mortal casters. The Bronze ones must loathe this so very much. With her own little bubble of speed - would it make her age faster if she kept using it? such a strange thing to ponder now - she quickly incanted another blast of the arcane and aimed to continue doing so at the mage with the wand.
Violence was, apparently, necessary this evening.
Her beloved almost crumpled, but instead of falling back, he descended on the arcanist he had lunged for. Eviscerating this way and that, an arm went flying to Amavia's feet. It was too hard to see what he was doing with his maw, but, there was a good chance she didn't want to see. The silenced one with the wand waved it at her blindly a few times, then found himself literally blasted to death, arcane burns covering most of his body as he collapsed.
Later she’d dwell on the dead body that crumpled to the sewer floor. Later she’d wonder if he had a family. A wife and kids who would miss him. Later she’d realize she had murdered one of her own in cold blood. Lian would be so disappointed. All that would come later when it sunk in that she was a murderer. Right now she focused on the situation at hand.
One of the mages was being readily devoured and the heavy weight of a discarded limb rested against her feet. Better not to dwell on that now. Another was oinking and nosing in the water, acting like the perfect specimen of a pig. And the last was still intent on killing her darling.
The flow of time slowed to a normal pace around her and she quickly reached into her pocket, crushing the gem that little more than pure arcane energy. It filled her with a rush that steadied her hands as she unleashed a torrent of arcane missiles at the last standing caster.
The caster was quick to return the favor, many of the missiles striking each other and exploding before either of them were struck. His face was clear though, and it didn't look like something to be pitied. It was tattooed and vacant-eyed, so vacant that the caster almost seemed blind. But not in the natural, unsightly way as Ms. Brandy had been. No, this was aesthetic and solid, a film over the eyes as if designed by someone.
The light, iridescent sparkles that would under other circumstances be almost romantic- and so much like one of the magical globes she’d conjured in the past to light their way, made her eyes narrow. But in these moments that seemed to stretch on forever she couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of his face.
What would do that? Who? And why? Questions formed and she couldn’t focus on them, banishing them to the back of her mind while she launched a barrage of arcane energy at the other mage. Whoever he was she was almost certain there’d be no lonesome wife mourning him.
Who could love a thing like that?
A dark play of shadow puppets was cast on the tunnel wall; monster devouring man in thick wet slurps. Who could love a monster?
She should know best.
With a savage toss of his head, the worgen ripped out the throat of his prey. He growled weakly and tried to stand up, but it was clearly difficult for him. The one staring at Amavia absently mirrored her spell, but he was slightly slower and his rhythm was off. The barrage caught him squarely in the chest and blasted him back, but it was too hard to see if he'd been killed outright.
Would she have to 'finish him off?'
A flick of her wrist had her wand back in her hand and she blinked down the tunnel to stand over the fallen body. She’d thought combat would frighten her; the few times she’d been forced into such a situation her head had felt stuffed with cotton and her thoughts slow, reactions sluggish.
There is nothing to be afraid of, babygirl.
A smirk and she aimed the wand, level at the tattooed man’s face. She felt cold and detached, distant from her own mind and body. Was this how her mother felt when working? How Lian had felt when he did “what he had to do”? There was clarity in the moment and she was fast growing to appreciate it.
If she felt clarity, her beloved felt only a drunken haze. Or, that was what he was trying to feel anyway. As her opponent fell flat on his back, face burned beyond recognition now, Jeffrey grunted and spit out the foul tasting flesh that belligerently
The girl spared the worgen a fast glance over her shoulder and tilted her head towards the pig.
“Kill it fast. The spell will wear off in a moment.”
And we don’t need witnesses.
No one who had seen him kill these men, seen her assist him, could walk away. There would be no survivors but she and Jeffrey. Them against the world.
She directed the wand at the burnt face of the man but when he made no motions to move, Amavia gave a satisfied nod. Dead. She crouched and patted him down, looking for clues of his origin. He was one of the two bodies not ravaged by the ravenous temper of her beloved and her inquisitive mind demanded answers. There was a coil of trembling excitement in her stomach.
It was almost like a case again.
"N-No..." He stuttered at her.
Though deepened and roughed by the Curse, his voice was shattered by a familiar anxiety. And also by surprise. He stared at her with orange eyes that glowed like... almost like lanterns in the darkness. Beside him, the 'pig' squealed haplessly.
Amavia paused in rifling through pockets and patting down the corpse to peer at him in shock. “Fine.” He didn’t need to eat it. He could burn it or wrap coils of shadow around it, Light couldn’t he do both at the same time?
Amber eyes stared in his glowing ones and she raised a hand at the pig. A blast of arcane energy left her palm and tried to slam the squealing creature into the wall with the force. There were precious things down here. The creation, it had to be kept safe. His lab, secret. Her beloved, sheltered. Already he looked so ragged she wasn’t certain what she could do to make it better.
Who would patch up two wretches like them? The areas she’d been pelted with arcane missiles stung and she could feel them clearly now. She’d have several burns but the one who was truly wounded was the one who balked now at further violence. Never would she guess he’d be lacking in the strength to do this.
It warmed her heart a little to know something of the meek boy she knew lived in that shell still.
"NO!" He reached out a claw after the 'pig', but it was easily blasted away by her magic.
He was too late, and the expression on his maw might have been tragic if it wasn't naturally twisted into a scowl. All of his blood ran cold, even as it was escaping his wounds. He looked down immediately, head sinking into his shoulders. Whatever he was thinking, he let silence fill in the space between them instead of speaking.
Fingers drifted to a scarab sped pendant and she removed it from the body, slipping it into her robes as she rose from her crouch. “I’m sorry, baby. There can be no witnesses. If even one lived they could tell where your lab is. They could ruin us. I would be kicked out of the Kirin Tor and you would be hanged. We both would be hanged.”
