[Lamento] Etemmu, Part 2
Title: Etemmu
Fandom: Lamento - Beyond the Void
Parts: 2/3
Pairing: Razel/Verg
Rating: R
Warnings: sex, violence, swearing
Disclaimer: Lamento belongs to Nitro+Chiral.
Notes: Many thanks to sexual_ennui, whom I might as well call my muse, and to akuma_no_kage for looking this over.
Part I | Part II | Part III
Etemmu
Part II
He no longer remembered how long it had taken him to awaken from his first exhausted slumber, but it certainly seemed to him like the stranger was taking his sweet time. His own impatience amused him, but could anyone truly fault him, now that that he had been presented with someone who shared his fate?
Razel felt inclined to forgive the rude introductions, as he was not certain how he himself would have reacted to finding another person upon his arrival in the void, but it would certainly be preferable if the stranger proved to be less unreasonable upon waking.
Still, it took a while before he felt the presence in the void again.
Apparently, he arrived just shortly after the stranger had summoned his own portal, because when Razel left his own space, he found the man warily circling the yellow flame. He was now dressed in foreign clothing that would have probably looked ridiculous on anyone else, but Razel's appraisal was cut short when the stranger poked at the flame portal and vanished with a startled yell.
A second later, he came stumbling back out, proclaiming loudly, "I swear to fuck, if I find the guy responsible for the doors in this place, I'm gonna rip him a new one."
Razel could not help himself. His lips twitched.
"Then you would have to start with yourself, I'm afraid," he said, working to keep the amusement out of his voice and not quite managing to.
The stranger whirled to face him, the curse dying on his tongue. "The fu-?!"
Razel politely inclined his head.
The man practically exploded. "What the freaking flying- Who the fuck are you? Are you responsible for this?!"
As he was cursing, he kept advancing, until he was breathing in Razel's face. "I don't know what the hell you're planning, but I suggest you put me back before I fucking beat your miserable-"
He grabbed a fistful of Razel's jacket to yank him even closer.
Razel thought he had tolerated this insolence for long enough, and calmly blasted the stranger away from him. He landed in the darkness a few feet away, miniature fires dying on his clothing, the stink of molten fur and feathers mixing with burnt flesh.
Predictably, his wounds started closing even faster this time around, the singed clothing returning to its original state as Razel stepped closer.
"I suggest you mind your tongue, as I do not consider myself above carving it from your mouth. It would be interesting to see how long it takes for you to grow it back."
For a moment, the man simply stared at him, dumbfounded, before breaking into loud laughter.
Razel blinked, not quite sure what to make of this reaction, and half wondering if the man was not merely a churl, but also not quite right in the head.
"Alright, you," the man said, his burst of hilarity fading to a pleased grin as he clambered to his feet. "You're no pushover. I think I like that."
Despite his sudden change in manner, his agreeability seemed to be barely skin-deep, a thin veneer over an undercurrent of violence, and he held himself like a brawler, too, his stance deceptively relaxed.
"What's your name, huh?" The man jerked his chin at him, a strange kind of interest gleaming in his eyes. Something was curious about them, but in the half-gloom and the shadows cast by the flame portals, Razel was unable to tell what it was.
"...Razel."
For some reason, this seemed to be very funny to the man, because he laughed again. "Hah! Shit, and for a moment, I half thought the religious crazies were right and you were going to say 'Satan'."
Razel raised an eyebrow.
"You certainly look the part, though, what with the horns and the fire and brimstone."
The second eyebrow rose to join the first. "I do believe that this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, as they say."
For a moment, the man stared at him blankly, before awareness dawned on his face. "Oh, that." He reached up, fingering one of the horns protruding from the top of his head. "What the hell is up with that, anyway?"
Razel snorted. "Where I come from, it is common practice to at least state your name when demanding that of another person."
The man narrowed his eyes, clearly not happy with the admonition. "Verg."
Razel nodded. "Well, then, Verg, I do not like conversations in the dark, and this will take a while." He gestured at the red portal. "This is perhaps best discussed over tea."
----
"You've got to be shitting me."
The man-Verg-was attempting to slouch in one of the ornamented chairs, the cup of steaming mint tea balanced precariously close to his lap. He had not touched the tea again after the first tentative sip, and although he had refrained from more cursing, his expression had spoken volumes.
He was, without a doubt, the most ridiculously out-of-place person to ever visit Razel's chambers.
Razel had decided to ignore his guest's ill manners and was contently sipping his third cup of tea, after having delivered an abridged version of an explanation that sounded almost as unsatisfactory in its full length, and likely sounded even more unsatisfactory to his counterpart.
During the fairly one-sided conversation, Verg's eyes had kept flitting about the room, straying from this object to that, but always returning to rest on Razel, and he had known, without a doubt, that the man was not merely curious, but sizing him up. In his old life, he would have been reluctant to let any stranger into his private sanctum so easily, especially a stranger who seemed to have no qualms about attacking first and asking questions later, but he had concluded that Verg was, at least in his current condition, no match for him.
At least, he had been able to discover what was not right about the man's eyes-they were of two different colors, one gray and one green, which had a fairly bewildering effect, but one Razel was determined to master.
Currently, Verg's eyes were fixed on him again, almost comically wide.
"You've got to be shitting me," he repeated, straightening a little and making a face when some of the tea spilled on his hands.
"It is all I know," Razel said easily, lowering his cup. "I suppose it is a little difficult to comprehend."
Verg glared. "No kidding."
Silence for a moment, save for the quiet rustling of the draperies in a desert wind that was merely a memory.
"So... we're dead," Verg prompted eventually.
"Not quite, no."
"What do you mean, not quite. It's either yes or no, I don't like this cryptic talk."
Razel narrowed his eyes just slightly. "When I say 'not quite', I mean 'not quite'. We are a paradox, neither dead nor alive in the true sense of the word. But if you take 'death' to mean that we have forfeited our human existence, then the answer is 'yes'. That is all there is to it."
"This," Verg said with conviction, "makes no sense. I mean, if what you're saying is true, then this can't be the way things normally go, right? If you've never met anyone else..."
Razel shook his head. "You are the first."
"...Huh. Guess we're two special snowflakes, then. Question is just, why?"
Razel shrugged. "I had hoped your arrival would provide me with an answer."
Verg made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, drawing his eyebrows together. "Well, shit. Don't ask me. I don't even remember kicking the bucket."
"Pardon?"
Verg's expression soured. "Dying. All I remember is finally taking down those fucking rebels, and how damn good that was, best damn thing in my life, and then... poof. I'm here. Thought somebody conked me in the head at first, but that doesn't account for those." He tapped his horns.
Frowning deeply, Razel set his cup down. All he remembered of dying was wrath, wrath at those who had dared... And ever since then, it seemed to be the only thing he was able to feel clearly, everything else muted, distant, as if experienced through a veil...
Abruptly, he looked up. "How are you feeling?"
"What?"
"I mean, what are you feeling, right now? Are you angry? Sad? Confused?"
"What are you, some kind of zombie-shrink?" Verg asked, looking at him like he had grown another head.
Razel glared. "Just answer the question."
Verg glared back, but relented. "I dunno. Kind of confused, a bit. I mean, that sort of thing confuses anyone, right? Mostly good, though. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Good…" Razel repeated skeptically.
"Heck, if you want to name it, I feel great. Ready to take on anything, and all that."
Verg was leaning back, a pleased smirk on his lips, and all at once, the realization hit Razel like the Zard Kuh had just come crumbling down on top of him.
"Emotions," he murmured.
"Huh?" Verg was looking at him again, eyebrows raised, and Razel was not quite certain how much of what was going on inside him was visible on his face, but for the moment, he did not really care.
"Emotions are the key to this. You say you felt pleasure when you died. You feel pleasure now, instead of anything else."
"You mean..."
"I was angry when I died. I do not recall ever being so furious before in my life. Now, the emotion that is most accessible to me... is anger."
Verg said nothing for a very long time, silently digesting this revelation. When he spoke again, his voice was serious, devoid of its brash edge and cursing. "So you're saying... feelings are responsible for putting us here? Our feelings?"
