Broken Stones and Whispers (open)

[Silvar]

Desperation. She might not have seemed it to a casual observer but Silv could feel it from her in the way that she threw herself into renewed attack, and yet it was that desperation that brought forth the Fey's preservation instinct, to kill or be killed. He couldn't help but chuckle, deep and dark and the smell of blood just drew up even more of a frenzied feeling and he wanted to see those shimmering tendrils of water of hers stained with it.

The edges were starting to fray.

A ripple shot through the darkness, a heavy push that cracked the ground and shoved back against the onslaught, even as he reveled in the sharp sting of torn flesh, the feel of blood dripping dark, almost black from the blades of her power, but it didn't stop him. With the pulsing darkness to shield his vitals he pushed off towards her, splitting a spike of water with the blade on his wrist and dropping low to duck another as he shot a surge of his power in radius of himself, spiking sharp, jagged manifestations that circled and shot forward once he regained the focus to direct them at her.

He wanted her blood on his hands, wanted to taste it, feel the spray of it on his face and it was almost maddening, the fluctuation in his power starting to grow unsteady (but no less deadly). She wounded him, he let her (but with water he knew she would try to drown him, a priority being to prevent it), didn't care if the feeling of blood on his skin was his or hers, and he would deliver her soul to the Death Fey before he stopped.

[Eleri Danu'Fada]

The Dark Fey's amusment did little to comfort Eleri as her attack landed blows and drew blood. Her second wave, seemed to continue to miss as she tried her best to weave it back and at the other. The pain faded in and out, her efforts split as she continued to try and ease the gash that slowly began to stop bleeding. The warmth of blood trickled down her spine, but she kept attacking clear waters holding the softest tint of pink and they swirled to join the others.

Attack after attack was thrown, endless...the joy of water being that is could be drawn out from the cracks of stoned, from clothing...from even her own blood. Nearly endless, the edges of fatigue called to her as she gathered for another wave. Before she could strike though she jerked violently, lips parting as if to scream, but only to let out the softest of breath. The high wall of water fell, raining down. Crimson streams were washed by it as they flowed down from pale limbs.

Eleri fell to her knees, one arm wrapped around her side. Deep gashes marred her arms and legs, blood spilled from where her hand covered her side joining the rivulets of crimson and clear water. The young girl shuddered, trying to keep herself up as protective wall of water wavered up in front of her...it could hold for a short time, but even with that she could only heal the wound at her side before she would have to drop it.

[Silvar]

It was sudden, the way her attack ceased, and Silv's eyes were wild, an almost shuddering breath (nearly like ecstasy) slipping from between parted lips that held somewhere between a breath and a grin as his gaze swept the ground. Lips twitched at the sight of how much blood was there, and he straightened from the somewhat bent position he'd been in, wiping the thin trickle of blood from the corner of his lips and watching her behind her little protective screen (and even that was fragile, ready to break).

This was going to be it, and he felt a fine tremor run down his spine, a feeling that settled deep within his very soul and though it was a pause in the battle, the shadows were still restless, curling around the wall of water and prodding it, trying to pick it apart seemingly on their own to get at the soft thing inside. He breathed, a shallow, heady sort of breath, and approached where she knelt along with his darkness (what a precious thing, what a precious, precious lover), blood like thin streams of silver glistening on skin that already was dripping from the spray of water throughout their clash.

The thin shirt he'd been wearing was torn, a body littered with the scars of battle evidence of how much of a game it had been with her, and for a moment, his expression seemed to soften, the curve of his lips almost a subtle tease.

"Allow me to free you from living your life in such a truly imperfect world," he breathed, just loud enough that she would hear him, and that almost soft expression sharpened, darkened as he pressed the tip of his blade (aimed for her throat) against the wavering shield that was already coated by his shadows, gaze baring down on her as they both knew it was just a matter of moments.

And he felt so alive.

"Accept it with that honor you so love to yap about."

[Alexci Dominque]

Noise was a wondrous thing in the Fissure. Near or far, one could hear the echoes of a battle -- the voices drifted through the stale breeze, catching someone’s particular attention. Like a magnet, the wandering Light Fey had followed the faint breathing, if he could hear such a thing. The shadows around the Light Fey started to stretch outwards, as though trying to hide away from the light. In a second, he had pin-pointed the source of agony.

What a terrible sigh it was to be held, a girl was cowering with her last strength, with a figure hovering over, as though trying to chip away at the woman’s last glimmer of hope. While he didn’t have a touch of rage, it was an instant reaction. Alexci had his weapon withdrawn long ago, the light from the blade’s weapon overcastting the shadows near. Silvar appeared to be in a hypnotic state, hungering for a glimpse of Death. Like a halo, the light came down around Silvar. The scythe was at a curve of the Dark Fey’s neck -- for if the other boy moved forward, he would severe his own head; if he moved back he’d simply be in for a surprise.

