26.10

Inside the ruined magical prison, a stark white hallway seemed to stretch on for hundreds of yards. It was lined with the twisted remains of golden cell doors ripped from their hinges. The white walls were streaked with wicked-looking scratch marks from claws being dragged along them.

Draven gestured, "He's this way."

"Who is?"

"You'll see."

Draven continued toward the end of the hallway. As the neared the last cell, Zyrdicia heard the faint sound of a voice murmuring intently. Draven stopped at the cell's entrance, and stood aside so that Zyrdicia could enter.

A man sat on the floorin the center of the cell, muttering incoherently to himself. He took no notice of Zyrdicia and Draven's arrival. He picked excitedly at a spot on his arm with overgrown, dirty finger nails. His face and arms were covered in scabbed-over wounds from such obsessive scratching. His long, black hair was stringy and tinged with gray. He stank of filth.

The man stopped his murmuring then and looked at Zyrdicia.

She gasped audibly when she saw his face. His eyes were the same shade of purple as her own. Beneath his filth and scabs, his bone structure was identical to hers. They stared speechless at one another for a full minute.

Finally, he pointed at her and screamed an indecipherable syllable, repeating it over and over.

"That's the first time he's ever tried to communicate," Draven said quietly.

"Does he understand any language?" she wondered.

"Not that I speak."

She took a deep breath then and whispered in Tenaebran, "Quiet!"

The stranger's screaming stopped. He stared at her with wide eyes and began rocking back and forth in terror. He put his hands on each side of his head and tried to repeat the Tenaebran word without success, his tongue tripping over the demonic syllables like a mortal child trying to utter its first word.

Zyrdicia sighed at the pathetic state of the man. She mentally probed his mind, seeking his identity. His madness was such that she could scarcely make sense of anything she found in his thoughts. There was no story, no narrative structure of a life in memory. There were jumbled images - mostly of dream demons. There were no humans in the surface of his consciousness. If he had ever had human contact, he didn't remember it. His brain could have been wiped of the memory - or he could have simply been alone so long that he no longer thought of anyone but himself, and the dream demons who tormented him.

"How does he survive?" Zyrdicia asked quietly.

Draven pointed to a trash-filled corner, filled with bits of rotting fish carcasses. "He uses the same portal to the water world that we used to get here. He probably ducks into the water just long enough to hold his breath and grab something to eat."

Zyrdicia grimaced in disgust. She wondered who had born him and how he had come to live here in such isolation. And she knew where she could get answers.

"Andireon," she breathed, calling the Sephiroth.

Andireon materialized beside her a moment later. His preternatural eyes were fixed on the wretch in the cell. Neither Draven nor the man in the cell reacted to the Sephiroth's arrival. Zyrdicia was certain Andireon was visible only to herself.

The Sephiroth's otherworldly gaze moved slowly from the man seated on the floor to Zyrdicia. She noted that Andireon looked none the worse for wear, despite their recent encounter.

"I want an explanation," she said silently, using mind speech.

Andireon looked back at the man on the floor and stared at him as though regarding an interesting insect. "Zyr, for all his might, is not infallible. This was a failed first effort to create you. He was defective from birth. His mind was malformed. The woman who bore him hid him here, then killed herself."

"When?"

"Five-hundred-twenty-three years ago."

"Why is he still alive?"

"We didn't know where he was. He was well-hidden by his mother."

Zyrdicia sensed the predatory desire in Andireon. For all his playful love of passing as a mortal, he was still a Sephiroth. And Zyrdicia knew exactly what it was about this poor wretch that interested Andireon.

She stepped in between the Sephiroth and his intended prey. She said silently, "He belongs to me. I'm the one who found him."

"You?" Andireon said, a mocking note flavoring the silent telepathic speech. "What do you intend to do with him? Tempt him with your blood, perhaps?"

She arched a brow at his taunt. He almost seemed bitter over their blood sharing. She shot back telepathically, "I want from him the same thing you do."

Andireon's eyes glittered intently as he regarded her. The Sephiroth would not dare to cross her here, in the Astral Plane. If she were to call her blade and kill him, he would be forced to return to Hell and would be trapped there. He would be vulnerable to whatever punishment Azriok had waiting for him there.

"Be still," she said in Tenaebran to the man sitting on the cell's floor. He responded to the words' magic by freezing in place. She stepped toward him and crouched down, wrapping her leather-clad gloved hands around his chin and skull. She snapped his neck cleanly, in one quick motion. She gathered his soul in her hands as it left the man's body, catching the small purple orb of light as it rose from the top of his head.

Death appeared beside her almost instantaneously. His black robes flowed around Him, although there was no air moving in the room. He announced, "That soul belongs to me. I've waited a long time for it. You cannot intend to rob me of another soul!"