Razel nodded gravely. "I do not see anything else that could make our death different from any other."
Silence again, before Verg picked up the conversation once more. "So we're like... emo-zombies. Demons. Devils."
Barely resisting the immature urge to roll his eyes, Razel shook his head. "You are set on naming what we are, aren't you."
Verg smirked, obviously done dwelling on feelings and the circumstances of their death. "Hell, you mean you haven't ever thought of a name? There's two of us now, can't call that unique anymore."
He paused, looking Razel up and down again. "Devil," he decided. "That's the highest kind of underworld spirit thing there is. Besides, you should see the depictions that have been going around for the, oh, last few centuries or something. Look like you."
"You mean 'us'."
"No, you."
Razel sighed. "You are not going to let this drop."
Verg's wolfish smile was answer enough.
----
Contrary to his fears, if one could call them that, Verg proved to be half as annoying as he had first assumed. He was still a churl, and a barbarian who could not appreciate a fine blend of tea, but Razel had the distinct feeling that he liked to appear more boorish than he really was.
He surprised himself by leaving the flame portal open, something that required barely any conscious effort, despite the fact that it was like leaving one's front door open to anyone lumbering past. In his case, the only one "lumbering past" was a person who was very likely to become just as powerful as he was in only a short span of time, and Razel would have had to be a fool to believe for even an instant that their shared fate made them into friends.
At this point, one could barely even call them "allies".
Still, he left the portal open against his better judgment, his craving for companionship stronger than expected. Razel was quite certain that this should bother him much more than it really did.
Verg, for his part, did not seem inclined to accept the unspoken invitation, and kept his own portal tightly closed, except when he was spending time in the void, honing his powers.
Razel left him to his own devices, no matter how curious he was to see what a man from a different age could do, a man who had-according to his own words-been involved in what sounded like serious fighting. Eavesdropping was not a polite thing to do, however, and besides, he was certain that he would be able to experience a first-hand demonstration very soon.
----
His expectations were not disappointed.
Before long, he could sense a presence entering the open portal, carrying the unmistakable feel of Verg's crest. Razel had found that he had become able to detect it much more easily, a faint signature that he could attempt to locate if he so desired.
He placed the book he had been reading on the table and folded his arms, waiting.
A moment later, the doors were pushed open with a little more force than necessary, Verg striding in with the gait of someone who owned the place, a type of large axe slung over his shoulder.
Razel nodded in greeting, and was rewarded with the churl swinging the weapon from his shoulder, grinning with sadistic glee.
"I suppose asking if you would like a seat is pointless," Razel observed, making a show of examining the rude entrant.
"Heh, last time I saw this baby, touching this would've zapped my finger clean off." Verg tapped the flat of the blade for emphasis. "I guess photons don't work here?"
"Photons?" Razel remembered reading about that. "Particles of... light?"
Verg shrugged. "Condensed energy."
"Ah. Some things in this world have... a mind of their own, I find."
"Right," Verg said, hefting the axe back on his shoulder. "Whatever. A blade's a blade, I guess. Anyway, how about a little one-on-one? I've been wanting to see you ruffled and sweaty for a while now."
Razel smiled, amused that he had been right, amused that Verg seemed to prefer acting like this was going to be a friendly game, instead of the battle for dominance they both knew it would be. He rose from his seat, tossing his hair back.
"Here?" he asked.
"Not a lot of options. Doing it in that black hole out there is boring, and my place is a fucking closet. You don't have a problem with a little... collateral damage, do you?" The grin, if at all possible, widened even more.
"I can make repairs," Razel assured him, motioning towards the door. "You will forgive me if I declare my bedroom a place for battles of a different kind, though. Personal space, and all that. May I suggest we try the east wing instead?"
----
Verg whistled through his teeth once they reached the east wing gardens. "Now that's what I call an estate. They don't build houses like this anymore. Almost a shame to see it all get trashed."
"What, having second thoughts?" Razel mocked, assuming his stance a few feet away.
"No way," white-haired man grumbled, adjusting his grip on his axe. Then, his gaze fell to the dagger, still resting in its jeweled sheath against Razel's hip. "You gonna fight with that?"
"I have not decided yet," Razel said cryptically, enjoying the puzzled look on his opponent's face.
"Then-"
"Careful, you are starting to sound almost considerate."
"Fuck you," came the vulgar reply. "See if I'll try to be nice again."
Razel smirked. "I think you should worry more about whether you can afford to be nice."
In lieu of a reply, the axe came down, splitting the neatly arranged path and sending out a wave of yellow lightning.
Most interesting.
A simple flame shield deflected the magic, but Verg wasted no time. He charged with a war cry, forcing Razel to duck out of the way of an impressive overhead swing. The blade sliced the air mere inches from his head, and he concluded then and there that Verg definitely had the skill to back up his reckless confidence. It would not do to underestimate his opponent, not at all.
Floating was as easy as breathing, carrying him away from the scattering gravel as the axe impacted, and Razel stretched out a hand, power ripping from his palm in a series of fiery bolts. A string of expletives marked Verg's only comeback as he was reduced to dodging the flaming missiles.
Landing on a bench across the courtyard, Razel sent a fiery homing spirit his way, not bothering to hold back a feral grin as his opponent was zigzagging back and forth, trying in vain to shake off the persistent flame zeroing in on his body heat.
"Fuck you!" Verg yelled in Razel's general direction, eventually throwing up an arm to shield himself from the inevitable blow. The electric field flaring to life around him seemed almost like an afterthought, too weak-too careless?-to withstand the force of the firebolt, prompting another bout of profanity when the flames scorched his clothes and skin.
When he caught sight of Razel smirking at him from a distance, he glared. "Fuck you."
"Hm, so you keep saying," Razel returned, a new flame igniting between his fingers. "I suggest you start getting serious soon. I have a low tolerance for child's play."
"I'll fucking show you serious!" Verg threatened, a single leap covering the distance between them, the axe smashing Razel's perch to pieces.
"Big talk," Razel's voice sounded from above, two fiery whips slicing through the air and barely missing their target as Verg hastily fell back out of range.
He retaliated by sending a series of lightning bolts after Razel, who avoided them easily in mid-air, once again landing a short distance away... only to have an ornamental balustrade come crashing down around him.
Decoys.
Narrowly evading the crumbling marble, Razel decided to take this battle to higher ground. Indeed, it would not do to underestimate this man. Although he seemed to prefer fighting like a brute, he was able to use strategy when forced. He landed on the outer wall, dusting off his clothes and shaking out his hair, feeling the sting of fine cuts on his face.
"Now I see what you meant by 'collateral damage'," he called.
Verg seemed not the slightest bit displeased that his attack had not been too effective. "What, worried now?"
"Not by far. But since you insist on using the scenery, I shall follow your example."
The sweeping gesture was not really necessary, but he found himself enjoying Verg's preemptive jump, which was followed by more cursing as he was forced to shield against a virtual hail of arrows.
"At least try to aim, you're insulting me a bit here!" he shouted, lowering his shield momentarily to survey the gardens, which had become littered with the thin red projectiles.
Razel chuckled, "What makes you think I missed?", as the battlefield erupted in a sea of flames.
"Bastard," came the croak a few seconds later, Verg appearing on the ledge a little worse for wear, face and chest streaked with ash, his pants slightly charred. The flickering shine of the flames lent the last edge of devilishness to his expression.
"I am quite certain of my parentage, thank you."
And they were off again.
Razel allowed himself to be driven back through the corridors, weaving in and out between the long rows of columns and decorative artifacts. He had the advantage of knowing the terrain, knew where the footing was tricky, where the architecture worked in his favor. It felt more than a game to him, dangerous though it was.
For his part, Verg was obviously delighting in his role of pursuer, although he was a lot less happy about having to rely on magic to aim for Razel. Not that he was lacking aptitude by any means, he simply seemed to prefer smashing his way along, though he was becoming more and more frustrated with the lack of likeminded response from his opponent.
"Fucking bastard," Verg finally growled over the sound of toppling columns crashing into each other. "Stop playing defensive and show me what you can do with that toothpick!"