Her expression was soft and she shook her head slightly as she rested on the balls of her feet, huddled down near the corpse of the first person she’d ever fell in combat. Sightless eyes stared up at her and she felt the first fingers of remorse dig their claws into her gut. Gloved hand brushed over his eyes, lidding them closed as she patted him down in search of anything that would tell her his name. Who the nameless dead man was. Clues.
"He was helpless." Jeffrey growled at her in disbelief, words hanging on his tongue and begging to be said. There was so much more to argue, but he didn't. He swallowed all of it and took two steps back to collapse against the opposite tunnel wall in exhaustion.
The body beneath her hands was similar to the other, vacant eyed and tattooed. They were pretty, like dolls. Toys. These people were just toys to someone. It was half surprising she didn't find marionette strings on his back. But, she also didn't find any clues to his identity save for another scarab pendant. The 'pig' in its death throes converted back to a human, and would prove to have the same frustrating lack of identity.
Two more pendants were pocketed then and she tried hard to memorize their tattoos. It made her have to stare in the dead men’s faces and cringe but it had to be done if she was to learn what was needed. Finished now, she moved to sit near him and rubbed his leg gently.
“I’m sorry, baby. But I had to. Should I have waited till he was a man again? Till he could hurt you or me? You’re hardly in a state to stub your toe now without fainting. I cannot allow for you to fall. I will not let some strange men hunt you down like a dog.” She spoke nothing of what she’d heard the attackers cry and rose, trying to help him to his feet.
“You need to see a medic. Or you will do what you did to me when you healed my leg. Except the fuel will come from me. Which will it be?” Was the shard of her soul he’d already shattered and chipped away the one that had held remorse? Was it because she now lacked that she still felt nothing but anger and annoyance at the sight of the corpses?
He pushed up, shoving away from her with what strength he still had. It didn't seem like he'd have much, but apparently he had enough to storm down through the tunnel.
"I don't- NO. No." He started barking back over his shoulder at her as he wobbled towards the opening in a fit of pride. How he planned to get down the ladder was a mystery, but his intent was clear.
Her eyes lingered on the bodies. They’d have to be moved or else curious investigators would find the signs of the hidden lab. Amavia paused dead in her tracks, one hand pressed so firmly to the slick stone wall she could feel it leave an imprint on her palm.
Were they the bad guys now? It made her shudder and she shook her head with such force her hood fell backwards and pooled around her neck. They were never the bad guys. His father had sicced these hunters on him surely. Lantern would never raise such a threat to get a reaction like this.
“Baby, be logical. You’re bleeding out and wounded in countless areas. You need medical treatment. I can open a portal to somewhere far, perhaps Darnassus, and we can find a healer. We like Darnassus.” Memories of a first kiss and a stumbling plea teased at her memory. He had needed her then. Almost begged her to run away with him to investigate a murderer.
Who would be tracking them down soon?
"NO!" He glared at her fiercely before leaping straight down the hole like a savage animal.
“Was that a no to logic or my suggestion?” She mused to herself as she wove the spell that would slow her fall and jumped down after him. Her landing was graceful and her feet barely whispered against the floor as she settled against the stone.
Sneaking out to meet him to discuss their case had required the same spell. Simpler times just a few short months ago. In the light of the hall she looked him over, trying desperately to assess his wounds.
He'd sprained or twisted something in the fall, that was painfully obvious. But he didn't stop. He hobbled past the flaming sewage, dragging a lame ankle behind him. He shuddered every now and then, but pressed a bloody clawed hand against the door and pushed it open just like that. It might have been mind boggling.
At his heels, she followed slowly and pressed her lips together firmly. He wouldn’t listen to reason in a state like this.
“Jeffrey. You are going to do the same thing, make the same thing, you did to heal me. You are going to use the same magics to extract what you need from me.”
She paused, shutting the doors behind them.
“Or, I am going to turn you into a housecat and take you to a healer. Those are your options. Pick one.” Arms crossed over her chest and she narrowed her eyes. A battle of the wills she could handle and with the door closed she could pretend the dead didn’t linger so near at hand.
"You wouldn't?" It was a question, one that lacked any certainty at all. He took a drink quickly from his favored flask and stared at her wild-eyed.
“I will if you make me. And after I will put a collar on you like Ratford’s. You will match.” One thin brow arched and she shifted a hand, stretching it towards him as if she’d make good on her threat. Which, if he resisted her much longer, she would.
"I'm not a pet or a slave. I'm not an animal for you to do with what you will!" He drank down as much of the potion as he could, still staring at her with one wide eye.
“You most certainly are not. You are my dear Jeffrey. The young man I love and will soon be, before summer’s end, my husband. I am thinking about us as much as I am thinking about you. Won’t you get better for the both of us?”
That reaching hand dropped to her side and brushed against one of the burnt patches on her robe. Surface burns. They hurt and stung and pained her when she moved and stretched the skin but they would fade. He, however, looked like he had one limping foot in the grave.
“Come on, baby. Let me help you. In one of those ways.”
He slowly took the potion from his lips and lowered it to the table. His one eye never left her though, looking half-mad. He smacked his lips as if he was contemplating devouring her.
"We have things here. If they don't work, you can do whatever you like to me." They way he scoffed the last end suggested that he'd screwed by that point anyway. If he wasn't already.
His tone set her already thinning nerves over the edge and she forced herself to take a deep breath and not shout at him. Had she ever even raised her voice? The girl couldn’t remember a time as she padded closer to him.
“Tell me what these methods are. Let me help you. Light damn it, Jeffrey, let me back in!”
"Back in where?!" He shouted, both eyes flying open and clawed hand smashing his precious flask against the table. It flew right over his head. "We're both in the lab! BOTH OF US."
He angrily swept away the broken glass and smeared the red liquid. It was too bright to be blood, but certainly the smeared look had a symbolic tone in his own groggy head. He swallowed and closed his eyes.
"I need you to mix something for me. I need to sit down."
“Back in your life.” In contrast to his shouting her own words were quiet and reserved. She had KILLED people for HIM tonight. For him she was fast becoming less of a person and more of a monster.
