la danse bizarre ۞

Feel free to add @blackmagi

What… legend…?  This guy was weird and they were finding themselves more and more unnerved by the fact he was still here.  Watching.  The heat from the fire seemed less helpful now.  Warmth following the rooftop and growing, encompassing their small form in the corner.  Hidden.  Ever watchful.

Did he intend to –

A flash forced the figure to act, throwing the dragon origami ahead of them to create a violent wall of fire.  Its hunger licking through the air, redirecting the blast upward to work as a shield to protect them.  With their position revealed, and the fire dying down to reveal the destruction of – everything else around them, the figure swept a hand across the diminishing flames from their origami allowing it to shatter like tiny light shards, vanishing into the wind.

They stood silent now with a blank mask to confront the man.  Form concealed under layers of cloth hindering determination of gender.  There was no voice from the figure.  No movement save to cast away their own spell.

“Oh?” His eyebrows arch as he stares ahead. The ruby wand still between his fingers as the gust of hot hair whips the long braid against his back. 

Part of the explosion is redirected into the heavens, obliterating the roof and everything around. Everything, but them.

A few of the beggars had perished before even realizing, others had fled before it even started. Perhaps still hidden under the debris, no one would come to save them.

It was always like that, the necessary collateral damage.

“There you are! Why hide from me?” A hand rose to his side, greeting the figure in a rather deceitfully friendly manner. 

“I followed your trail here. The black rukh led me.” His head tilted to the side, eyes falling to a heavy-lidded stare as that smile persisted.

his vision doubles before spiraling into a kaleidoscope of sweet reeling red. the world in which judar is suddenly thrust so intimate when all he becomes wrapped in is the same semblance of pain he oh so adores inflicting upon others. strange, that numbness he feels slowing to an endearingly hot halt. his chest heaves with the strain of dangerous realization, how he can only feel himself breathe. damn brat! he could have been perfect! he could have been perfect but he fucked up whatever spell he was casting and blew them both to hell! well… shit. almost. if this contemptible body of his hadn’t already been torn apart for however many years he spent fucked in the flow it might have worked.

eh! too bad fate always has other plans huh? the blackness the two magis created continues to roll high overhead like drowned out thunderous applause. right. that’s what the old hag was up to. same shit different timeline. amazing what his mind manages to actually dredge up when it’s not completely awash in chaos and the countless lies perfectly encompassing them like the arms of a false matriarch. this world is shit and they’re just the lowly lifeforms that come along with it. judar groans, hand fisting against dust and rubble as he pushes himself up with a slow sway. weight shifts and his good side sinks against that staff for support. he squints through the still settling aftermath just before catching those shadowed figures, their outlines barely visible against steadily whipping winds. 

there’s life, the only semblance of it left flickering just behind them. thought so. the brat — the brat is still alive! .. and they’re trying to take him away! his new toy! he’s not ready to let go yet but he doesn’t have enough latent energy left to transfer into a spell! .. unless. judar doesn’t think when he plucks that staff from ruined earth and jams it through his already lacerated side, a strangled laugh bubbling just behind his lips eyes wide with delirium. pain is the gateway. if it means dragging every last one of these bastards to hell with him so be it! they’re screwed, so screwed! in a blink of fluttering black rukh he offers his blood and sweeping darkness pours from his wound, clinging to the priests, devouring them in abyssal haze. he’s pushed his limit. it sucks they couldn’t play more but then again maybe that’s why he’s sauntering over towards the fallen magi and gathering him up onto his staff. with the last of all effort he’s enclosing the barely flickering spherical structure of a barrier around them before flipping the finger and taking off. 

yeah, that’s right. eat shit old hag! little judar is his now!

The white priests are swallowed by the destructive tide washing over them. Whatever borg they attempted to conjure, wasn’t enough to stop it. The power a magi could channel was naturally superior to their limitations. Even as beings of pure thought with a false body, their amount of magoi was hopelessly limited. 

A number of hollow dolls are scattered around the sand as the dark one of the magi approached and claimed the lifeless body of his other self.