"You were enjoying yourself so much, I thought I would let you exhaust yourself just a little bit further," Razel said, but decided to humor him.
"Alright, that's it, you're going down!"
It was amusing, how a little provocation caused Verg to disregard danger. How he did not even seem to mind that he was rushing head-on into a trap, that Razel was letting him close
-the dagger feather-light in his palm, an extension of himself-
and then the ridiculous expression of surprise on his face when his assault was cut short by a blinding flare.
Verg yowled, too startled to even curse, only saved from skewering himself by his quick reflexes. The flame tongue seared into his flesh, cutting him clean across the chest.
For a split-second, he paused, stunned by the feel of warm blood dribbling down his torso. Razel paused, as well, allowing for the surprise to sink in, waiting for Verg's gaze to move from the damage done to his weapon, solid fire extending the dagger's reach, curving it into a scimitar.
"What the freaking flying-!"
Razel politely blasted open the door leading to the outer wall. "Shall we take this outside?"
Despite his injury, Verg appeared to be pleased by this turn of events. "Sure, less hindrance when I cleave you in two."
Razel did not even bother to dignify this with an answer.
Fighting his opponent head-on gave an entirely new edge to their duel. Verg's speed belied the weight of the axe, which he swung with barely any delay at all. After his initial run-in with the fire-blade, he had become much more wary of any tricks Razel might have up his sleeve, keeping up a near-constant guard.
Razel did not mind. It had been a long time since he had last been forced to work so hard for a victory, and he could not deny that despite the other's barbarous fighting style, he was enjoying himself immensely.
Presently, the heavy blows forced him into a defensive position, with a dead end waiting for him up ahead. He was not certain if he could spare the concentration to blast his way free, now that he had allowed this berserker so close.
He spotted the downward cut a fraction before it started on a trajectory for the vulnerable flesh of his sword arm, and jumped back out of reach. His reaction had been just a moment too slow, though, and while the axe failed to draw blood, its lightning charge connected solidly with the hilt of the dagger, sending it flying out of Razel's grasp.
Verg grinned triumphantly. "How about we call it my win? I'd hate to carve my name into your handsome face."
Razel calmly glanced at the weapon that was pointed at his throat. "As I said earlier, 'big talk'."
Before Verg had a chance to react, the ground beneath their feet exploded with the wrath of the sun. Too dazed by the blinding force of the explosion, the white-haired devil had no chance to shield himself from the fiery sphere that slammed into him, knocking him squarely into the falling debris.
Razel stayed afloat as the remains of the wall crumbled beneath him, fire dancing between his fingertips, waiting to see if Verg managed to recover.
He did not.
As the dust cleared, it revealed the sight of his opponent, his left arm crushed underneath a slab of marble, a sharp piece of stone sticking out from the middle of his stomach.
Apparently, getting beaten into a pulp and pierced by a rock was the funniest thing that had happened to him in a while, though, because he was laughing loudly between fits of coughing.
"Alright, not bad," he wheezed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You got me there. Now kindly move that fucking boulder, will you. I'd do it myself, but I'm kind of... stationary at the moment."
Razel raised an eyebrow. "You yield?"
"What does it look like to you, huh?"
Razel stayed silent, waiting.
Verg glared a little. "Alright, fine. I fucking yield. There. Happy?"
Razel grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "Very."
----
After the question of hierarchy had been settled, the yellow portal remained open.
Razel supposed that this was as much of an invitation as he was going to get, but he still took his time with actually taking Verg up on it. Personal space had always been a precious commodity in his former life, and he refused to give in to his own curiosity so quickly.
His first assessment, when he finally did step through the yellow flames, was that Verg had not been lying about the size of his living quarters.
The space consisted of a single room so packed with what could only be described as stuff that it was difficult to even see the floor. Not that there was much to see in the room, the dim, cool glow of the overhead lights-not electricity, something else-barely reaching into the corners. In the center rose a vaguely rectangular tower, emitting a soft mechanical hum, multicolored lights sporadically winking in different places. Razel could not even begin to guess at their purpose.
It was, without a doubt, the strangest room he had ever seen-and he had seen a lot of strange rooms over the centuries.
A shape in the far corner suddenly moved, swaying slightly, before two white-clad legs unfurled from within, dangling down on either side. Almost immediately, the overhead lights brightened.
"Fucking hell," came the grumble as Verg struggled to sit up in what turned out to be a hammock. He rubbed a hand across his face, squinted at the light, and took note of his guest. "Oh, you."
Razel nodded in greeting. "I seem to have come at an... inopportune time. My apologies."
With some difficulty, Verg managed to move both legs to one side without tipping the contraption over, and got up. "Nah. Just didn't expect you at this time of night."
"It is day in my space," Razel said, allowing his gaze to stray over the gadgets littering various surfaces.
"Huh, weird."
"I had not thought that our internal clocks might be different. But it only makes sense."
"Internal clock?" Verg blinked at him, blinked at their surroundings, and walked over to a row of cabinets, where a strange pot was sitting. "Whatever. It's too early for this theoretical shit. I need coffee."
"The passage of time is an illusion of the mind here," Razel said, more interested in watching the other man feed black powder into the pot and flipping a switch. It was quite fascinating-personally, he never would have gone through the effort of actually brewing his tea, instead preferring to simply summon it, sweetened and ready to drink.
"Say what," Verg said, absent-mindedly scratching at the black tattoo on his stomach.
Razel nodded to the glowing face of what was, evidently, a clock, its numbers clicking nervously back and forth, back and forth. Verg squinted at it as if seeing it for the first time.
"Well, shit, what do you know."
Behind him, the machine finished whirring, an oily black liquid collecting in the glass pot. Its smell had little to do with Razel's own memory of coffee, but it would have been impolite to refuse the mug, no matter how rudely it was shoved at him.
The taste, however, led him to commit perhaps the first social faux-pas of his entire life. He coughed, barely resisting the urge to grimace. "What did you put in here?"
Verg quirked both eyebrows. "Uh, coffee?"
"What kind of coffee."
"Hell if I know, I never looked at the beans, I just cared about the buzz."
Razel truly hoped that his expression was not as incredulous as he felt. "You use the beans?"
"What else would you use?" Verg shot back, a little irritated.
"The fruit, of course."
"You're kidding."
Razel shook his head.
"Humans have been drinking this stuff for who knows how long and you're telling me they've been doing it wrong?"
Razel shrugged. "Humans also believed for the longest time that the Earth was flat, or so I'm told."
"Heh, flat," Verg snorted. "That thing can't even be called round anymore. More like... what was the word? Oh yeah, concave."
"...Concave," Razel reiterated, not quite certain whether the other man was serious or merely misappropriating the word.
"Yeah, blew a giant hole in the place. Or more like a couple of them. Don't ask me, I wasn't even around when it happened. But we sure got stuck with the nasty cleanup. Who knows, maybe it's not such a bad thing I croaked when I did. Certainly saved me the 'mutating-and-coughing-shit-up' part."
"Pardon?"
"Though there was the part where they said that it makes your jizz glow in the dark. No idea if that's true or not, certainly didn't work on mine. But the idea is hilarious."
"Excuse me?"
Eventually, Verg realized that the hilarity of the concept was completely lost on his guest, and shook his head.
"Allow me to introduce you to the instant solution to all of humanity's problems: the fusion bomb."
----
Razel could not recall ever not seeing the sun.
There had been the rains, a front of inky clouds covering the skies in mere minutes and releasing a torrent, and there had been sandstorms, dirt and sand being whipped through the air until everything, even the people blindly stumbling through it, were covered with a fine yellow layer of dust.
But behind every storm, no matter how heavy, had been the sun, its power piercing the veil of clouds before long, its heat life-giving and deadly alike. Its presence had been so everlasting that the memory had followed Razel beyond death, lighting his space.
Being confronted with the roiling black dome spanning the sky, reaching from east to west, from north to south, as far as the eye could see, flashes of unnatural lightning jumping between the towering clouds while the winds whipped poisonous mist through the air trapped beneath, instilled in him a profound sense of disquiet.