Amavia shuddered and moved towards his worktables.
“Tell me what to mix. I’ve never been much of a cook but I’ve watched you do this for hours now. I can manage with instructions.” She didn’t give him time to ponder her half-whispered words, all business again in tone.
"There's a- a book, already, there. The Doctor, ah... right." He stumbled back into a chair, forcing it to slide with a screech against the wall. More than anything he wished they had a bed. Light he hadn't slept in a bed in months now.
A thoughtful sound, cousin to humming, slipped from between her lips as she looked for the mentioned tome. Hands began to steadily reach for the tools she saw him use most and look over the pages. She was no healer and certainly didn’t have potential for it. But she was, first and foremost, an intellectual. This could be no more difficult than any simple step process and she was almost eager to try out his role of mad alchemist.
Almost.
There were so many books it was almost hard to tell which one the damnable young man meant. But just a select few were medical in nature, and only one of those had a brassy, emblazoned icon of an elixir. Chances stood that this was the one he meant.
It was a Medical Guide all the way from Lordaeron. It was old. Very old. From before the Second War and likely brimming with antiquated misconceptions. The red and white book should have stood out even more from the other dusky, grimmer tomes, but the white was so filthy that it almost looked grey. And the red was so faded that it almost looked brown.
No, it was the inside of the tome that made it really stand apart.
The pages were white, so clean that the only sign of wear on them were several smudgy fingerprints and thumbprints at the edge of the pages where they had been turned by dirty hands. The drawings were 'accurate' and excessively detailed, with diagrams of the body, the illnesses, and the corresponding elixirs meant to treat them. But they were all so frustratingly SPECIFIC!
Large, labeled warnings screamed out their bolded and underlined advisements not to toy with alchemy, to know exactly what one was treating and how best to do so.
Behind her, Lantern groaned in his chair and held his dizzy head. His tawny muzzle looked sickly in the radiation from the large tank. What had he planned to put in there anyway?
Her gloved hand curled into a tight fist and she slammed it onto the pages. A string of curses that would have made her mother’s brow raise to her hairline left the young woman’s lips. Another time this book would be a pleasure to peruse and study but right now was not the TIME for that.
At his groan her jaw clenched and the muscles twitched. All of this could be remedied if he just did what she said. He used to listen to her and respect her opinion and right now she was offering up something that would fix him easier than stolen tomes and antiquated knowledge.
Another book was brought down and she set it aside to look through after she finished this. Surely there had to be a chapter on alchemy after all the warnings it gave. How she wished that she knew the methods to slow time on the same level she knew to quicken it; there was a spell but it wasn’t the same. If she could keep him in stasis - narrowed eyes glanced once at the tank, was that what he’d filled that for?- she’d have more time.
"Fixxlestix Handy Guide to Alchemy!
Now, students and professors alike can agree that the most important rule of Alchemy is to KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING! Even the seemingly most innocuous mistake can be fatal! Do you see the peacebloom in fig. 1? Now, that doesn't like it could harm a fly, does it?
WRONG.
It CAN AND HAS KILLED HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF FLIES. When treated with the wrong substances, the plant's natural energies can be corrupted as easily as the mortal soul, perhaps even more easily!
And not instant, quick deaths, either!
Horrible, writhing, coughing, boiling, demonic possession deaths as the body makes a futile attempt to expel the poisonous substance you've so blindly shoved into it! Here is a list of neutralizing agents that just might save your life if something goes wrong, but there's no guarantee!"
It continued on the next page. Figure one in the upper left corner is indeed of a harmless looking peacebloom, with a smiley face even drawn on one petal.
It was her turn to groan and she clamped a hand over her face to stifle it as she turned the page. “Baby, this isn’t going to be speedy. These books are ridiculous and I’m sorry for ever wondering why you were so grumpy with them.” At the picture of the flower and the silly doodle on the petal, Amavia snorted and drummed her fingertips along the top of the table.
“Jeffrey, you’re going to bleed out and die before this Light damned tome starts being useful.” She spared it another glance and turned from the table. To call her pace stalking would be an understatement as the girl’s strides ate away the distance between them quickly.
No more tomfoolery and silliness. It would hurt and she wouldn’t like it but it had to be done. (What medicine had ever tasted good?) Gloves were torn off, pulled from her fingertips with her teeth and she tried to open his robes to assess the damage done to him.
“Just take a piece, Jeffrey. You’ve given up more than I and it isn’t fair. I want to help you and am willing to suffer for it. Please.”
He opened one eye in a curious way, slouched and twisted awkwardly in the chair. He tried to draw his legs up, but their cursed form was at odds with the chair and it didn't quite work.
"I'm not evil." He protested quietly, trying to burrow his long face into his crossed arms.
Amavia crouched down to try and keep her eyes on level with his lightly glowing, orange ones.
“Baby, you aren’t evil and I wasn’t implying that. If you were I’d be begging you not to. What’s one more sliver now when it’s already all cracked? I’ll take that loss to have you whole.” One hand dug gently into his mane of hair and she scratched him lightly.
“Let’s do this. Just another thing we share, right?”
"It's not SHARING. IT'S STEALING!" Drooling fangs were bared at her unintentionally as he tried to jerk himself away from her. "Why would I ever want to do that to you? Why did I let myself do it before?"
He said something else with an important emphasis on the tone, but it was muffled in his filthy sleeves as he lowered his head back down. He was trying to make himself small, but that was a comical notion as he was already far too large for the chair and had to brace one long foot against the floor to keep from slipping out of it like a fool.
“You cannot steal what is offered. That’s preposterous. Then, to a healer we will go.” She was tired and worn down but there was still an edge of adrenaline to her that was, in a large part, fueling her. If he weren’t so wounded she’d have already collapsed with it and hel the creature in her arms while she pondered what to do now that she had broken the Law.