Silence filled the ruins as the tear in reality opened a new path, both were gone. And wherever he left, she couldn’t sense it. What had been a theory of the most forbidden arts was now clear before her eyes. 

But an ancient soul like hers knew more than patience. Her plans and schemes lasted many lifetimes. The black rukh dispersed, a stream flowing into the sky as she stood alone in the middle of the palace gardens. And picked up a single flower, it belonged to the same bush which had attracted the child magi years ago with its colors and fragrance. Fingers caressed the vibrant petals. The field test had been most impressive. 

They would return to her. Just like everyone else. 

Behind the shadowed mask the assassin narrowed their eyes.  Cursed…?  Yes…  They were cursed, weren’t they.  But what did this stranger hope to accomplish?  Whatever effort they gave in looking at him was lost in favor of staring at the fire.  Flames tearing through chunks of old furniture piled into an old hearth.

Whether they recognized him – or even cared was difficult to discern.  They seem less interested in him than staying warm at this point.  Beyond the shadow hidden away, the silent whispers tickle their ear with warnings as to the risks of entering the palace.  Not just him but the cage which they could erect around them.  That binding shackle choking about their neck, weighting them down into submission.

He’s kept his distance so far,  Tried to be the center of their focus, but they dismissed him with relative ease outwardly.  Inwardly, they were cautious.  Distrusting.  He would have quite the predicament on his hands if he insists that they come with him.

But. There was. No answer? 

Silence fell as heavy and unpleasant as a wet blanket. Lips press together and twist into an irritated scowl.

“You see,” he spoke again, to anyone, to no one, but he sensed the one he sought would be listening.

“I like playin’ hide and seek. But you aren’t running from me, so it’s kinda boring.” A hand reached for the white folds of the dupatta wrapped his shoulders and pulled his beloved ruby wand. 

“Weird,” he spoke again, seemingly to himself. “Just remembered that old Kou legend about this garden where a single diamond flower hid. The sage was looking for it and all that shit, and went through lots of trouble to find it! I hated that tale, I knew my solution was better” 

The wand was twistled in his hand playfully as the red eyes lowered to his fist. “Yeah, destroy the fuckin’ garden until all that remains is the stupid diamond flower which survived the mess!” A single movement and the flow of mana changed, pulsing once and concentrating in the catalyst which was the wand.

Shadows shrink back when warmth is investigated by the chill of other less fortunate scavenging for some semblance of comfort in the cold.  Barely a glare manages to find them, forcing bodies back to leave the stranger to their own.  They hardly move when from their corner, nor the basking firelight radiating against their dark image when the one dressed in fine silks and jewelry decides to invade upon their space.

Not a single word uttered.  Nor a bothered glance.  Perhaps viewing this invader as nothing more than that - an obnoxious invader perhaps come to stamp their fire out.  Take away their warmth and brief comfort.  With so many layers it likely looked like the individual were only shifting to better prepare against the cold.  Settle in and warm for the potential of sleep they might manage.

But beneath those layers the figure had prepared.  An origami dagger, and twisted pieces of paper collecting in grip with a hand absently lifted to wipe at lips beneath the mask.  In reality, they had placed some paper within their cheek, priming it subtly for the potential fight to come.

Eyes were not visible to him, but they could certainly see everything they needed to about him.  And they were scanning him.  Watching him.  Waiting for either danger to present itself, or pass should he not be inclined to start something.

At first, Judar had glanced around seemingly disoriented. But then, with a precision greater than a bloodhound

That one didn’t even have a face. But he was used to them. The veiled priests, the featureless beings who have shaped his life. And the trail of rukh led him to that lowly place.

“C’mmon.” Arms stretch sideward as he stands in the middle, inviting. 

“You’re already cursed, aren’t you?” He spoke vaguely, but he knew the silent figure knew who was being addressed exactly.

“I just followed your misery back here.” Dark eyelids lower in an almost playful taunt. 

“I wanna see what sort of monster you’ll become.” A hand is then reached out, inviting again. 