Around him, the world was a wasteland of ruins and dust, flares igniting in the distance reflecting against the impenetrable sky.
Slowly, Razel turned his gaze to his summoner, a young woman dressed in what might have once been a combat uniform. Her skin was a sickly color, unnatural sores marring her face and disappearing into her neckline. A mask was dangling from her collar, presumably to protect herself from the poisonous dust in the air, but she seemed to be beyond caring, cradling a limp, grotesquely discolored body in her arms.
"Please," came her voice, so soft it was barely audible over the howling wind, "Please, bring him back. Bring my Aished back to me!"
"That," Razel said flatly, "is impossible."
"...You lie," the woman accused.
He narrowed his eyes. "What can be brought back will no longer be what it once was."
"I don't care."
There was no hesitation in her voice, not a trace of doubt. Razel tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "You would not care that your beloved's very essence cannot be recalled?"
"I said I don't care!" she snapped, a stark contrast to her earlier pleading tone. "He left me behind! How could he leave me behind?! We promised to always be together! We promised-and he left me. He. left. me."
"And so, you would punish him for his disobedience? ...Very well."
At a wave of Razel's hand, the dead body was enveloped in an unholy glow, spine stiffening and limbs jerking wildly. The woman gasped out something that might have been an oath, might have been her lover's name, as she recoiled from the gruesome spectacle. At last, the glow disappeared into the body, and with a final spasm, it lay still.
Hesitantly, the woman moved closer, reaching out to touch his cheek. "...Ai...shed?"
Disgusted with this display of human folly, Razel turned his gaze back to the pitch-black clouds, bolts of lightning still sizzling between them like living things. He heard the inhuman groan, heard the high-pitched scream of horror which tapered off into choked gurgling to the sounds of ripping flesh, but it did not seem as noteworthy as the sky.
It would be good, he thought as he felt himself begin to fade, to remember that sky.
----
"So here you are! I was wondering where you went."
Razel admitted that making use of the bath might have been an excessive reaction, but he had seen no real reason to deny the urge. There was something profoundly irritating about being confronted with a world of such utter chaos, so cleansing his body, however superficial it was, was in its way a return to a world of order.
He looked up from his contemplation of the steam rising from the water's surface to regard Verg, who was looking around in the manner of someone who had just stepped into a very bizarre and alien scene, the feathers and fur of his clothes beginning to droop with moisture. The intrusion was not entirely unwelcome, as he found himself lacking answers, even though he did not yet know how to phrase the necessary questions.
"I didn't know your place had a pool. You never gave me the grand tour, come to think of it."
"It's a bath," Razel corrected in mild puzzlement.
"Bath? Are you kidding me?"
Razel quirked an eyebrow.
"Could make a guy jealous. I've never had a bath before."
Razel stared, wondering if he had misheard. "I suppose I should not put it past you, but I refuse to believe that you did not wash yourself."
Verg made a face. "Of course I did. What do you take me for? I've just never had water to use."
"Then how did you get clean?"
"Ion showers," Verg shrugged.
Frowning, Razel looked at him. He knew what ions were, tiny charged particles indiscernible to the naked eye. "Humanity has developed invisible showers, of all things."
The other man snorted in amusement. "Heh, if you put it like that... But you'd get creative, too, when things in the water can kill you horribly."
"Most likely," Razel conceded. Rising out of the water, he reached out to grab one of the linen sheets at the edge of the basin and began drying himself off. "Now then, was there something you wanted?"
This was, of course, addressing the proverbial elephant in the room. The other man never came without wanting something, be it a fight, company or entertainment, but the fact that he had entered Razel's space almost immediately upon his return hinted at something else.
Something flashed momentarily in Verg's eyes, before he shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wondering where you disappeared to. Couldn't feel your sign for a while."
"An unfortunate side effect of a devil's duties, I'm afraid."
"What, so you just go 'poof' in the middle of things?" Verg asked, "Like, if you're sitting in your fancy royal tub, or if I'm in the middle of choking the chicken..."
For a moment, Razel almost fell into the trap of asking why anyone would engage in such an inefficient disposal of farm fowl, but then he caught the devious gleam in Verg's eyes and knew better than to ask. "I do not know. It would certainly be... interesting to find out."
If possible, Verg's grin only widened. "I'm in favor of any experiment that involves keeping you wet and naked. I'd contribute my share, but that'd get messy fast."
Razel sighed. "You spend way too much time thinking about such matters."
"I'm the devil of pleasure. That's in my job description."
"I'm the devil of wrath," Razel said mildly, "...and I don't spend all my time thinking about how to fry your imbecilic ass, even though I probably should."
"I love it when you talk all crude like that."
Instead of replying, Razel wrapped the towel around his waist with an imperious flutter, and made his exit.
He did not hear footsteps, but was not surprised to find Verg following closely, his face now pinched into a frown that was half displeased, half contemplative. It was difficult to say what brought on these changes in his demeanor, as seldom as they occurred, but they served as the necessary reminder that Verg was an inherently unpredictable character. In the beginning, he had wondered whether the other man was using brazenness and joviality to conceal his true intentions, but now it seemed more to him that the mood swings were genuine. Verg, more often than not, seemed simply too lazy to bother with masks.
Razel suspected that he would find out the reason for this bout of brooding soon-Verg was also not in the habit of keeping quiet about things that bothered him.
He was in the midst of removing the multitude of pins used to hold up his hair when Verg, leaning against a chest of drawers with his arms crossed, chose to open his mouth.
"So, on a scale from one to ten, how fucked is Earth?"
Razel paused at the blunt question, before slowly pulling the pin he was holding out of his hair. "I am perhaps not the best judge of recent geographical changes, but it did not seem to be the most joyous place to live in. Or the most sane."
Verg merely snorted, his frown deepening.
Extricating the final pin, Razel shook out his hair, knowing full well that he was imbuing the action with a laughable importance. "I could not see the sun. There was nothing but black, poisonous clouds... darkness everlasting."
"…Solar flare."
"Excuse me?"
Verg had tensed, his eyes narrowed as if recalling a memory. "They called it solar flare. They were talking about developing it, is the last I heard. To deprive others of land, you take away their light. Or at least, that was the grand poetry the idea came wrapped in. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that such a thing could never... affect only a single area. I guess it's too much to hope they found ways to contain it."
Razel stayed silent. There was much here that Verg was not telling him, of that he was certain, but there had never been a mutual agreement to share life secrets, so he did not inquire any further.
"I suppose we shall find some more informative material on the subject in the library, courtesy of my summoner, mad though she was."
"Heh, I'd be surprised if you found anyone on the entire fucking planet still sane. They haven't been for a while. Hell, I'm not sure I ever was."
Razel's lips twitched, somewhat amused at Verg's return to frequent cursing and poor grammar, which, paradoxically, also signaled the return of his good humor. "Consider me thoroughly in agreement."
"Bastard," Verg shot back, without any real rancor. "When you've got to be glad you weren't born with your organs on the outside or a few extra appendages, your expectations of health are kinda different."
"Indeed," Razel said.
"Most fucked-up thing? In some cases, they live. And of course, if you go out without a suit, you'll find your worst problem aren't the crazies with the guns or getting a bomb lobbed at your head, it's the air, because it will fucking eat you from the inside out. Throw in a couple of fucking giant mutant rats, and you've got yourself the average suburban lifestyle in 3000 AC."
As thinly veiled a detraction as it was, Razel allowed himself to be pulled along in conversation. Verg seemed to enjoy telling those gruesome tales immensely, only deflating a little when Razel proved to be a bad audience by not responding with horrified disbelief.
Perhaps, Razel thought, when one grew up surrounded by insanity, one found it easier to derive amusement from a broken world. In that respect, they were not so different-he himself found it so much easier to make sense of the world by labeling everything "human folly" and being done with it.
- TBC -
----
A/N:This was originally meant to be one part, but LJ has a word limit and wouldn't let me post the rest. So the final part will be up soon. C&C is welcome.
Now, for the author babble:
- Lots of backstory speculation. It's why it's fanfic.
- Yes, Verg hails from the future. Only in the future would they wear goats and consider them pants.