Rising, she slipped a hand into her pockets and felt the strange presence of the scarab pendants brushing against her bare skin. Later they’d be better researched, right now she needed the material component that allowed her to weave the spell. “Darnassus or the Exodar? I don’t think Stormwind is a good choice right now.” The tone of her voice was flat and she stared down at him sadly. Things would be so much easier if he didn’t pick and choose when to listen to sound advice.
"We have things here. What's so hard about using what's here?" He reached out for her finally, trying to snag a claw into her robes. There was apprehension in his voice, mostly at the thought of going back to the cities. He hadn't been able to explain to her what was happening, or what he'd done or how he regretted it. All these things she probably wouldn't care to hear anyway. Somewhere between begging and demanding, he stared at her with an overall want to stay here, safe in this hole.
“The problem with your things is that I don’t know the first thing about alchemy and the books are written in such a frustrating way! I won’t be able to fix what you need in time to make sure you don’t die in this dank hole and I REFUSE to see the only person who truly loves me die!” It was selfish and she knew it but they the end of the sentence her voice rose in volume and she threw the rune across the room.
The chip of stone clattered against the glass of the tank and cracked when it hit the floor. Another thing ruined because JEFFREY FUCKING WORTHINGTON (SANGREY!) was a stubborn ass. The girl looked down at the claw hooked into her ruined robe and seethed. Blood coated it and she knew who had died beneath them. (Had his father been one he’d fell tonight too?)
“Fucking do it Jeffrey. Light damn it, stop being such an asshole and listen to me. Make the shard you need and use it on yourself.” From between clenched teeth the last words were spoken and her eyes flashed to his. It wasn’t often she let her temper get the best of her but it was burning away the icy reserve she held herself in check with.
He jerked angrily with his clawed hand, ripping the cloth straight through if it didn't roughly pull her closer. Perhaps, in a moment of sanity, using such a tone with a monster she'd just seen rend several people... maybe wasn't such a good idea. But he wouldn't hurt her, would he? Not like that. Not with ragged claws and teeth that still had bits of flesh wedged between them.
Funnily enough, never had he looked more like his father.
The eyes were orange instead of an ugly yellow-blue, almost like pretty orbs of embers really, but the fur was matted down and the gore of his kills was deep in such a way that he thought he might never get clean. In a flopping twist of a stand, he all but lunged at her. His weight was more than she'd be able to stand, but he was also weak and the 'attack' was awkward.
Threads tore beneath his jagged claw and the shredding sound of parting fabric was loud in the lab. Perhaps it had been a poor idea but neither of them were bastions of good judgement today. (Or most days lately.) Those burning embers captivated her and again her mind jumped back to the firefly globe of light she’d conjured for them.
It had hung over poor Miss Gunwood’s body in that Surwich alley, highlighting the crimson pool on the dirtied stones. Would his eyes glow brighter to see her shed in that light too? These thoughts consumed her and made her an easy target for his fumbling attack.
Jeffrey would never hurt her. With a loud thud the back of her head cracked against the floor. Jeffrey would always love her. The press of his larger body made her breath come in shallow, panicked gasps.
Jeffrey would cherish her always. Between their two bodies his silver signet ring pressed hard into the flat area of her chest, the skin and bone plains beneath the hollow of her neck.
Were he to kill her at least it would mean both of them would die here. Was it watching? Would it bear witness to it’s creators parents killing one another. By the Light, she hoped it was still tucked under the blanket and it’s eyestalks veiled from the sight of the bloodied, injured worgen pinning her now to the floor.
He pressed one clawed hand to her throat. He didn't need to squeeze, the sheer force of his weight sagging in exhaustion was enough.
"I don't want to hurt you. I would never." He tried to pull her head up closer to him, arm shaking from the cold tremors running up and down his spine. His snout was close enough to see that there was frost damage to his face. Even after all that had happened tonight, small enchanted icicles dangled from his matted fur. No wonder he'd been trying to burrow his face. Just keeping warm. Like animals do.
He breathed in through flaring nostrils then, maybe sniffing her, maybe just trying not to suffocate.
"Now listen to me, and listen to me well. I love you. You mean more to me than... than all of this... this..." He tried to turn her head to force the tank and the tables, the potions and the books, into her vision. "...this bullshit."
With a lack of kindness he jerked her neck back to looking at him.
"Trite it may be, but it's not worth having if I don't have you. And if I have to BREAK-" he finally squeezed now, emphasizing the word, "-you for it, then I don't WANT it. I would rather die."
He snarled and snapped the air off to the side, feeling vicious and irritable (to say the least) from the pain. His clawed hand went lax around her throat before letting go completely, and he tried to drag himself away.
Pinpricks of blood welled against her tanned flesh and the back of her head felt soggy, hair sticking together in a clump where the weight of his body had caused her to knock hard against the floor. With the force he jerked her around and the low groan of his words, tears stung her eyes. His efforts to make her stare at all the tools of his trade were in vain; they swam before her eyes and she felt the frustration move past anger into a cold sorrow.
For a moment she lay there, trying to collect herself and work past the burning feeling of real breaths swelling in her lungs. Trying to banish tears, shove them deep inside her and bury them. In moments alone she could let them fall but after her deal with the ethereal she’d learned a bitter lesson.
No matter how much the storybooks spoke of people relenting at the sight of a weeping girl it never happened.
Or maybe it didn’t because she wasn’t a princess or fair maiden so many authors had breathed sugar sweet life into with their quills.
She rose and tried to clutch meekly at his robes, endeavoring to scoot closer to him. “Baby, please. I can’t fix you with your potions. I’m not bright enough for the beakers and vials and burners and books written by daft old alchemists. I don’t want to lose you.” She nuzzled his shoulder with her dirty cheek and gripped the fabric tightly if he didn’t pull free of her.
“You’re my other half and I need you. Don’t leave me.”
The fabric was soaked and scratchy in her grasp. It felt worn and abused, the final insult being that he had tried to keep them clean and failed anyway. But the man, or beast if one preferred, under it was even more unclean.