Andireon hissed menacingly, and Death jumped visibly. The skull-faced spook looked from Zyrdicia to Andireon, then vanished.

Zyrdicia chortled in laughter as she glanced at Andireon. "That sound you made was cute."

"That creature's refusal to release you from the Underworld won't soon be forgiven by us."

Zyrdicia thought a moment and realized for the first time that Andireon had been one of the six Sephiroth who led the legions of demons into Death's dominion to win her release from the Underworld. She remembered Azazel and Usiel talking to Death, but thinking on it now, she was sure that Andireon was there, too, lurking in the background.

"And now?" Andireon prodded, smiling darkly. "What shall you do with the soul in your hand?"

Zyrdicia glanced up at Andireon and smiled with perfect innocence. Without thinking, she breathed a single Tenaebran word: Devour. The magic sucked the stolen soul into her own being.

She expected to be wracked with pain, as she had after absorbing Azriok's soul. But she wasn't. Instead, she felt a warm, satisfying sensation wash over her.

This soul's magic was already part of her - it felt like reclaiming a piece of herself. The experience was pure pleasure. She felt alive, energized - and godlike. The sensation built upon itself gradually become first euphoric, and then ecstatic. Waves of ecstasy crashed over her, until she was no longer aware of where she was.

The magical sliver of Zyr's soul that had been housed in this half-mortal was tiny. It was a miniscule fraction of the amount of Zyr's soul already in Zyrdicia--and even smaller than the piece of Azriok she had taken into herself. But the feeling of taking it into herself was nothing short of orgasmic.

When the sensation finally receded, and Zyrdicia returned to her reality, the sound of Andireon's laugher was all around her. He was nearly doubled over at the hilarity of her reaction to devouring this soul. She tried to ignore him and recenter herself in her body. She was still breathing heavily.

Panting, she asked telepathically, "Is that what a sacrifice is like for you?"

Still laughing, Andireon answered with the mind speech, "No. Your matter translates the experience awkwardly."

"I know what caused Zyr's first attempt to fail. Zyr didn't give his creation enough Sephiroth magic. It was enough to drive him mad, but not enough for him to master."

"We learned from this failed effort that putting a Sephiroth's soul in a mortal body deforms the mortal mind."

She glared at him then. The implication wasn't lost on her. "I'm managing just fine."

"Azriok's role was essential in stabilizing your mental capacity to adapt to a dual soul, and directing the self-destructive impulses."

"Blood-letting and pain," she said darkly using the mind-speech, remembering who had taught her to love those sensations.

Andireon nodded. His tone became gentle, "You are adapting in unexpected ways."

She gazed at him, knowing he was referring to their encounter a few hours ago. "I expected you to be mad about that."

"When a Sephiroth is angry, worlds are destroyed. You have yet to see any of us angry."

She glanced back at Draven, who was staring silently at her with a curious half-smile. He was unaware of her unspoken conversation with Andireon. Using her voice now, she asked him out loud, "Did you see what just happened?"

"You killed that guy. And I think you might have eaten his soul. And then-you seemed to like its effect. That sounded like a very happy scream." He grinned.

Zyrdicia bit her lip, vaguely embarrassed by the effect of the soul-devouring in front of both Andireon and this near-stranger. "An unanticipated effect."

"But not an entirely unwelcome one, I'm guessing." The mirth in Draven's eyes caused her to laugh.

She shrugged helplessly and asked, "Do you know who else is here?"

"No. I sensed something arrive, but I've been unable to detect who or what it is."

"Show yourself, Andi."

Draven was visibly startled when the Sephiroth became visible. He had read about them, studied them academically, and even talked to demons about them. But he had never seen a dark angel in person. He bowed reverently.

Zyrdicia frowned at this. She was so used to being around them that she had nearly forgotten most of the world still deified them. She coaxed, "Andi, as handsome as I think you are with wings, you're overwhelming to mortals in that form. Take your human form, please."

She had never seen a Sephiroth look visibly uncomfortable. He looked around as though staring through the walls into the distance. He said, "This is a dangerous place to do that. We cannot linger this close to Luminaria too long, princess. My presence here, and yours, will be noted."

"By Seraphim?"

"By Sephiroth."

"Az?"

"Yes," Andireon replied, keeping his angelic form.

Zyrdicia said, "Draven is looking for his soul. Care to tell him who has it?"

"Azriok."

"That's good, isn't it?" Draven said to Zyrdicia. "Azriok will give it to you, right?"

Andireon and Zyrdicia both laughed. Their laughs sounded eerily similar.

Zyrdicia added, "Draven, Azriok played you. He wanted you to be soul-less so that you cannot procreate. He'll never relinquish the soul to me, or anyone else."

Draven looked shaken. "Why would Azriok care about me procreating?"