Two pupiless eyes stared at the back of Silvar’s head, the mask just as dark as any shadow that Silvar was manifesting. There was so much red, so much hurt in this place. He caught the Dark Fey’s last segments of words, wanting them to be the last thing the girl had ever heard -- to hurt her pride or what, it did not matter. “You’re not so lovely today,” Alex mused, sounding rather cheerful for the situation.

He did not know this girl, and while he really harbored no personal feelings on if she died or not -- it was the fact that the Dark Fey was pathetic, hunting on the weakest of prey for a fix. “Don’t move.”

[Eleri Danu'Fada]

Eleri tried to rise to her feet, muscles spasmed with the effort as she fell back down onto her knees. Still the sheild held as she struggled to heal the most dangerous wound at her side and blood kept spilling over fingers as the healing waters tried to work fast. The cold water numbed the burning pain, but the water fey wavered. Her dark dress was slashed, showing the soft wounded flesh, pink hair had fallen from it's bun, spilling over her shoulders, teal eyes looking out from under the curls full of fear. There was still a spark of determination, fight still left as she kept her sheild up.

As the weapon pressed to the sheild it wavered for a moment before reinforcing itself. She brought a hand up once she'd finished healing, trying to keep the sheild up, but she was so tired. "No..." She called, her breath growing shallow as the sheild grew thinner, slowly giving way to the blade.

Looking up her eyes caught something in the shadows that loomed over her, something bright as her eyes went to the figure that was behind the Dark Fey and the blade he held to the other's throat. "Who-?" She began to speak, not recognizing the new Fey. Was he here to help her, or would he only exstiguish her life faster?

[Silvar]

The effect the Light Fey had upon Silv was instant, and though with the appearance of the light his shadows did not shrink away, they did freeze, as all of him seemed to do in that moment. Again with the strange words, and if there had been any doubt of what Fey this was with a too-bright scythe at his throat (there hadn't), it would have been abolished in that instant, and his fingers twitched.

"You..." was a barely audible exhale.

He felt the brightness of the creature, felt a surge of an irrational thing in the back of his mind and remembered to breathe in. The Water Fey before him was a forgotten thing (as if she had never existed to begin with despite the sting of the cuts she'd inflicted and the smell of blood still heavy in the air, despite the water still clinging to him), the blade at his throat and the Fey behind him a much more pressing concern (for many reasons, not all of which he was ready to so much as think of thinking of), and crimson orbs were at the corners of his eyes, focused on the weapon stretched beyond his periphery.

He was still a little frazzled, a little frayed around the edges, and because of it he felt rebellious to the order given, despite his lack of a position to be, and he swallowed thickly, leaning just enough to feel the sharp sting on his throat (because the alternatives were obeying or leaning in the opposite direction, and the latter held its own dangers to him).

"Or you'll kill me?" he questioned, too calm despite his still rapid heartbeat.

[Alexci Dominque]

Alex’s gaze rested on the back of the Dark Fey’s head. He sent a ray of electricity down his weapon, causing the sharp blade of light to glow even more. The other male would be able to feel the static coming off it -- just like static electricity, any hair close to the weapon would rise, as though attracted to the heavens. Even his eyes were casting an array of light on the back of Dark Fey’s head. The sad thing was, he noted, as his eyes shifted toward the girl.

There was water everywhere. It glistened like a new coat of paint, and if Alex wasn’t careful he could just as very well shock them all to death. Alex narrowed his lids at the girl, a glare, as though it was her fault for creating a trap for all three of them. This would hinder a lot of things. However, he was fortunate, these two hardly knew of the downfall of his powers. “Me?” the Light Fey gawked, as though that had been even more funnier than the entire situation, not to mention the ‘who--’ that followed afterwards.

He wasn’t sure why he had waited, considering the state the girl was in. Any rational Light Fey would have cut the Dark Fey’s head off, and that would be the end of it -- one less person to terrorize them. Yet, this was Alexci and he was neither rational or sane. “Kill you? That’s simply too easy right now,” he adjusted the blade so that the crescent shape’s beginning was almost touching the back of Silvar’s neck.

“I have something for you, dear Dark one, please turn around slowly?” It was a question; it was polite, and it was also an opportunity that Silvar couldn’t refuse.

[Eleri Danu'Fada]

As soon as the barrage and pain had come at her...it was gone.