<< Return to Part I? | Continue to Part III?
<< Return to Lamento Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>
Fandom: Lamento - Beyond the Void
Parts: 2/3
Pairing: Razel/Verg
Rating: R
Warnings: sex, violence, swearing
Disclaimer: Lamento belongs to Nitro+Chiral.
Notes: Many thanks to sexual_ennui, whom I might as well call my muse, and to akuma_no_kage for looking this over.
Part I | Part II | Part III
Etemmu
Part II
He no longer remembered how long it had taken him to awaken from his first exhausted slumber, but it certainly seemed to him like the stranger was taking his sweet time. His own impatience amused him, but could anyone truly fault him, now that that he had been presented with someone who shared his fate?
Razel felt inclined to forgive the rude introductions, as he was not certain how he himself would have reacted to finding another person upon his arrival in the void, but it would certainly be preferable if the stranger proved to be less unreasonable upon waking.
Still, it took a while before he felt the presence in the void again.
Apparently, he arrived just shortly after the stranger had summoned his own portal, because when Razel left his own space, he found the man warily circling the yellow flame. He was now dressed in foreign clothing that would have probably looked ridiculous on anyone else, but Razel's appraisal was cut short when the stranger poked at the flame portal and vanished with a startled yell.
A second later, he came stumbling back out, proclaiming loudly, "I swear to fuck, if I find the guy responsible for the doors in this place, I'm gonna rip him a new one."
Razel could not help himself. His lips twitched.
"Then you would have to start with yourself, I'm afraid," he said, working to keep the amusement out of his voice and not quite managing to.
The stranger whirled to face him, the curse dying on his tongue. "The fu-?!"
Razel politely inclined his head.
The man practically exploded. "What the freaking flying- Who the fuck are you? Are you responsible for this?!"
As he was cursing, he kept advancing, until he was breathing in Razel's face. "I don't know what the hell you're planning, but I suggest you put me back before I fucking beat your miserable-"
He grabbed a fistful of Razel's jacket to yank him even closer.
Razel thought he had tolerated this insolence for long enough, and calmly blasted the stranger away from him. He landed in the darkness a few feet away, miniature fires dying on his clothing, the stink of molten fur and feathers mixing with burnt flesh.
Predictably, his wounds started closing even faster this time around, the singed clothing returning to its original state as Razel stepped closer.
"I suggest you mind your tongue, as I do not consider myself above carving it from your mouth. It would be interesting to see how long it takes for you to grow it back."
For a moment, the man simply stared at him, dumbfounded, before breaking into loud laughter.
Razel blinked, not quite sure what to make of this reaction, and half wondering if the man was not merely a churl, but also not quite right in the head.
"Alright, you," the man said, his burst of hilarity fading to a pleased grin as he clambered to his feet. "You're no pushover. I think I like that."
Despite his sudden change in manner, his agreeability seemed to be barely skin-deep, a thin veneer over an undercurrent of violence, and he held himself like a brawler, too, his stance deceptively relaxed.
"What's your name, huh?" The man jerked his chin at him, a strange kind of interest gleaming in his eyes. Something was curious about them, but in the half-gloom and the shadows cast by the flame portals, Razel was unable to tell what it was.
"...Razel."
For some reason, this seemed to be very funny to the man, because he laughed again. "Hah! Shit, and for a moment, I half thought the religious crazies were right and you were going to say 'Satan'."
Razel raised an eyebrow.
"You certainly look the part, though, what with the horns and the fire and brimstone."
The second eyebrow rose to join the first. "I do believe that this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, as they say."
For a moment, the man stared at him blankly, before awareness dawned on his face. "Oh, that." He reached up, fingering one of the horns protruding from the top of his head. "What the hell is up with that, anyway?"
Razel snorted. "Where I come from, it is common practice to at least state your name when demanding that of another person."
The man narrowed his eyes, clearly not happy with the admonition. "Verg."
Razel nodded. "Well, then, Verg, I do not like conversations in the dark, and this will take a while." He gestured at the red portal. "This is perhaps best discussed over tea."
----
"You've got to be shitting me."
The man-Verg-was attempting to slouch in one of the ornamented chairs, the cup of steaming mint tea balanced precariously close to his lap. He had not touched the tea again after the first tentative sip, and although he had refrained from more cursing, his expression had spoken volumes.
He was, without a doubt, the most ridiculously out-of-place person to ever visit Razel's chambers.
Razel had decided to ignore his guest's ill manners and was contently sipping his third cup of tea, after having delivered an abridged version of an explanation that sounded almost as unsatisfactory in its full length, and likely sounded even more unsatisfactory to his counterpart.
During the fairly one-sided conversation, Verg's eyes had kept flitting about the room, straying from this object to that, but always returning to rest on Razel, and he had known, without a doubt, that the man was not merely curious, but sizing him up. In his old life, he would have been reluctant to let any stranger into his private sanctum so easily, especially a stranger who seemed to have no qualms about attacking first and asking questions later, but he had concluded that Verg was, at least in his current condition, no match for him.
At least, he had been able to discover what was not right about the man's eyes-they were of two different colors, one gray and one green, which had a fairly bewildering effect, but one Razel was determined to master.
Currently, Verg's eyes were fixed on him again, almost comically wide.
"You've got to be shitting me," he repeated, straightening a little and making a face when some of the tea spilled on his hands.
"It is all I know," Razel said easily, lowering his cup. "I suppose it is a little difficult to comprehend."
Verg glared. "No kidding."
Silence for a moment, save for the quiet rustling of the draperies in a desert wind that was merely a memory.
"So... we're dead," Verg prompted eventually.
"Not quite, no."
"What do you mean, not quite. It's either yes or no, I don't like this cryptic talk."
Razel narrowed his eyes just slightly. "When I say 'not quite', I mean 'not quite'. We are a paradox, neither dead nor alive in the true sense of the word. But if you take 'death' to mean that we have forfeited our human existence, then the answer is 'yes'. That is all there is to it."
"This," Verg said with conviction, "makes no sense. I mean, if what you're saying is true, then this can't be the way things normally go, right? If you've never met anyone else..."
Razel shook his head. "You are the first."
"...Huh. Guess we're two special snowflakes, then. Question is just, why?"
Razel shrugged. "I had hoped your arrival would provide me with an answer."
Verg made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, drawing his eyebrows together. "Well, shit. Don't ask me. I don't even remember kicking the bucket."
"Pardon?"
Verg's expression soured. "Dying. All I remember is finally taking down those fucking rebels, and how damn good that was, best damn thing in my life, and then... poof. I'm here. Thought somebody conked me in the head at first, but that doesn't account for those." He tapped his horns.
Frowning deeply, Razel set his cup down. All he remembered of dying was wrath, wrath at those who had dared... And ever since then, it seemed to be the only thing he was able to feel clearly, everything else muted, distant, as if experienced through a veil...
Abruptly, he looked up. "How are you feeling?"
"What?"
"I mean, what are you feeling, right now? Are you angry? Sad? Confused?"
"What are you, some kind of zombie-shrink?" Verg asked, looking at him like he had grown another head.
Razel glared. "Just answer the question."
Verg glared back, but relented. "I dunno. Kind of confused, a bit. I mean, that sort of thing confuses anyone, right? Mostly good, though. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Good…" Razel repeated skeptically.
"Heck, if you want to name it, I feel great. Ready to take on anything, and all that."
Verg was leaning back, a pleased smirk on his lips, and all at once, the realization hit Razel like the Zard Kuh had just come crumbling down on top of him.
"Emotions," he murmured.
"Huh?" Verg was looking at him again, eyebrows raised, and Razel was not quite certain how much of what was going on inside him was visible on his face, but for the moment, he did not really care.
"Emotions are the key to this. You say you felt pleasure when you died. You feel pleasure now, instead of anything else."
"You mean..."
"I was angry when I died. I do not recall ever being so furious before in my life. Now, the emotion that is most accessible to me... is anger."
Verg said nothing for a very long time, silently digesting this revelation. When he spoke again, his voice was serious, devoid of its brash edge and cursing. "So you're saying... feelings are responsible for putting us here? Our feelings?"