His father's words were beating on his skull like Line's cane. Did Line ever stop and wonder or even regret the things he had done? Did Line worry about losing his loved ones? Had he worried about Editha? Had he been driven to his dark deeds, was it more than a simple 'evil'?
It was too easy to hate Line. He had robbed Annabelle Worthington of her life, and as her son, Jeffrey could never forgive that. But as a person confronted with a choice and the physical inability to take the path he wanted...? Maybe Lantern could deceive himself into believing what he had told Line and Hadleigh before he killed them.
There was no good, no evil. No right, no wrong. There was those that broke the law, and those that worked within it.
And this, this paltry slice of soul that she was begging him to take, was well within the law's flimsy limits.
But it still felt wrong. It felt wrong just like it had before, but this time he had already seen the pain it would cause her, and he knew he'd be taking more than a nearly invisible sliver this time. That pathetic shard just wouldn't be enough for what they needed now.
It was easier to die and not have to worry about it anymore.
The worgen tried to wrap his arms around her and pull her into a more proper, huddled embrace.
In the crook of his neck she rested her face, the matted and bloody fur smeared against her already dirty cheeks. Here, in the solace of his arms, her small frame shook and she lost the battle against the tears she’d held back and shoved away to a quiet corner of her heart. Muffled against his neck, the beginnings of her speech were muted but as she grew in fear the volume built and her pitch rose.
“Please don’t leave me baby. Mama sent me away and I can’t seem to make friends and without you I’ve got nothing. It will only hurt for a moment and I won’t even make a peep. Please Jeffrey. You’re all I’ve got at the end of the day and I don’t want to spend a single one without you”
Hands wandered over him, exploring the edges of his wounds and wishing she could take them on herself. There was nothing in the arcane made to heal. Protect, kill, prevent, yes. But never heal. One drew up the other side of his neck and she channeled fire, a sphere so little used by her, to heat her hand and try and melt away the magical icicles that clung to his muzzle.
“I understand it will hurt and I know you don’t want to do that. But baby, maybe you can kiss it better after? Having you whole and here in my arms will drown out any hurts. I swear it.”
Was he being selfish? Would she have to pay the price for the nobility that he was secretly clinging to?
"Amy," he brushed her hair as gently as he could, but even the hair caught in the split ends of his claws. "I don't have to see or hear you're hurting to know you are. It's a gift, a great gift, but that's not one I can accept. I'm not evil, Amy. Look at me."
His hands moved to the sides of her face, to make eye contact if possible.
"I'm not evil, Amy. I'm not. I'm not."
The repetitions were weaker, but they continued. He blatantly said it for his own sake, to reinforce this stubborn ideal that he'd broken once already. Yes, but he wasn't going to do it again.
The torches were at the last of their stock now, just dimly glowing flames set way down in their containers. Even the flaming splotches of sewage were growing dark, though they still had some life in them. The rippling sound of cloth, perhaps a banner a gust of wind or a cloak flapping around someone's legs, sounded from the tunnel. If the Gargoyle had ever served to announce an intruder, it didn't do so now.
Heavily plated bootsteps grew louder as the stranger encroached on their lab.
There was no struggle to pull away and she kept her eyes on him during his words that almost sounded like pleas to her. He was struggling with himself lately and she knew she hadn’t been a good influence. Perhaps he’d be all the better for it if she took him to a healer and left him there; his father had been right all along and she was nothing but bad news for his future.
Hands much smaller than his rested atop his own, stroking the fur and trying to slip them from her cheeks to lace fingers with.
“Jeffrey, please. Let me take you someplace so you can get better. I couldn’t live with the guilt if you die-” The footfalls cut her begging short and towards the entranced she stared now. If another had been sent to fight, to kill him, she’d do her best to protect him again. Tired and aching herself, she knew it wouldn’t be as strong of an effort as before but she could manage.
Had to.
A large bubble rose through the tank and popped as it broke the surface. Their creation behind them made a gagging, hissing sound as a corner of cloth was sucked into its disturbing hole of a mouth. Its pin needle teeth ground against the fabric without any really purpose or intention. It lacked the awareness to even roll over, or to spit out the wedge. It wasn't bothered by it either. The damnable thing probably didn't even realize there was cloth in its mouth.
There was little time to go and remove the obstruction on the thing's behalf, as their newest 'guest' arrived in moments. They didn't come in with an unfurling of mist or the chill of Icecrown itself, but that proved unnecessary.
The woman was imposing, with dark brown hair and flaking, rotten skin. Her eyes, that might have once been the brown of a summer spice, now glowed an unearthly blue. This was no agent of the Kirin Tor.
Shoulders tensed and she felt more on edge for the creation’s inability to realize what was going on than she should have. Amavia longed to chastise it but it would be in vain; the little homunculus had no idea what was amiss and right now there were other things to deal with.
They were both dirty, bloodied, and disheveled and in a heap on the floor (not the way she’d prefer to greet the new arrival whatsoever) that Amavia made no move to squirm out of. Politely she inclined her head to the dead woman and silently thanked the Light she was no member of her sect.
“Hello, ma’am.” Was this Jeffrey’s labmate? Was this Her? One hand slipped from linking with her beloved’s and she rested it in her lap. Never would she have imagined a being like this to occupy the space as well.
Another warlock had filled the shadows in her mind when she thought about the person who worked here as well. Perhaps a forsaken even. Amber eyes looked the new arrival over and she fought not to scowl; best not to pick a fight if they didn’t need to, wasn’t it? Still, the hair on the back of her neck rose and she squeezed Jeffrey’s hand tightly. Not a forsaken at all but dead enough to be one.
When the woman turned her heard towards them and her jaw began to descend, one might have expected the most blood-curdling screech to escape. Surprisingly, the Death Knight was soft spoken, with only the reverberation of her undeath to put her out of place. "Where is it?"
