11. Malice

(( The name in italics at the start of each post represents the author of each section. ))

Fenuviel

"Now, tell me, Lota. Why did Neferi feel she had to have a talk with you?" Fenuviel questioned without looking back at her, glaring out across the forest of Elwynn.
"I'm sure you know that already or you wouldn't have taken me out here," she replied. The Elf turned to look back at her, and he could see in her eyes that she knew why he had. So that no one would see him hurt her. None of the guards would stop him.
"You attacked him," Fenuviel said simply. "There are some things you must come to learn, Awakened. One is that you never harm any of our ranks unless their life has been declared forfeit. And you do not disobey the will of your master," he ended this with a slightly harsh tone, restraining his rage with difficulty.
"How was I supposed to know your will? I can't read minds,"
Fenuviel resisted the urge to strike her just yet.
"You knew that I cared for him. That should have been enough, or are you a complete idiot?" he snapped.
"It was necessary,"
"Why do you think that?"
"He was distracting you," Lota replied confidently, not afraid of what her punishment might be, though she could see well in Fenuviel's eyes that he was angry, and not about to let her off for any excuse. He let out a wry laugh at this and shook his head.
"He has given me a clarity I have not had before. Do not presume to understand how I think or work," he snapped. She began to speak. Fenuviel didn't wait for her to finish. He lashed out, his left fist striking her across the jaw. He could see by the quickness of her eyes that she could see the blow coming, could have jumped out of the way, but she took the blow, stumbled back. Fenuviel couldn't help but smirk.
"Good girl," he muttered dryly, though stalked forward once again, grabbing her roughly by the hair and forcing her to her knees as he drew a dagger from his boot. Before he took it to her, he showed her the scar on his cheek. "This is a mark of revenge. A copy of one I gave to someone. She returned the favour. And I will return the favour to you for what you did to him. You will bear this mark, and never again challenge me or those I wish to protect," he glowered. He held the tip of the blade at her throat, as she had done to her victim. Left a mark, not enough to kill, but to draw blood. A mark was all he wanted.
"You won't mark me..." she hissed. Fenuviel's eyes narrowed, but the Elf began to shake in his grip, her eyes closing tightly for a moment before opening again, dancing about wildly in fear as she felt the tip of the blade at her neck. "F-Fenuviel..? What's happening?"
Citrana.
Fenuviel sighed.
"I am repaying you for your crimes," he answered.
"B-But.. it wasn't me!"
"It was your body, your hands. Lota's consciousness. She shall bear this mark too. You will not challenge anyone of the Sphere again, for you are one of ours now,"
Citrana began to weep in fear and anguish. It wasn't her, she told him. It had been Lota. Lota had come to the meeting, Citrana hadn't known about the Sphere, the Darkmaster, the shadows... But it was too late.
"She has pledged your body to the Sphere. You must serve us too. Lota was too much a coward to accept her punishment, and so you must do so for her," Fenuviel answered. But his voice had by now grown darker, his smile almost charming, but deadly with malice. He leaned forward to place a kiss on the side of her neck. She gasped and closed her eyes tightly, trying to fight back more tears to no avail. Placing the tip of the dagger to the spot he had just kissed, Darksworn drew the blade across her throat. Just to break the skin, let her bleed... She trembled still, weeping inconsolably. But he wasn't done yet.
From his pocket he drew a small vial of greenish liquid.
"I will not poison you like Lota tried to poison him, for I need my apprentices healthy. But pain... is something natural. You rogues know about these things, don't you?" He asked, gesturing towards the vial. "Essence of Agony, was it?"
Citrana couldn't manage an answer, didn't try to, or even try to fight and break away. So he removed the stopper, letting the drops pour onto the fresh wound on her neck. Her mouth opened to scream, but it hurt too much to do so. Fenuviel let go of her hair and she fell to the ground, writhing in pain, curling up into a miserable ball, weeping. He gave her a sharp kick to the ribs to bruise her; mirror the bruise she had given... her victim. Spitting on the ground, Darksworn looked down the hill, catching sight of a familiar man on horseback. He sneered in contempt and malevolent amusement, throwing the empty vial at Nathën in annoyance.

Nathen

"Fenuviel?!"
Nathën Soulblaze reined his horse to a halt. He'd been on his way to Stormwind when he'd sensed his friend's presence. Perhaps he would've continued, if it had not been for the feeling that something was horribly wrong... He sensed strong malice. Fenuviel was not malicious. His thoughts were interrupted by a glass vial suddenly shattering against his leather shoulder pad.

Nathën slowly turned his head to look up at Darksworn, who looked down the slope at him with a mocking grin. He quickly dismounted and ran up the slope to Darksworn, but stopped dead when he saw Citrana lying, battered and bruised, in a pool of her own blood. Her throat had almost been slit, and Soulblaze knew he had to do something to help her, and fast.

"So the weakling's back, eh?" Nathën glared at Darksworn.
"Yes... Lota was too much of a coward to take the punishment herself." sneered Darksworn, and spat down at Citrana, but Nathën could see by the anger flashing in his eyes that he knew Nathën had talked about him. "Still, it's the same body. The wounds and burns will still be there when Lota returns."
Nathën felt the anger and hatred for Darksworn surge through him. He wanted to kill him, but he knew he could not... Not in the normal sense of killing, at least. He focused, and released some of the anger and hatred in a powerful blast of Light, knocking Darksworn silly. Knowing that it would not last for long, he knelt down and laid a hand on Citrana's chest, channeling all the healing Light he could muster into her. She would survive now, though Nath felt sorry for her; he knew that his healing would leave scars. It always did.