❝ and to think all of this simply because i continue to turn all of your… overbearing advances down, not because you keep threatening my kingdom. oh no. the very pinnacle of reason, aren’t you judar? try again. ❞

“Ey! That’s not why! Your Kingdom’s gonna get ravaged because!"

❝as many as it takes to get rid of you.❞

“This is war, Sinbad.”

it’s laughable huh?

how he gets to watch himself react, every perfect turn in that mirrored expression gazing back at him like a desolate hollow star slowly burning out, defying fate. if their universe crumbles so be it. he’s never once lived for anything but ‘himself’ after all so why deny it? the pulse of pain a dull yet strangely soothing throb as judar is reminded of the stalactite still standing strong lodged immovably into his side.

the pain, the pain, the-

.. what was he supposed to be feeling again? ahah! right, right! dark lids become fully visible as he lurches forward from his supposed resting place, watching with eerie interest as blood blooms against that identical form and he watches a lifetime of hatred pulled by shadowed strings twist onto the younger’s face something absolutely glorious. the rukh sear the corners of his vision then as they gather at the younger’s behest and those fluttering shapes that remained tied to his twisted tale of bloodied requiem begin a slow descent along the length of that staff as magoi shots go off like frantic fireworks at a kou festival. 

most of what hits him is mitigated and transferred into pure abyssal essence. some forbidden form of new magic slowly converts the pain to an all numbing high, blood coalescing in a form of healing as it siphons whatever it can from the younger’s wound and judar laughs his maddening amusement to the heavens that had forsaken them both so long ago. is the old hag still watching? fuck, he can only hope. he can only hope as his grip seemingly faltered upon that beautiful blackened staff that shimmered like a thousand stars painted perfect in his pure depravity before tightening and ramming what possibly remained of that jagged javelin head mercilessly through. flesh into blood, blood into bone. he doesn’t know what he tears through and he doesn’t care. the third eye bleeds with power beyond this realm as that forbidden wisdom pours from his form like terror redefined. this judar is everything the younger’s al thamen in countless other timelines learned to truly fear. he would make their precious little puppet stop dancing.

❝ h-hahah! you can’t kill me brat.. i’ll just use your lifeforce to keep replenishing mine! what was that earlier? oh yeah, i think now i want you on your knees. be good! ❞

Each attack didn’t hurt the other. Well, it did, but his body was easily regenerated with...his own life force? The more he attacked, the weaker he felt. That mirror was absorbing his strength through a form of magic he couldn’t grasp. 

But thinking was nearly impossible when chaos possessed his mind. Sheer violence, unbridled fun. And this? This wasn’t. 

He takes a step back, pale knuckles as he clutched the wand. Judar felt as if he was bleeding raw power. But then, an idea lit up in his maddened eyes. 

“Oi, Bastard old me!” Both hands stretched sideward, still holding the glowing red crystal of the wand, his magical focus.  

“It’s my turn now!” The black rukh fluttered around them, clearly agitated by the nefarious exchange of magic. Whatever the other was doing defied the laws of the world, of Solomon’s sacred cycle. Both of them hopelessly fed the reverse flow of fate, pouring into existence an even greater amount of tainted rukh. 

She was pleased. All were pleased. If the two magi continued that fight without dying, they could create a dark spot, a perfect summoning circle for Ill-Ilah. Could it be so easy? The first Sindria and Parthevia had been the original attempt. And this? This was the result of a deranged fate. 

Yet, unaware of what every observer desired, the younger magi called forth the rukh into his hand, feeding the torrent of magoi into an impossibly small concentration, seconds before it detonated into a blast.

Rage and pain always did wonderful things.

The explosion flickered blindingly, Judar was hurled like a broken ragdoll against the ruins, the borg he had summoned shattering as his lifeless body rolled on the dust.

❝ charming, judar. i’m absolutely smitten, how could i have denied you for so long? ❞

brats never learn do they?

“You dare mock me? Fine! Once Kou’s done with Sindria, you’ll need a new one. Ey! How many Sindrias can you build in a lifetime? Hahaha!”

