He crosses his arms, that ugly smirk still twisting his face. "You don't know anything about death, and you don't know about my irons. And you don't know anything about Greek. Lucky for us, isn't that? For instance, that word there, written on our friend's chest, you know what it means?"
The clay man's hand drifts toward the letters again: ΕΘΕΛΩ.
"Ethelo," it breathes, and the space inside it echoes.
There's a flash of movement at Blodwen's taunt, like a missing frame in a film: Mercer is abruptly two steps closer, with no transition between the movements, and it takes a visible effort to pull himself back, hands tight at his sides.
But when he lifts his chin, he's smiling again.
"'I am willing,'" he translates, and his voice joins the echo of the clay man's in a whispered reverberation.
Vicious satisfaction lights her face at Mercer's reaction, but it's gone in a heartbeat at the eerie sound of the word echoing hollowly through the impossibly empty space-- and as the golem's chest parts, Blodwen's eyes widen in true fright.
"No."
She tries again to pull away, pride forgotten now in rising panic at the sight.
(I will not slay thee, but I will do unto thee worse than that)
She has an inkling of what's coming now, and it's more than enough.
There's nothing of sweetness or softness in the long string of Welsh curses that she spits at them in her helpless fury before dropping back into English to snarl,
"Not enough it was, that I be made mortal and powerless, but now to lose all else? Oh, and you think you have won here, and I suppose it is that you have, but hear me now and remember-- if it takes me to death and beyond, no matter what, I will find a way back, I swear it, and then you will pay such price as will leave you weeping--"
It is the roaring that eats her words first. There is a great emptiness inside the clay being, and it claws at the world as he splits backward, impossibly far.
I AM WILLING, it bellows, the darkness churning and oxidizing into light. I AM BIGGER ON THE INSIDE THAN OUT.
It grows, and stretches, and opens, distended, and it is earth, it is strong, and it is not surrendering its hold.
ETHELO, it booms, and the sound shakes the land to its foundations. Just as it seems too far extended, too big to be believed, it moves, and it POUNCES.The woman Blodwen Rowlands has no place to run. The clay thing that seemed a man engulfs her, like a hungry creature from the bottom of the sea. Its ribs snap back into place, and in the space of a moment, the towering thing shaped from the mud is a man again, standing at ease in the calm after a thundercrack. Its eyeholes flicker, black then bulb filament bright
( ... )
He crosses his arms, that ugly smirk still twisting his face. "You don't know anything about death, and you don't know about my irons. And you don't know anything about Greek. Lucky for us, isn't that? For instance, that word there, written on our friend's chest, you know what it means?"
The clay man's hand drifts toward the letters again: ΕΘΕΛΩ.
"Ethelo," it breathes, and the space inside it echoes.
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But when he lifts his chin, he's smiling again.
"'I am willing,'" he translates, and his voice joins the echo of the clay man's in a whispered reverberation.
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His sternum begins crack, and darkness shines through. As if the cavity of his chest is slowly opening up.
He does not let go of Blodwen's hand.
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"No."
She tries again to pull away, pride forgotten now in rising panic at the sight.
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"I think you'll be even better friends once you get to know each other," he sing-songs.
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She has an inkling of what's coming now, and it's more than enough.
There's nothing of sweetness or softness in the long string of Welsh curses that she spits at them in her helpless fury before dropping back into English to snarl,
"Not enough it was, that I be made mortal and powerless, but now to lose all else? Oh, and you think you have won here, and I suppose it is that you have, but hear me now and remember-- if it takes me to death and beyond, no matter what, I will find a way back, I swear it, and then you will pay such price as will leave you weeping--"
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I AM WILLING, it bellows, the darkness churning and oxidizing into light. I AM BIGGER ON THE INSIDE THAN OUT.
It grows, and stretches, and opens, distended, and it is earth, it is strong, and it is not surrendering its hold.
ETHELO, it booms, and the sound shakes the land to its foundations. Just as it seems too far extended, too big to be believed, it moves, and it
POUNCES.The woman Blodwen Rowlands has no place to run. The clay thing that seemed a man engulfs her, like a hungry creature from the bottom of the sea. Its ribs snap back into place, and in the space of a moment, the towering thing shaped from the mud is a man again, standing at ease in the calm after a thundercrack. Its eyeholes flicker, black then bulb filament bright ( ... )
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