Fenuviel

Darksworn swayed for a moment, falling back against the hill from the magical blow. When he recovered his senses, a deathly glare was sent in Nathën's direction. But also, a slow, almost charming smile, if it were not for the malice that also tainted it. He laughed, circling around to come closer to the paladin as he cast a glance towards Citrana, who still lay trembling on the ground in fear, though her muscles relaxed slightly as the pain faded due to Nathën's healing. But a scar would be left. That was good. A mark. So she'd know never to disobey him again.

"You silly fool, Nathën," Darksworn drawled slightly, letting out a sigh of mock-boredom. "This was Fenuviel's wish too. He wanted to hurt her. To punish her. I was only doing his will," Darksworn taunted with a grin. He knew Nathën would never hurt Fenuviel, though wondered if he would question his actions. After all, when had he become fully Darksworn? So smooth the change had been, both Fenuviel and Darksworn at once. He wanted Nathën to know this, know that his dear friend wasn't as 'flawless' as he thought he was, but had as much capacity for darkness as Darksworn did. One in the same.

"Do we have to do this again, Darksworn?" Nathën glared. The Elf merely gave him a smile, and though it feigned warmth, it was full of contempt. Before he could respond though, another ripple of light burst force, pushing him back. Darksworn growled, standing straight once more with a shudder of anger. He knew the paladin had defeated him last time, that Shagrath had taught him to run rather than die honourably. But he knew he wouldn't die. Nathën couldn't kill Fenuviel, so he'd leave the body alive. As long as he did, Darksworn would never be fully gone. He was too much a part of Fenuviel. The man threw aside his sword again, and Darksworn glared. Mock me if you will. He threw aside his own rapier, reaching for the cruel claws he often carried. The blades he had used to kill his brother with. Time for you to taste pain, Soulblaze...

The elf gave no verbal response, but leapt into the air suddenly, landing behind Nathën. He lashed at him, the blades slicing across his back, though the leather of Nathën's armor managed to prevent any fatal injuries. Still, as the man wheeled about, the Elf was already gone again, dashing about to keep away from his fists as much as possible, trying not to give him a chance to unleash the Light again. Stay out of his view, out of his reach. But the claws kept flying, lashing at the man in anger. No hard blows, just the slow process... cutting away... shreds. Like how Fenuviel had disappeared. Shredded down to nothing.

But Nathën caught him. Blow after blow, pounding. Darksworn came to his senses, rolling down the hill and landing hard on the path below. With a grunt he scrambled to his feet, watching the man charge down the hill after him. He waited, half crouching, and when Nathën had reached him, he swung again, catching the back of his leg with the blades, letting himself be caught by another blow to do so. Crawling across the ground, Darksworn rose to his feet again and dashed up the hill. Nathën stumbled for a moment from the sting of the blades, but he was strong. He came again. Darksworn had just reached Citrana. It was uncertain what he might have done, if there had not come the final blow…

Nathen

"You silly fool, Nathën" Darksworn sighed, he tried to look bored, but Nathën saw the gleeful malice blazing in the elf's eyes. "This was Fenuviels wish too. He wanted to hurt her. To punish her. I was only doing his will."
A small chill ran down Nathën's spine. He knew that Fenuviel was capable of such thing, but he also knew that his friend wouldn't hurt Citrana. Heartsong had probably been shocked when Citrana return, and in this moment of weakness Darksworn had taken control. Nathën looked into Darksworn's eyes. It was incredible that he could feel such strong hate for Darksworn, when his feelings for Heartsong was so much the exact opposite of hate. He had to get rid of this flaw.

"Do we have to do this again, Darksworn?" Nathën tried to remain calm, but the rage was already building up in him. The elf must've noticed, for he flashed him a smile full of contempt. A dark desire of just chopping Darksworn's head head of rose in Nathën's mind. He knew he could not though, or he would lose Fenuviel, a loss he certainly could not bear.

Nathën saw Darksworn open his mouth to respond, but he had no intention of talking all night. The Light filled him with its sweet warmth, and Nathën relished in it for a moment, before aiming a mental blow at Darksworn. Before the elf had time to come to his senses, Nathën released another flash of Light, this time to harm him. He prepared to lunge for Darksworn.
<Lunge?> Nathën thought, suddenly realizing he'd drawn his sword. Soulblaze quickly flung it away into the grass in fear of losing control and hurting Fenuviel. Darksworn seemed to take that as a taunt, for he threw his rapier away, instead drawing some wicked claws.

He gritted his teeth as Darksworn's claws slashed across his back, slicing through the poor leather armor with ease. He was fast, but he already knew that. Nathën shut off the pain. "Pain of the body is irrelevant, my son, it is the strength of the soul that matters. Let your soul be ablaze with strength, and you shall defeat those who may oppose you." He remembered his father's words as if it had been yesterday, and not almost 60 years. He turned around and aimed blow after blow of Light and fist at the elf, pounding him, trying not to do too much damage. It was, after all, the same body as Heartsong, as much as he wished it was not.

Nathën focused as much power of the Light he could muster, and unleashed it on Darksworn, sending him rolling down the steep hill, and down to the road below. Half-running, half-jumping Nathën charged down at him, but Darsworn was prepared. Pain seared through Nathën as Darksworn's claws slashed through the flesh of his right leg. He stumbled, barely preventing himself from falling, and channeled a small stream of Light down to the wound, dulling the pain. He looked around for Darksworn, and saw him almost at the top of the Hill.
<Citrana!>

Nathën instinctively released all the Light that filled him, fueled by his rage and desperation. A searing flash of Light ripped through the dark night.
Silence.

He ran up the hill, finding Fenuviel lying, face down, on the ground, weeping. Nathën knelt down beside him, letting a hand stroke through the silver-white hair of the elf.
"He came back, Nathën... I didn't even recognize... didn't even fight it... He shouldn't have been able to, not now... I was so happy. I'm frightened, Nathën."