Familiar words. The worgen tightened his grasp around Amavia even as he tried to get up. It was a terrible and unplanned series of movements, but he wanted to leave- and he wanted to take Amavia with him.
"We don't have it. It hasn't been delivered yet. It's not hers anyway. I bought it. I paid for it, I-" He doubled over and started to slip back down. All of his weight slid against Amavia's frame then as he struggled to stand with her support whether she wished it or not.
Amavia was not a very large girl but her frame was sturdy enough from years of helping on the orchard and her own antics among the apple trees. Around his waist slipped one arm and she nudged her shoulder beneath his in an effort to help prop him up.
Couldn’t this woman see he was barely able to stand much less bicker? Teeth bit into her tongue to hold in an acidic remark about death rotting her hearing and instead she patted his hip and continued to try and make him more comfortable. Precious seconds were slipping away as they spoke and she needed that time to see too it he received medical attention. The girl glanced between the pair and continued to hold back on speaking; depending on the tone of the conversation she’d pipe in one way or another.
"Where is it then?" The Death Knight clearly saw his injuries, because her hand that had been resting on the hilt of her runeblade was now free at her side. He was not a threat to her, and apparently Amavia was not considered one either. She didn't have any compassion for his suffering though, and was it all that surprising? She was a Death Knight, and a messenger on top of that.
Her purpose was to her Master, whoever that might be.
Jeffrey clutched Amavia desperately and snapped in the Death Knight's direction viciously.
"She can't just take what she wants. That's not how the world works! Get out!" He growled long after his snarl itself had ended, like a dog at the end of its chain. Helpless in fact, but bestial to the last.
Amavia flinched at his tone and wet her lips as she shifted slightly in an effort to better accommodate him.
“It has been quite the trying afternoon for my dear, ma’am. Perhaps tomorrow this conversation would progress more smoothly?”
She even managed a slight smile though each word tasted like bile on her tongue. How she wanted to give this creature the same treatment the men in the tunnel had received and the sudden, violent turn to her temper and thoughts made the girl shudder.
This was not her nature. She was cool logic, reserved and withdrawn. Looking once more at the death knight she felt her temper flare.
Maybe she wasn’t the girl she’d been so sure was walking in her skin.
"SILENCE YOUR TONGUES, CHILDREN!" The Death Knight snarled and unleashed a bolt of black and green energy at them. It crackled out right before it struck them, but it was still enough to shock Jeffrey at least. He yelped (not unlike a scolded puppy) and ducked down to Amavia's hip.
"Do you speak for this mongrel, girl? THEN KEEP HIM ON HIS LEASH!" She curled a dark gauntlet into a tight, threatening fist and leaned forward on one foot. "Tell me where the Manipulator is, so that my business in this unfortunate hovel may be done!"
It had made her flinch but in the end, only served to strengthen her resolve. Fingers dug into his mane and she stroked him softly as the other made the subtle motions to shield herself with a magical barrier. It would exhaust her further in maintaining it under attack but the kind of powers a death knight wielded could not be repelled by a more simple mage ward.
The terse little smile faded from her lips and she stared a moment at the woman. Certainly she’d murder them both if she attacked but her instructors at the Kirin Tor had been ruthless with their teachings.
You did not back down or show fear.
It would only serve to strengthen your opponent.
A Kirin Tor mage was always calm, self-possessed, and clear headed.
With a curt nod to the other woman, Amy turned to peer down at Jeffrey. “We have reached an impasse, dear. Do you have anything that this charming woman may pass on so she can move about her day and us as well?”
"I commissioned its retrieval out to Tiira Liira, but they lost it."
"THEY WHAT?!" The Death Knight drew her blade then. The glistening runes created their own unnatural light in the darkened lab, which became even darker as the light beneath the tank went out. It remained lit only by its radiation.
The one blessing of it was that it delicately veiled his transformation back to a human form. He was too tired and weak, without even hatred to spur him on, to maintain his Cursed form. Eyeshine marked his place still at her side though. If not for her support and his own clinging, he probably would have sunk to his knees and passed out. The dim light over his features showed the conflicted look on his face, at least to her as she was so close.
Could the Death Knight see his distaste? Could the Death Knight taste his fear as such black-hearted people often claimed? Behind them, hissing still, their creation began to make choking and gurgling sounds. Could it breathe with all that cloth? Did it need to breathe at all? All these possibilities ran rampant in his head as he hovered there.
Unfortunate as it may have been, the Death Knight seemed to realize that the hissing was that of a creature, and not that of the experiments. The difference became particularly noticeable when the lights went out. They were losing power, and quickly. She gave a surprised look around as the burners powered down and then glanced quickly back to the young couple.
"What's that? What's happening?"
The hand that had been buried in his mane now was gently placed against the side of his head and she played with his hair as she watched the Death Knight unsheathe her blade. Lips pressed together firmly and she began to channel a spell but the magic cut short at the woman’s question and the spell fizzled in her mind.
Calm, self-possessed, clearheaded.
“I’m not sure, ma’am. But if you desire I can relocate us somewhere else. This location may have become compromised.” The bodies in the tunnel belonged to no magi she knew but the scream about his father, about the attack, surely was voiced by another Kirin Tor. One of her fellows. One of his father’s fellows.
“Ironforge perhaps? Shattrath? I hear the Lower City overlooks anything amiss.” She gave her lover a squeeze and conjured one of her firefly globes of light to hover between them and the woman. This could be a ruse. She could somehow be doing this to catch then unawares and kill them.
"Get out of my way, you incompetent child! I've had enough of these games!" She growled and, holding her blade before her, began to march past them towards the tank (and towards the alcove). "Bring the power back."
She whipped back into their direction once she had passed them, twisting only her torso to do so. "Quickly, you idiots!"
Amavia snorted in disdain and quirked a brow, looking to Jeffrey. “Dear, I don’t know the layout of the laboratory; how would one restart the power?” It took some effort but she tried to direct him back to the chair, to try and make him sit and remove himself from her hip so she could do what had to be done. He was in no state to function as he needed and she’d just have to pick up the slack.