Al Thamen’s not the only one who bestowed that on him, but their training was certainly effective. But as far as living and dying for them; well, he’s not really interested in that. 

Ja’far watches the movement of his wand with pointed interest. He arches a brow once more. So they’re back on the ‘playmate’ train of thought. He takes a breath and redirects his attention back to Judar now that it seems less likely that his head will be separated from the rest of his body. 

“I’m not sure why you’re so intent on playing with me. However, if you go meet with the priests as they have requested, I won’t have to tell them where I found you. Anything else will only be considered after you do so. I don’t trust you to fulfill your end of any bargain after I fulfill mine.”

Something stirred the breeze, his long braid swayed by the chilly wind. Judar instantly looked up, eyes sharp and narrowed as if he had heard a word, perhaps nodding to an unseen other. The smile was gone.  

damn.

the rukh circle around his form erratically, mismatched shapes of black and white attempting to rouse the black magi who had fallen from his place within the heavens on high. forced to shift himself upright and finally, finally get a good look at the familiar figures hovering haphazardly up above. he snorts indignantly and spits blood like some sacrifice upon their little unseen sacrificial altar.

it’s a joke to them eh? just some shitty show they get to sit in on and watch. send the little judar out there to get killed she probably said, the perfect little puppet all strung up and always so ready to do her bidding losing himself to whatever ‘promise’ she’d surely made. in a single moment through the eye of the beholder he watches himself come apart, childish whims fostered in perfectly polished rage and maddening black swirling almost decadently. as if the other judar had become the center of his own decaying universe crowned in the rot of shattered dreams.

can he even see it? their illusions? how gyokuen sits up there on her throne from afar, the priests and their robes fluttering like scapegoats against the chill wind. lies shattered like glass. heh, they really are waiting for him to die as if it weren’t fucking obvious. y’know if one of ‘em is gonna go out he may as well put on a good show. no performance beats death after all. there’s no escaping the end. it comes for everyone. the worthless peons, the ones the peons serve. someday they’ll all be just another memory cast away to the same flow they were made from. blessed by the rukh his ass.

as the younger magi heeds his call a single hand outstretched, fist forming tightly before those fingers spread and his palm is presented downward. some sort of circled etched in blood  takes shape in the center and yeah, maybe it’s a little sudden when something begins to form amidst the fluttering shapes that come together. well you know what they say right? never trust yourself! it’s almost grotesque, eons of his hatred coalesced and perfectly refined. some ancient relic or another, a piece of whatever monstrosity once tore their old world apart but who cares! that staff almost winds around his beckoning fingers as if it were sentient, the source of all forbidden magic that flows from his body. judar pauses, gaze heavy as he looks to his younger self and into those same eerily opaque ringed eyes. yeah, he wants to see. to watch himself suffer just like that.

❝ surprise, surprise! hey, take a damn good look.  ❞

‘cause he’s only letting little judar marvel at his new toy for barely a moment before rearing that staff back and plunging the javelin head forward. ah, with every intention of carving out his little blackened heart of course!

The younger one senses it, disturbance brought by something that simply should not be. The threshold of reality torn away right before his eyes. Whatever the other was doing, it was a form of magic that agitated the rukh in ways he’d never seen before. Not even in the downfall of Parthevia he’d sensed this anguish bleeding from it. 

It was like watching the result of a fate cursed so many times until it had become existence. Hatred coalescing into a solid weapon, depravity given form. And he was fascinated by it.

Until it all happened too quickly for Judar to react. 

The sharp end of the staff lacerating his side, he had barely attempted to dodge, the borg had shaped too late, now flickering as his mind was too confused by the sudden pain. 

His eyes had widened, staring blankly at the other magi. The image blurred and doubled with each heartbeat as his fingers rose to the injury, blood feeling cool against fevered flesh. Fingerips smeared in red quivered as he hopelessly tried to mitigate the pain. 

The red irises seemed to shrink as his eyes widened even further, lit with a mixture of hate and pain. Lips twisted into a horrible smile. 