The pressure of the darkness, the push against her sheilds, the pain of them cutting into her had ceased, eased. The pressure had been moved from her as the Dark Fey seemed to ignore her now in favor for his new opponent. Once more as she tried to stand she trembled and fell again, wounds too deep, too much blood had spilled and now was mixed with the water.

There was time now as the pressing blade seemed not to be intent on slicing open her throat. Closing her eyes she exhaled softly a shuddering breath, the thin sheen of water seemed move with that breath, some beading and drawing back towards it's controller. Blood tainted water moved to strengthen her sheild. Slowly she began to weave the water...she thought of healing herself, but instead she began to prepare again for any attack she may have to give not knowing if the new Fey could defeat the darker one or if he would simply be prolonging her death.

Opening her eyes she found herself frozen as the Light Fey's glare caught her own gaze. Stilling under the sight of his eyes she questioned what upset he held towards her seeing as how they'd never met. Once he returned his attention to the blood thirsty Dark Fey she relaxed, watching with baited breath at the outcome of the confrontation.

[Silvar]

The static in the air sent a shiver down Silv's spine, and the brightness of the blade burned his eyes, and whether it was the static or some other kind of thing he felt something buzz through his veins. He couldn't see the Light Fey's face from where he stood, only the extension of the scythe as it curled around his neck, but however long it had been since their first encounter the image of the boy flashed plainly within his memory.

Indeed it would be easy for the Fey to strike him down where he stood, and yet he didn't, the blade's curve feeling like an eerie sort of caress as instead, he was asked (a softer sound than the demand not to move) to turn around. Silv wasn't sure if turning to face the boy was something smart for him to do, regardless of the ramifications of not answering the request, if only for the things buried deep that the Light had stirred up the last time.

But he let his tongue snake out to lick the blood from his lips, and the blade protruding from his still outstretched arm seemed to melt away to drip down his fingertips as he lowered his arm back to his side. Something compelled him, something he didn't understand (or didn't want to understand), and he did turn, eyes deceptively calm (as if he held no fear, as if he weren't in a position that were so potentially deadly).

[Alexci Dominque]

The blade had not moved when Silvar made his move. Between the gesture he would glance to the Water Fey, checking on her to see how she was doing. At the least, the girl was conscious and alive. If she had thanked him now, he would have been severely upset and probably would have accidentally killed her on a whim (for electricity and water never were meant to be). It was like he had a irrational disliking for the weak, and if he did so; he never commented. Not to mention it was a female, and it was obligatory that he had extended his assistance.

Once the Dark Fey’s features were facing him, he gave the other male a perplexed look. They had certainly met in these desolate lands before. Last time, Silvar was a timid creature, and had not bothered to strike. So what had the female done to provoke such violent behavior -- then again, what hadn’t she done. Alex merely stared for a few seconds.

At last, the weapon’s blade seemed to float away from Silvar. The light that was causing a glow to Dark Fey’s flesh disappeared, allowing him to be shrouded back in artificial shadows. Alex held the weapon at his side, but at an angle now. If he had touched any part of the weapon with the water, he’d have to drop it. Awkwardly, the Light Fey reached out his free-hand. It wasn't pointed out to the Dark Fey exactly, but it was still out. He seemed to be in some conflict.

“So who am I giving my hand to this time?” how uncharacteristic for the situation at hand. He was giving the foes the choice, for this battle truly wasn’t his problem. Alex was simply bored and wanted an intervention. Despite the open offer, his eyes remained sharply on Silvar.

[Silvar]

It seemed a long while before the shadows finally slunk back beneath Silv's feet, and he stood still as the Light before him seemed to ponder him. As the weapon left his vicinity, he seemed to relax, if only a barely noticeable amount, and the shadows shifted in his eyes, lips no longer curved with the twisted joy of a hunt but a plain line, unsharp.

While the last time they had met he had been a wreck of himself, he somehow managed to keep composure here, his expression firm as he allowed himself one quick glance over the Fey's features. And there was that hand again, the memory of brilliant wings overpowering the memory of the boy's words from that time, but not enough that his lips didn't turn downward ever so slightly.

"What is it you expect?" he asked, wanting to know this Fey's reasons, though with as strange as the boy seemed he felt they would likely be nothing that made sense (or perhaps, in some twisted sort of way, they would). If the Light expected him again to take his hand... well, it was still just as unlikely.

[Alexci Dominque]

Memories were a float in Alexci’s mind, and one of them had been careful instructions for the male: to take the hand next time. Instead, Silvar appeared to be questioning the Light Fey all over again. Had they not done this before? As though Silv himself had reached out a hand and slapped Alexci’s hand away, the Light Fey moved the hand to the side, letting it hang in the air idly. Mechanically, the arm moved back down to his side. Any sign of cheer on the Light Fey’s face disappeared in the soft contours of his flesh.