"I don't know." He mumbled lowly, bitterly, trying to keep it either to himself, or just to her. Whatever his intentions, the Death Knight heard him.
"LIAR. Bring power back to this tank NOW." The Death Knight pointed her wavy-edged blade towards the barely glowing tank. Jeffrey tried to keep hold of her robes as she pushed him down, not wanting to let go of her. Ever the liability, it seemed.
There was no effort to tug away and she kept close so he could hold to her while she tried to think it over. “Do you think it could be powered by the arcane? Half the things in this damn city seem to be.”
Idly she stroked his cheek though her eyes stayed on the knight.
“Were you the one to take it down, Jeffrey? I can examine it if you can explain what sort of apparatus it functions with if you’ve seen it.” Amavia had little faith that she could fix it but she kept her tone confident and nodded at the death knight.
I am trying to fix this, she hoped her look sent across.
The Death Knight marched towards them deliberately, her free hand 'caressing' the glass of the tank idly as she passed by.
"I didn't do it, love. We've never lost power before." He sank down into his shoulders, either sulking or cowering. Or maybe he just couldn't hold his head up anymore.
Amavia quirked a brow at the touch on the glass and ducked her head to hide a frown. What...was in there? She’d assumed it was empty and meant to contain something. Was the goop that something? That green ooze?
“Ma’am, this isn’t our doing. I have suspicions about who may be affecting the sewers and none of them are good. Would you allow me to look at your tank?” Her eyes darted back to the Knight and she sent her little globe of light towards the ceiling as she looked for any clues there as what powered the tank.
The Death Knight all but spit at the young mage, though she lacked the physical ability to actually form saliva. With a sneer, she drew her hand away.
"It's not mine, or his, whatever the whelp has told you. BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER!" Her sudden and almost seemingly random roars were grating on his nerves. "You're wasting my time, pups." The tip of her blade was pressed dangerously close to them, so close that Jeffrey had to look down his nose just to see it.
"I suggest you take a step back to collect yourself, madam. If you kill either of us then who will turn it back on? Is your temper worth risking what clearly matters so much to you?" Amavia shifted, trying to place herself between the boy seated and the raging woman with the sword.
She had no time to stare at the ceiling now and kept her eyes on the death knight while she drew her shield of magical energy back over her body once more. It was soothing, like a child's security blanket, and as she tossed her head to try and move stray hairs from in her eyes it helped rebuild a little of her weakening confidence.
"Tch! It matters nothing to me. It matters nothing to Her either. It's your own skin and mere convenience that matters here, child! Two things that apparently matter very little to you!" She thrust the blade forward, attempting to impale the already very injured young man.
She’d already been side stepping between then and now shifted to be entirely in the way. The blade slammed against the barrier between her flesh and the metal and for a moment the spiderweb network of cracks it caused were visible as thin white lines of light over the girl’s form.
With a sound like shattered glass the shield broke and she stared at the woman who wielded the blade.
“Your mistress must not employ you for your intelligence.” It was a sneer and the girl, already mentally weary, attempted to cast a spell to turn the woman into the same shape she’d given another aggressive, hostile woman in a different dank stone room. A cat.
"Watch your tongue before you lose it!" A darkened gauntlet was raised and black, suffocating energy lashed out to try and whip around the girl's throat. Jeffrey was already moving himself, though it seemed rather irrelevant as he flailed one arm towards the nearest alchemical table.
Her breath was stifled to short, shallow gasps and she tried to slip her fingers beneath the cords of energy. Today was not a very good day to die; she still had far to many things to accomplish. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched her beloved and for a moment was even more livid.
If he’d just did as she said and went to Light damned Darnassus with her through the portal they wouldn’t even have seen this woman. If either of them lived they would be having a very serious discussion about secrets and his stubbornness.
If they lived. The girl waved her arm in the direction of the table too, hoping to impart on the death knight that something lay there that could remedy the situation. Though she had no idea if this were true. Anything to buy herself more air and more time.
The Death Knight gave her a strange look, as the gesture seemed nothing more than mindless flailing. It looked comical to the Death Knight, but even in life she had never been a woman for humor. Even though it didn't prove the distraction Amavia had hoped, it was indeed a distraction, and one that helped them out more in the end.
For as the Death Knight was grimly boggling at her, Jeffrey managed to snatch up a rounded beaker of oil.
"Your funeral pyre is long overdue, bitch!" He took a swill of it, much to his own revulsion, as he slipped from the chair in cringe-worthy fashion. Shadowflame erupted around his hands, and he sprayed the oil forth at her to create something akin to Twilight Dragon's breath.
Stars swam in the blackening edges of her vision and Amy’s hand sagged away from her throat.
Today had been eventful; she’d never been choked almost to the point of passing out before! (Amongst so many other horrid things that had occurred.) It was a sardonic smile that played on her lips now and only with Jeffrey’s words and actions did she take notice of him again. With the Death Knight distracted she tried to pry the lash of energy away from her neck with more effort and hope.
The woman curled away, her blade scraping the ground. With a pained groan, she brought her other arm up to 'block' herself from the flames. Could Death Knights even feel? Were they simply 'aware' of pain like that? Maybe. Maybe they didn't actually 'suffer' the way the worgen was suffering right now. Or, he hoped, the Death Knight was feeling every lick of the purple flames that took hold of her armor and decaying flesh. He slumped against the floor with a satisfied smirk, but it didn't last long.
Everything was going to hell. And as he lay there dying, maybe he would be joining it.
Free now to breath and speak, Amavia heaved a huge gasp and sucked air greedily into her lungs. Her beloved had bought her some space and with the death knight recoiling she could perhaps buy them more.
Fingers moved sluggishly to start but finished in the quick pace she needed to try and lodge an arcane blast at the woman. They needed to leave and needed to leave soon. Jeffrey was weakening and the sound of him sinking to the floor worried her.