Razel nodded gravely. "I do not see anything else that could make our death different from any other."
Silence again, before Verg picked up the conversation once more. "So we're like... emo-zombies. Demons. Devils."
Barely resisting the immature urge to roll his eyes, Razel shook his head. "You are set on naming what we are, aren't you."
Verg smirked, obviously done dwelling on feelings and the circumstances of their death. "Hell, you mean you haven't ever thought of a name? There's two of us now, can't call that unique anymore."
He paused, looking Razel up and down again. "Devil," he decided. "That's the highest kind of underworld spirit thing there is. Besides, you should see the depictions that have been going around for the, oh, last few centuries or something. Look like you."
"You mean 'us'."
"No, you."
Razel sighed. "You are not going to let this drop."
Verg's wolfish smile was answer enough.
----
Contrary to his fears, if one could call them that, Verg proved to be half as annoying as he had first assumed. He was still a churl, and a barbarian who could not appreciate a fine blend of tea, but Razel had the distinct feeling that he liked to appear more boorish than he really was.
He surprised himself by leaving the flame portal open, something that required barely any conscious effort, despite the fact that it was like leaving one's front door open to anyone lumbering past. In his case, the only one "lumbering past" was a person who was very likely to become just as powerful as he was in only a short span of time, and Razel would have had to be a fool to believe for even an instant that their shared fate made them into friends.
At this point, one could barely even call them "allies".
Still, he left the portal open against his better judgment, his craving for companionship stronger than expected. Razel was quite certain that this should bother him much more than it really did.
Verg, for his part, did not seem inclined to accept the unspoken invitation, and kept his own portal tightly closed, except when he was spending time in the void, honing his powers.
Razel left him to his own devices, no matter how curious he was to see what a man from a different age could do, a man who had-according to his own words-been involved in what sounded like serious fighting. Eavesdropping was not a polite thing to do, however, and besides, he was certain that he would be able to experience a first-hand demonstration very soon.
----
His expectations were not disappointed.
Before long, he could sense a presence entering the open portal, carrying the unmistakable feel of Verg's crest. Razel had found that he had become able to detect it much more easily, a faint signature that he could attempt to locate if he so desired.
He placed the book he had been reading on the table and folded his arms, waiting.
A moment later, the doors were pushed open with a little more force than necessary, Verg striding in with the gait of someone who owned the place, a type of large axe slung over his shoulder.
Razel nodded in greeting, and was rewarded with the churl swinging the weapon from his shoulder, grinning with sadistic glee.
"I suppose asking if you would like a seat is pointless," Razel observed, making a show of examining the rude entrant.
"Heh, last time I saw this baby, touching this would've zapped my finger clean off." Verg tapped the flat of the blade for emphasis. "I guess photons don't work here?"
"Photons?" Razel remembered reading about that. "Particles of... light?"
Verg shrugged. "Condensed energy."
"Ah. Some things in this world have... a mind of their own, I find."
"Right," Verg said, hefting the axe back on his shoulder. "Whatever. A blade's a blade, I guess. Anyway, how about a little one-on-one? I've been wanting to see you ruffled and sweaty for a while now."
Razel smiled, amused that he had been right, amused that Verg seemed to prefer acting like this was going to be a friendly game, instead of the battle for dominance they both knew it would be. He rose from his seat, tossing his hair back.
"Here?" he asked.
"Not a lot of options. Doing it in that black hole out there is boring, and my place is a fucking closet. You don't have a problem with a little... collateral damage, do you?" The grin, if at all possible, widened even more.
"I can make repairs," Razel assured him, motioning towards the door. "You will forgive me if I declare my bedroom a place for battles of a different kind, though. Personal space, and all that. May I suggest we try the east wing instead?"
----
Verg whistled through his teeth once they reached the east wing gardens. "Now that's what I call an estate. They don't build houses like this anymore. Almost a shame to see it all get trashed."
"What, having second thoughts?" Razel mocked, assuming his stance a few feet away.
"No way," white-haired man grumbled, adjusting his grip on his axe. Then, his gaze fell to the dagger, still resting in its jeweled sheath against Razel's hip. "You gonna fight with that?"
"I have not decided yet," Razel said cryptically, enjoying the puzzled look on his opponent's face.
"Then-"
"Careful, you are starting to sound almost considerate."
"Fuck you," came the vulgar reply. "See if I'll try to be nice again."
Razel smirked. "I think you should worry more about whether you can afford to be nice."
In lieu of a reply, the axe came down, splitting the neatly arranged path and sending out a wave of yellow lightning.
Most interesting.
A simple flame shield deflected the magic, but Verg wasted no time. He charged with a war cry, forcing Razel to duck out of the way of an impressive overhead swing. The blade sliced the air mere inches from his head, and he concluded then and there that Verg definitely had the skill to back up his reckless confidence. It would not do to underestimate his opponent, not at all.
Floating was as easy as breathing, carrying him away from the scattering gravel as the axe impacted, and Razel stretched out a hand, power ripping from his palm in a series of fiery bolts. A string of expletives marked Verg's only comeback as he was reduced to dodging the flaming missiles.
Landing on a bench across the courtyard, Razel sent a fiery homing spirit his way, not bothering to hold back a feral grin as his opponent was zigzagging back and forth, trying in vain to shake off the persistent flame zeroing in on his body heat.
"Fuck you!" Verg yelled in Razel's general direction, eventually throwing up an arm to shield himself from the inevitable blow. The electric field flaring to life around him seemed almost like an afterthought, too weak-too careless?-to withstand the force of the firebolt, prompting another bout of profanity when the flames scorched his clothes and skin.
When he caught sight of Razel smirking at him from a distance, he glared. "Fuck you."
"Hm, so you keep saying," Razel returned, a new flame igniting between his fingers. "I suggest you start getting serious soon. I have a low tolerance for child's play."
"I'll fucking show you serious!" Verg threatened, a single leap covering the distance between them, the axe smashing Razel's perch to pieces.
"Big talk," Razel's voice sounded from above, two fiery whips slicing through the air and barely missing their target as Verg hastily fell back out of range.
He retaliated by sending a series of lightning bolts after Razel, who avoided them easily in mid-air, once again landing a short distance away... only to have an ornamental balustrade come crashing down around him.
Decoys.
Narrowly evading the crumbling marble, Razel decided to take this battle to higher ground. Indeed, it would not do to underestimate this man. Although he seemed to prefer fighting like a brute, he was able to use strategy when forced. He landed on the outer wall, dusting off his clothes and shaking out his hair, feeling the sting of fine cuts on his face.
"Now I see what you meant by 'collateral damage'," he called.
Verg seemed not the slightest bit displeased that his attack had not been too effective. "What, worried now?"
"Not by far. But since you insist on using the scenery, I shall follow your example."
The sweeping gesture was not really necessary, but he found himself enjoying Verg's preemptive jump, which was followed by more cursing as he was forced to shield against a virtual hail of arrows.
"At least try to aim, you're insulting me a bit here!" he shouted, lowering his shield momentarily to survey the gardens, which had become littered with the thin red projectiles.
Razel chuckled, "What makes you think I missed?", as the battlefield erupted in a sea of flames.
"Bastard," came the croak a few seconds later, Verg appearing on the ledge a little worse for wear, face and chest streaked with ash, his pants slightly charred. The flickering shine of the flames lent the last edge of devilishness to his expression.
"I am quite certain of my parentage, thank you."
And they were off again.
Razel allowed himself to be driven back through the corridors, weaving in and out between the long rows of columns and decorative artifacts. He had the advantage of knowing the terrain, knew where the footing was tricky, where the architecture worked in his favor. It felt more than a game to him, dangerous though it was.
For his part, Verg was obviously delighting in his role of pursuer, although he was a lot less happy about having to rely on magic to aim for Razel. Not that he was lacking aptitude by any means, he simply seemed to prefer smashing his way along, though he was becoming more and more frustrated with the lack of likeminded response from his opponent.
"Fucking bastard," Verg finally growled over the sound of toppling columns crashing into each other. "Stop playing defensive and show me what you can do with that toothpick!"