Andireon answered, "Because you were one of a few lines mortals bred by Zyr, capable of siring offspring with Zyrdicia. Azriok wanted to ensure that would not occur."

Draven's brow shot up and he looked from Andi to Zyrdicia. She shrugged and said, "Don't look at me to make sense of this shit. I find the Sephiroth meddling in my romantic life to be obnoxious. But if you've ever wondered why you're so obsessed with me, you were genetically programmed by Zyr. You can't help being infatuated with me."

"Why are you revealing this to me?"

"You want to know how Tenaebran magic works. This is childish crap is exactly how it works."

"Damn," he murmured, leaning more heavily on the door frame. "This so was not how I envisioned tonight going."

"At least you got lasting youth and magical power from the transaction with Azriok. He could have sent a Howler to steal your soul in your sleep."

"So if I'd come to you when I was a youth at the magic guild, five decades ago, and asked to be your apprentice?"

"I would have shot her with Cupid's arrow," Andireon interjected helpfully. "She would have fallen in love with you, rather than the mortal in Karteia."

"I knew you would have said 'yes' to taking me on as an apprentice!" His face contorted for a brief moment in regret and sadness. He looked down at the floor, and his dark locks slid over part of his face, hiding it from view. He asked quietly, "I suppose it's too late for me?"

"Not to late to be friends," she answered, smiling.

Andireon turned and stared at Zyrdicia, his expression thoughtful. He smiled enigmatically. She recalled their conversation in the Old Temple. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Andireon.

The afterglow of devouring a soul made her feel jubilant-and a little reckless. She said telepathically to the Sephiroth, "If Az is pissed at us for creating a magical blood loop, he's really going to be furious if we do this with the Chosen."

"It's your choice." Andireon's eyes glittered diabolically. He asked, "So whom do you serve, princess?"

"Myself," she answered, echoing his answer from earlier in the evening.

Zyrdicia took a step toward Draven, resisting the urge to glance back at Andireon. Draven was not the one to whom she felt attracted at the moment. But she was intrigued by Andireon's presence as she toyed with Draven now. The angel's watching eyes thrilled her unexpectedly.

She put the back of her gloved fingers on Draven's cheek and brushed aside the lock of hair that was hiding his eyes. The man was reeling from emotions--not the least of which was triggered by having been recently shot with one of Cupid's arrows. She fixed him with a seductive gaze. Then she kissed him, staring into the dark depths of his eyes. His mind was stubbornly closed to her, though. He was a master at shielding his thoughts. Short of a psychic assault, he was revealing nothing about himself to her mentally. Mildly annoyed, she reached down to his heart and grasped the invisible, magical arrow she knew Andireon had already lodged there. She twisted it sharply, her lips still pressed against Draven's. Draven gasped into her mouth, then wrapped his hands around her face and kissed her all the more ardently. Behind her, Zyrdicia heard Andireon chuckle.

In the distance, outside the prison, a series of ear-splitting howling sounds sliced through the air. "Howlers are outside," Zyrdicia said, breaking away from the kiss.

Draven's eyes flicked around, sizing up the danger. "Howler's are here?"

"Yes, and if they come inside, they'll kill you, sing me to sleep, and then drag me off to Hell for Az."

"Not with me here," Andireon said in a dark tone, barely audible. She heard a note of possessiveness in his voice. Her stomach tightened, and she suppressed a smile. This Sephiroth was going to become a problem - she knew it. Maybe he already was a problem. But she was starting to really like this problem.

Draven looked up at the Sephiroth, surprised he was still here. The dark angel waved them into the hallway, which required them to disentangle from one another. With a graceful, complex swoop of his hand, he filled the room with a gorgeous, spiraling spray of violet Hellfire. It consumed all evidence of the deceased man in the room.

A purple gate opened in the hallway. "Time to depart," the dark angel said calmly.

Zyrdicia arched a brow, staring at the blackened room. The pretty arcs of the spiral of Hellfire Andireon had used caught her attention. She had never seen Hellfire sprayed in complex, artistic spiral like that. She arched her hand in the form she had seen Andireon use.

He took her hand gently, forming it briefly into position between his own icy fingers. Inside her mind, the Sephiroth crooned, "You are such an amusing toy, princess. I understand now why Azriok continued to play with you as long as he did."

"I'd have rather have kissed you than this mortal."

"Patience."

She held the shape of her hand, uncertain. She sent a series of concentric circles of Hellfire down the long hallway. Andireon tipped her hand, moving it through the air. The Hellfire changed shape, and the circles loosened into spirals and then formed into elegant curls. She grinned in delight, resisting the urge to kiss the angel's cold cheek.

Andireon then tugged her gently toward the magical gate, where Draven was watching, with a look of unabashed fascination on his face.