“Baby, is it evil to use someone like that as your focus for the spell we spoke of? Or one like it?” She tried to hint the best she could without lending words to her true meaning: Drain the damned woman and let them be. She was dead and a monster. That was not evil. Good people put down monsters.
He braced himself on one palm and tried to push himself up, but it was almost pointless. Immediately his face smacked the runed floor. Though painful, the deep grooves in the stone did remind him what resource was right under their feet (or, rather, her feet as he was face-down on the floor). He tried to answer her, but it was just a weak mumble under the controlled flailing of the Death Knight as she reeled back under the force of the arcane blast.
She overturned a table to steady herself, gritting her black teeth and righting her blade. "You face your end!" Even with her armor still aflame, she charged.
Amy didn’t have time to spare him a glance, fingers quickly worked in her next spell as she kept her eyes on the advancing death knight. It was aimed to slow her, to make each footfall feel leaden and keep her away as long as she could.
It would have to be researched later; could it provide the stasis field she’d needed earlier for him? That sounded like something she’d heard in a whisper about ethereals. Something her “boss” may know the answer too and she was, for a heartbeat, almost eager to talk to him.
The Death Knight was slowed easily, but even like that she remained a threat. Puffs of disease and clouds of bacteria escaped the gaping holes that the flames had eaten through her flesh. She managed to strike out several times with her blade, though it was not the inescapable flurry she had clearly intended. The distance between them also served to ease the immediate danger.
Down on the ground, a bloodied hand stretched out and gripped along the edge of the carved runes. He could feel his too-long nails scratch the stones, and with a tired sigh he began to murmur something to himself.
Amavia slipped a hand into the deep pocket of her robe, crushing the coalesced “gem” of arcane energy inside it. It helped clear her mind and with that clarity she aimed a barrage of arcane energy at the death knight’s face. She was tired and appalled that their sanctuary of stone had become so violated by such a thing as this creature.
Wasn’t their creation something just as awful? Wasn’t it even more of an abomination as they had willingly and knowingly made it and kept supporting it? She sneered. At least their thing was no more a threat than a paperweight! This monster encased in metal was leagues worse than what they had done.
A large, glistening green shield erupted under the Death Knight's feet. She smirked within her anti-magic shield, but it was met with the muffled laughter of the dying young man who had rolled over and was now curling into himself to cope with the pain that wracked him.
Yes, her shield might have spelled the doom of them both, if not for its most basic flaw. It negated only the magic that Amavia relied on, to speak nothing of the physical stalagmites that broke through the runes and impaled the Death Knight as dramatically as she had tried to skewer him earlier.
She’d been warned of what a powerhouse Death Knights could be and Amavia saw why it was so now. The dead certainly couldn’t feel pain and these bastions of force had been whipped like dogs by a harsher master than any other certainly would serve under.
She twitched and re-affixed her magical shield as a precaution and blinked away, snatching up the their creation and the box she’d hidden beneath the chair before turning back to the scene at hand. So much violence. A hand instinctively covered the sightless eyestalks and she blinked back to Jeffrey’s side. So little ability to cast remained in her; her mind was tired her body ached and she was ridden by fear now as she watched his pained motions.
They had to leave.
They had to leave now.
She seemed surprised, and why shouldn't she have been? The Death Knight reached up one hand towards the tip of the stalagmite that was bursting through her chest. The fingers, encased in flaming metal, brushed against the blood-slick stone before falling away. In her other hand, the rune blade clattered to the ground and chipped. He had done something more than simply pinned her there, but the eye could not betray what.
There was no victory to be enjoyed though, not for him, and he groaned something weak to Amavia that sounded like an accusation.
That It mattered to her more than he did.
Or maybe she was just hearing things. Maybe he had something entirely different that was lost in the torrent of noises that filled the lab as unchecked experiments either exploded in their vials or froze solid with sharp crackles. The larger tanks overhead, which held grisly skeletons of various beings, swelled. Thankfully (Small favors... Line's voice crept into his thoughts when it was least wanted) they did not break.
“I grabbed it as we’re leaving. We have to go.” How her arms ached to hold him and her eyes pricked with tears. Useless. Useless tears. Her satchel was quickly retrieved and she opened the box, practically slapping the painted shell atop their creation.
How she’d slaved over it while he was away in Surwich, the spells and wards bound to it aimed to create an illusion to better mask the creature. When it was attached the box was thrown aside, wood shattering on the floor and joining the chorus of breaking vials and ruined concoctions. It was shoved in her satchel and she stared at the dying (could the dead die once again? How did that even work?) knight as she wove the strands of the spell to create a portal.
The runestone slipped from her bag crumbled like ash in her hand. It was destroyed by the final word she whispered as the portal opened before them and cast a bright white glow over the couple. Amavia stooped down and tried to help him to his feet. “We will come back as soon as you are patched up. Tonight even if you can walk. But we are leaving now.”
"Where are you taking me?" He groaned the question like he might refuse to go if she gave the 'wrong' answer. He never changed. Even without his fancy ermine collar or his haughty chin held high, in some ways he would always be a nobleman's son. Maybe that was better than being a murderer's son though?
“I’m taking you to our first kiss and the night I knew you’d have my heart forever.” She smiled and glanced sidelong at the wavering sight beyond the portal. White stones and a splashing fountain. Strong women and their vengeful, beautiful goddess. The portal would land them right outside the Temple of the Moon (Small blessings, an imitation of his voice whispered in her mind.) and hopefully at the sight of two bloodied, worn, and one perhaps dying youths they would receive aid.
She had coin to pay but doubtless someone would help. They both looked like kicked puppies now. Hands tugged and she stepped towards the portal, trying to drag him through with her.
He coughed and hacked up something instead of giving a witty reply. Internal bleeding. Severe if he was coughing. It wasn't like in tales where the hero coughed up a little and got back on their feet. The icicles had no doubt caused some hemorrhage and who knew if any blasts from those shotguns had found their mark.
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