"You were enjoying yourself so much, I thought I would let you exhaust yourself just a little bit further," Razel said, but decided to humor him.
"Alright, that's it, you're going down!"
It was amusing, how a little provocation caused Verg to disregard danger. How he did not even seem to mind that he was rushing head-on into a trap, that Razel was letting him close
-the dagger feather-light in his palm, an extension of himself-
and then the ridiculous expression of surprise on his face when his assault was cut short by a blinding flare.
Verg yowled, too startled to even curse, only saved from skewering himself by his quick reflexes. The flame tongue seared into his flesh, cutting him clean across the chest.
For a split-second, he paused, stunned by the feel of warm blood dribbling down his torso. Razel paused, as well, allowing for the surprise to sink in, waiting for Verg's gaze to move from the damage done to his weapon, solid fire extending the dagger's reach, curving it into a scimitar.
"What the freaking flying-!"
Razel politely blasted open the door leading to the outer wall. "Shall we take this outside?"
Despite his injury, Verg appeared to be pleased by this turn of events. "Sure, less hindrance when I cleave you in two."
Razel did not even bother to dignify this with an answer.
Fighting his opponent head-on gave an entirely new edge to their duel. Verg's speed belied the weight of the axe, which he swung with barely any delay at all. After his initial run-in with the fire-blade, he had become much more wary of any tricks Razel might have up his sleeve, keeping up a near-constant guard.
Razel did not mind. It had been a long time since he had last been forced to work so hard for a victory, and he could not deny that despite the other's barbarous fighting style, he was enjoying himself immensely.
Presently, the heavy blows forced him into a defensive position, with a dead end waiting for him up ahead. He was not certain if he could spare the concentration to blast his way free, now that he had allowed this berserker so close.
He spotted the downward cut a fraction before it started on a trajectory for the vulnerable flesh of his sword arm, and jumped back out of reach. His reaction had been just a moment too slow, though, and while the axe failed to draw blood, its lightning charge connected solidly with the hilt of the dagger, sending it flying out of Razel's grasp.
Verg grinned triumphantly. "How about we call it my win? I'd hate to carve my name into your handsome face."
Razel calmly glanced at the weapon that was pointed at his throat. "As I said earlier, 'big talk'."
Before Verg had a chance to react, the ground beneath their feet exploded with the wrath of the sun. Too dazed by the blinding force of the explosion, the white-haired devil had no chance to shield himself from the fiery sphere that slammed into him, knocking him squarely into the falling debris.
Razel stayed afloat as the remains of the wall crumbled beneath him, fire dancing between his fingertips, waiting to see if Verg managed to recover.
He did not.
As the dust cleared, it revealed the sight of his opponent, his left arm crushed underneath a slab of marble, a sharp piece of stone sticking out from the middle of his stomach.
Apparently, getting beaten into a pulp and pierced by a rock was the funniest thing that had happened to him in a while, though, because he was laughing loudly between fits of coughing.
"Alright, not bad," he wheezed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "You got me there. Now kindly move that fucking boulder, will you. I'd do it myself, but I'm kind of... stationary at the moment."
Razel raised an eyebrow. "You yield?"
"What does it look like to you, huh?"
Razel stayed silent, waiting.
Verg glared a little. "Alright, fine. I fucking yield. There. Happy?"
Razel grinned, revealing sharp teeth. "Very."
----
After the question of hierarchy had been settled, the yellow portal remained open.
Razel supposed that this was as much of an invitation as he was going to get, but he still took his time with actually taking Verg up on it. Personal space had always been a precious commodity in his former life, and he refused to give in to his own curiosity so quickly.
His first assessment, when he finally did step through the yellow flames, was that Verg had not been lying about the size of his living quarters.
The space consisted of a single room so packed with what could only be described as stuff that it was difficult to even see the floor. Not that there was much to see in the room, the dim, cool glow of the overhead lights-not electricity, something else-barely reaching into the corners. In the center rose a vaguely rectangular tower, emitting a soft mechanical hum, multicolored lights sporadically winking in different places. Razel could not even begin to guess at their purpose.
It was, without a doubt, the strangest room he had ever seen-and he had seen a lot of strange rooms over the centuries.
A shape in the far corner suddenly moved, swaying slightly, before two white-clad legs unfurled from within, dangling down on either side. Almost immediately, the overhead lights brightened.
"Fucking hell," came the grumble as Verg struggled to sit up in what turned out to be a hammock. He rubbed a hand across his face, squinted at the light, and took note of his guest. "Oh, you."
Razel nodded in greeting. "I seem to have come at an... inopportune time. My apologies."
With some difficulty, Verg managed to move both legs to one side without tipping the contraption over, and got up. "Nah. Just didn't expect you at this time of night."
"It is day in my space," Razel said, allowing his gaze to stray over the gadgets littering various surfaces.
"Huh, weird."
"I had not thought that our internal clocks might be different. But it only makes sense."
"Internal clock?" Verg blinked at him, blinked at their surroundings, and walked over to a row of cabinets, where a strange pot was sitting. "Whatever. It's too early for this theoretical shit. I need coffee."
"The passage of time is an illusion of the mind here," Razel said, more interested in watching the other man feed black powder into the pot and flipping a switch. It was quite fascinating-personally, he never would have gone through the effort of actually brewing his tea, instead preferring to simply summon it, sweetened and ready to drink.
"Say what," Verg said, absent-mindedly scratching at the black tattoo on his stomach.
Razel nodded to the glowing face of what was, evidently, a clock, its numbers clicking nervously back and forth, back and forth. Verg squinted at it as if seeing it for the first time.
"Well, shit, what do you know."
Behind him, the machine finished whirring, an oily black liquid collecting in the glass pot. Its smell had little to do with Razel's own memory of coffee, but it would have been impolite to refuse the mug, no matter how rudely it was shoved at him.
The taste, however, led him to commit perhaps the first social faux-pas of his entire life. He coughed, barely resisting the urge to grimace. "What did you put in here?"
Verg quirked both eyebrows. "Uh, coffee?"
"What kind of coffee."
"Hell if I know, I never looked at the beans, I just cared about the buzz."
Razel truly hoped that his expression was not as incredulous as he felt. "You use the beans?"
"What else would you use?" Verg shot back, a little irritated.
"The fruit, of course."
"You're kidding."
Razel shook his head.
"Humans have been drinking this stuff for who knows how long and you're telling me they've been doing it wrong?"
Razel shrugged. "Humans also believed for the longest time that the Earth was flat, or so I'm told."
"Heh, flat," Verg snorted. "That thing can't even be called round anymore. More like... what was the word? Oh yeah, concave."
"...Concave," Razel reiterated, not quite certain whether the other man was serious or merely misappropriating the word.
"Yeah, blew a giant hole in the place. Or more like a couple of them. Don't ask me, I wasn't even around when it happened. But we sure got stuck with the nasty cleanup. Who knows, maybe it's not such a bad thing I croaked when I did. Certainly saved me the 'mutating-and-coughing-shit-up' part."
"Pardon?"
"Though there was the part where they said that it makes your jizz glow in the dark. No idea if that's true or not, certainly didn't work on mine. But the idea is hilarious."
"Excuse me?"
Eventually, Verg realized that the hilarity of the concept was completely lost on his guest, and shook his head.
"Allow me to introduce you to the instant solution to all of humanity's problems: the fusion bomb."
----
Razel could not recall ever not seeing the sun.
There had been the rains, a front of inky clouds covering the skies in mere minutes and releasing a torrent, and there had been sandstorms, dirt and sand being whipped through the air until everything, even the people blindly stumbling through it, were covered with a fine yellow layer of dust.
But behind every storm, no matter how heavy, had been the sun, its power piercing the veil of clouds before long, its heat life-giving and deadly alike. Its presence had been so everlasting that the memory had followed Razel beyond death, lighting his space.
Being confronted with the roiling black dome spanning the sky, reaching from east to west, from north to south, as far as the eye could see, flashes of unnatural lightning jumping between the towering clouds while the winds whipped poisonous mist through the air trapped beneath, instilled in him a profound sense of disquiet.
