His laughter grates upon her, slices her with its innocuous charm, its gleeful indifference, for he knows he is wicked, irredeemable, the darkness which lurks at the edge of the light- yet it draws her, entices, invites out a fascinated cruelty, prods at her anger and tempts her to strike, to lower herself, to be rage. Muscles tense, shoulders set; she dares not look upon him, for to look would be to give in, surrender herself to baser instinct. Ignore him and he shall vanish, dissipate into a cloud of smoke; she stares ahead but her turn back, waiting for his ridiculous laughter to fade.

His voice is worse, the empty fury replaced with buoyant wonder, false innocence mocking with its innocence and lies. She hears his voice and it sounds like Ampere's, it sounds like Dalibor's, it sounds like everyone who has laughed at her, has stood up for what was wrong and thrown her morals in her face, sounds like the evil which taints the world. Reason cautions that she waxes hyperbolic; anger eclipses it, righteousness prevails; the girl snorts, unimpressed, disgusted by his teasing and unwilling to deign his self importance with response, unable to halt her thoughts, only her tongue.

The world is not yours, demon. It does not belong to the dark, not anymore.

A moment hangs between them, and she thinks it might have worked, that she has won through silence and strength- and then there is an echo, a thunder in the rain, and a voice screams as a shadow darts out of the rain. LOOK OUT! cries her brother, an instant too late.

She is willow to his oak, whisper to his shout; she leaps away on too-long legs, a flurry of fire giving way to stone, and the blade which angled toward her throat grazes across the crimson shoulder, bounces off her bone. Black voice cries out in fear and alarm, incoherent bellow tainted by rage as she scrambles away, backing against an ancient pillar, breath falling fast, ears pressed against skull. A cloud of hot sparks steams from the bronze coat. He need not be told that they heal, not hurt.

She remembers hard words spoken hours before, remembers the hatred which filled up her heart. I'll kill you!

She'd kill him.

Before she can lunge a shadow arrives between her feet, tails lashing fire in a comforting threat. Natraj is her calm, though his anger is pure; she inhales, exhales, and quietly speaks. "Leave," she repeats, a deadly glint in her alto voice. "Take your evil somewhere else." Around her debris begins to sparkle and pop, red electricity gleaming, slowly taking form. Part of her is amused at the irony here, that she would take Ampere's magic and turn it against this beast... and the other part angry, inflamed, content to use whatever weapons she might have on hand to vanquish her foe.


@[Reginald]