The light in the area seemed to shift, and it was because Alex was moving. A few steps closer and he was inches from the Dark Fey. Two lighted eyes were staring sternly upon crimson. Through the red he could see a fain reflection, mostly from the shadows hanging around. “What do I expect?” he said in almost a hiss, but his voice was far too smooth to create malice.

“Honestly?” Alexci question, his eyes shifted to the right a little, and then back to the Fey ahead of him. Did the other male really have any warrant to question the situation? After all, Alexci had spared the Dark Fey’s life, and while Silvar could probably thrown an attack now -- it wouldn’t be a good idea. A smirk shifted to the Light Fey’s face as he leaned forward.

The halo of light appeared next to Alexci’s head, the blade of light a comfort to the situation. It looked like he was going to cut his own face with the proximity. “Where do you expect your life to go, Dark one?”

It was like he had simply forgot the Water Fey, but he was implying a distraction for the girl to actually heal herself or flee.

[Silvar]

Somehow, the shift touched something, and for a brief moment Silv felt... off (as if this entire situation, the Light Fey standing before him, wasn't off enough), and his lips turned downward slightly as if he were bothered by the change in the boy's face (but why would he be?). As the other shifted closer, however, something twisted, and he almost struggled between the want to step back, away from the Light, or the want to close the gap further.

It was obvious to some part of him that he was inexplicably drawn and yet he refused to acknowledge it (and there were a plethora of reasons why). As expected, though, the answer was nothing that made sense (it wasn't much an answer at all, certainly didn't give him any insight), and at the question, his eyelids lowered fractionally. With the edges still frayed he didn't have the capacity to question the urge that lifted his arm, that leaned him forward just that slight bit more.

It wouldn't make sense if he questioned it, but perhaps he was a masochist, or he'd lost it completely for the moment it took to react to the instinct to let himself touch the boy's face, and there was a brief flicker of something in his eyes as his hand jerked away. "Get away from me," was a statement that didn't sound a thing like he really meant, a shaky thing that made his stomach turn with how weak it sounded coming off of his lips (when the voice that screamed it in his mind was so, so strong, because it was too much to take in).

And yet he couldn't move away himself.

[Alexci Dominque]

Silent creatures were always the worse off. Alex continued to keep his eyes upon the Dark Fey, the gaze appearing impatient when time went by without a single word. Perhaps he should have punched the other Fey, just to get a reaction. Anything would have been particularly better than just standing here. Just as he was about to say something witty, the stranger’s hand move to his face. Alex didn’t react exactly, aware that a mask was obstructing his face and perhaps that the Dark Fey wanted to remove it. However, Silv would probably lose a hand in the process of trying.

So just when the touch was started, it had ended. What was even worse was that the boy was complaining about Alex being up in his space. “What!?” Alex snapped at the other male, his voice suddenly breaking through the soundless space. As though that single word hadn’t been enough clarification, the Light Fey seemed to tense up. “What did you say?” he said now, more softly, as though an enemy had touched his face all the time.

The air around the two seemed to calm. Out of no where, the light shifted in the room. Alex used the handle of the scythe to tap at Silvar’s skull -- the gesture wasn’t hard, but it was enough to get the boy’s head to move from that stiff neck. “Is your head broken?” he sneered, taking one defiant step forward. “If anyone should be leaving, it would be you!” Alex had been more than in Silvar’s radius of space now. “And besides, it seems like you’re rather fond of me.”

He had clearly wondered what the Water Fey was thinking from all of this.

[Silvar]

The entire situation since the Light Fey had appeared here had just twisted inside and out, upside down and backwards, and the ends were rather rapidly coming unwound in Silv's head (maybe it was broken), and his eyes were getting a little wild again, though not in the same way that they had been when he was on the verge of a kill. As if to taunt him, the boy had moved even closer, and his thoughts were tangled, a hitched breath and his lips twisted nearly into a snarl.

He wanted to hurt this thing in his space, but in a deeper, darker way than he'd wanted to hurt the forgotten Fey behind him, wanted to take him apart piece by piece and shut those pretty little lips of his the fuck up and make them scream at the same time.

"And if I am?" was a question to the other and to himself, his eyes sharp and narrowed, zeroed in on the glow of those eyes and there was so little distance between them he could feel the other's breath on his face as the pieces were falling apart and he was losing control.

His fingers twitched with the want to do something and in response to the Light's step forward he took the last, and he felt the buzz of adrenaline fresh through his veins (he would be such an easy target), the tension in him as ready to snap as his sanity because everything about this was fuckingbackwardswrongshitFUCKgetAWAYNOW

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