Around him, the world was a wasteland of ruins and dust, flares igniting in the distance reflecting against the impenetrable sky.
Slowly, Razel turned his gaze to his summoner, a young woman dressed in what might have once been a combat uniform. Her skin was a sickly color, unnatural sores marring her face and disappearing into her neckline. A mask was dangling from her collar, presumably to protect herself from the poisonous dust in the air, but she seemed to be beyond caring, cradling a limp, grotesquely discolored body in her arms.
"Please," came her voice, so soft it was barely audible over the howling wind, "Please, bring him back. Bring my Aished back to me!"
"That," Razel said flatly, "is impossible."
"...You lie," the woman accused.
He narrowed his eyes. "What can be brought back will no longer be what it once was."
"I don't care."
There was no hesitation in her voice, not a trace of doubt. Razel tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "You would not care that your beloved's very essence cannot be recalled?"
"I said I don't care!" she snapped, a stark contrast to her earlier pleading tone. "He left me behind! How could he leave me behind?! We promised to always be together! We promised-and he left me. He. left. me."
"And so, you would punish him for his disobedience? ...Very well."
At a wave of Razel's hand, the dead body was enveloped in an unholy glow, spine stiffening and limbs jerking wildly. The woman gasped out something that might have been an oath, might have been her lover's name, as she recoiled from the gruesome spectacle. At last, the glow disappeared into the body, and with a final spasm, it lay still.
Hesitantly, the woman moved closer, reaching out to touch his cheek. "...Ai...shed?"
Disgusted with this display of human folly, Razel turned his gaze back to the pitch-black clouds, bolts of lightning still sizzling between them like living things. He heard the inhuman groan, heard the high-pitched scream of horror which tapered off into choked gurgling to the sounds of ripping flesh, but it did not seem as noteworthy as the sky.
It would be good, he thought as he felt himself begin to fade, to remember that sky.
----
"So here you are! I was wondering where you went."
Razel admitted that making use of the bath might have been an excessive reaction, but he had seen no real reason to deny the urge. There was something profoundly irritating about being confronted with a world of such utter chaos, so cleansing his body, however superficial it was, was in its way a return to a world of order.
He looked up from his contemplation of the steam rising from the water's surface to regard Verg, who was looking around in the manner of someone who had just stepped into a very bizarre and alien scene, the feathers and fur of his clothes beginning to droop with moisture. The intrusion was not entirely unwelcome, as he found himself lacking answers, even though he did not yet know how to phrase the necessary questions.
"I didn't know your place had a pool. You never gave me the grand tour, come to think of it."
"It's a bath," Razel corrected in mild puzzlement.
"Bath? Are you kidding me?"
Razel quirked an eyebrow.
"Could make a guy jealous. I've never had a bath before."
Razel stared, wondering if he had misheard. "I suppose I should not put it past you, but I refuse to believe that you did not wash yourself."
Verg made a face. "Of course I did. What do you take me for? I've just never had water to use."
"Then how did you get clean?"
"Ion showers," Verg shrugged.
Frowning, Razel looked at him. He knew what ions were, tiny charged particles indiscernible to the naked eye. "Humanity has developed invisible showers, of all things."
The other man snorted in amusement. "Heh, if you put it like that... But you'd get creative, too, when things in the water can kill you horribly."
"Most likely," Razel conceded. Rising out of the water, he reached out to grab one of the linen sheets at the edge of the basin and began drying himself off. "Now then, was there something you wanted?"
This was, of course, addressing the proverbial elephant in the room. The other man never came without wanting something, be it a fight, company or entertainment, but the fact that he had entered Razel's space almost immediately upon his return hinted at something else.
Something flashed momentarily in Verg's eyes, before he shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wondering where you disappeared to. Couldn't feel your sign for a while."
"An unfortunate side effect of a devil's duties, I'm afraid."
"What, so you just go 'poof' in the middle of things?" Verg asked, "Like, if you're sitting in your fancy royal tub, or if I'm in the middle of choking the chicken..."
For a moment, Razel almost fell into the trap of asking why anyone would engage in such an inefficient disposal of farm fowl, but then he caught the devious gleam in Verg's eyes and knew better than to ask. "I do not know. It would certainly be... interesting to find out."
If possible, Verg's grin only widened. "I'm in favor of any experiment that involves keeping you wet and naked. I'd contribute my share, but that'd get messy fast."
Razel sighed. "You spend way too much time thinking about such matters."
"I'm the devil of pleasure. That's in my job description."
"I'm the devil of wrath," Razel said mildly, "...and I don't spend all my time thinking about how to fry your imbecilic ass, even though I probably should."
"I love it when you talk all crude like that."
Instead of replying, Razel wrapped the towel around his waist with an imperious flutter, and made his exit.
He did not hear footsteps, but was not surprised to find Verg following closely, his face now pinched into a frown that was half displeased, half contemplative. It was difficult to say what brought on these changes in his demeanor, as seldom as they occurred, but they served as the necessary reminder that Verg was an inherently unpredictable character. In the beginning, he had wondered whether the other man was using brazenness and joviality to conceal his true intentions, but now it seemed more to him that the mood swings were genuine. Verg, more often than not, seemed simply too lazy to bother with masks.
Razel suspected that he would find out the reason for this bout of brooding soon-Verg was also not in the habit of keeping quiet about things that bothered him.
He was in the midst of removing the multitude of pins used to hold up his hair when Verg, leaning against a chest of drawers with his arms crossed, chose to open his mouth.
"So, on a scale from one to ten, how fucked is Earth?"
Razel paused at the blunt question, before slowly pulling the pin he was holding out of his hair. "I am perhaps not the best judge of recent geographical changes, but it did not seem to be the most joyous place to live in. Or the most sane."
Verg merely snorted, his frown deepening.
Extricating the final pin, Razel shook out his hair, knowing full well that he was imbuing the action with a laughable importance. "I could not see the sun. There was nothing but black, poisonous clouds... darkness everlasting."
"…Solar flare."
"Excuse me?"
Verg had tensed, his eyes narrowed as if recalling a memory. "They called it solar flare. They were talking about developing it, is the last I heard. To deprive others of land, you take away their light. Or at least, that was the grand poetry the idea came wrapped in. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that such a thing could never... affect only a single area. I guess it's too much to hope they found ways to contain it."
Razel stayed silent. There was much here that Verg was not telling him, of that he was certain, but there had never been a mutual agreement to share life secrets, so he did not inquire any further.
"I suppose we shall find some more informative material on the subject in the library, courtesy of my summoner, mad though she was."
"Heh, I'd be surprised if you found anyone on the entire fucking planet still sane. They haven't been for a while. Hell, I'm not sure I ever was."
Razel's lips twitched, somewhat amused at Verg's return to frequent cursing and poor grammar, which, paradoxically, also signaled the return of his good humor. "Consider me thoroughly in agreement."
"Bastard," Verg shot back, without any real rancor. "When you've got to be glad you weren't born with your organs on the outside or a few extra appendages, your expectations of health are kinda different."
"Indeed," Razel said.
"Most fucked-up thing? In some cases, they live. And of course, if you go out without a suit, you'll find your worst problem aren't the crazies with the guns or getting a bomb lobbed at your head, it's the air, because it will fucking eat you from the inside out. Throw in a couple of fucking giant mutant rats, and you've got yourself the average suburban lifestyle in 3000 AC."
As thinly veiled a detraction as it was, Razel allowed himself to be pulled along in conversation. Verg seemed to enjoy telling those gruesome tales immensely, only deflating a little when Razel proved to be a bad audience by not responding with horrified disbelief.
Perhaps, Razel thought, when one grew up surrounded by insanity, one found it easier to derive amusement from a broken world. In that respect, they were not so different-he himself found it so much easier to make sense of the world by labeling everything "human folly" and being done with it.
- TBC -
----
A/N:This was originally meant to be one part, but LJ has a word limit and wouldn't let me post the rest. So the final part will be up soon. C&C is welcome.
Now, for the author babble:
- Lots of backstory speculation. It's why it's fanfic.
- Yes, Verg hails from the future. Only in the future would they wear goats and consider them pants.
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