“Is this your best? Let me show you!” Blood stained fingers clutched the wand drawing the rukh against the elder Judar, point blank shots of magoi, he wasn’t even sure where or what he was attacking. He just did. 

“True”

“Though, the magi often receive gifts from their vessels but not the other way round. But, I’ll gift you; Wisdom!

moments cascade in a sheen of frosty chaos and turbulent whipping winds. in half a blink together they become the blackened centerpiece set against the heart of winter, a deceptively sweet kiss that brushes in frost bitten touch against his cheeks and it’s all too fucking fitting. a tomb worthy of none other than himself, that useless body, weaker and so easily bent to her shitty whims. loose raven strands a sharp contrast to the braided tail of his mirror whip cruelly around him with arms only spread wide enough to rival the maniacal grin set against the pale of his face something crooked. 

wiped out of existence in an instant! those priests really were useless. why take orders from them anyway?! empty and expendable as their false games, their words whispered in glazed truths that only turned to the most wicked little lies. the younger magi poised before him like a perfect puppet all strung up for the hag’s entertainment proof enough of that. shit, he’s laughing again! even as the remainder of his frigid assault is assimilated into the younger judar’s own and returned to him in cruel kind. amusement flickers in his maddened gaze when he remembers every sense of his defensive capabilities had been swallowed by he flow, the penance for being trapped for some however many long years as spears hurl towards him wildly.

oops. no borg! he doesn’t need it. form bends forward as the younger breaches all sense of personal space and he closes any last of what may have been left, crimson gaze narrowing down across the younger’s jawline, words a lowly and taunting whisper just before he flits teasingly out of reach. as if he’s pushed and pulled to the symphony of some obscene dance their very own his gaze never leaves that mirror image even as frigid spears rise and he welcomes the assault that sends him plummeting into whatever remains were left of that village he put under just before that stupid priest and the other judar arrived. power yet flows from his form like the juice of a forbidden fruit, rukh flocking to him despite being pinned against rock, the fluttering shapes scattering like ashes.

breath stills, draws cold and blood spells in full bloom at the corners of his lips. it’s been a hell of a long time since he’s felt this kind of pain! so exhilarating! all but one of those shards missed their claim, protruding from his hip like a crooked javelin as the magi pants heatedly through that sudden strain. exquisite! it’s almost all numbing like throwing some unwitting fool into the sheer depths of pure depravity, this feeling that begins as only a faint quiver of tightness in his chest that blazes its trail into a maddening inferno in the pit of his stomach.

ah, laughter is hissed as his world begins to tilt dangerously and his head falls back. shit.. yeah, maybe it’s about time he got serious after all. cant let his lesser self think he’s won just yet eh? shoulders twitch in the makings of a shrug and damn if he isn’t somewhat satisfied. fun! this is fun!

❝ yeah, yeah! that’s good! you’re really not too bad y’know? i guess i can acknowledge you~. so hey, c’mere and let me show you a cool trick! ❞

Judar’s smile slowly disappeared, the laughter turned to silence as he was left alone in the heavens like a single black star. The excitement had suddenly vanished. The fervor of the channelened magoi, the insatiable lust for more and more, all was frustrated, leaving a painful void in his stomach instead. 

He stared at the mess of ice and debris, the cold fog rolling around the other magi in the ground below. 

“Why.”, Why hadn’t he used the borg to deflect his attack? Why had his playmate succumbed so easily? Why was his fun over? 

A glossy form of anger covered his eyes, both hands clenched into fists, knuckles pale before the helplessness brought by his illusion shattered. 

“You promised!” He barked, furiously glaring at the empty sky above him. There, more of the black and white robes billowed in the wind, translucent like ghosts. Only the trail of rukh surrounded them was real proof of their existence. They were watching, all of them were, even far in the imperial chambers of Kou, the scene was directly transmitted. Nothing more than long-range clairvoyance. 

The only answer he got was the shadow of a priest silently pointing downwards, followed by the invitation of the other Judar. 

“Oh, he’s still alive.” lips pressed into a quiet line, strangely relieved. Perhaps the game wasn’t over yet. She had promised the surprise, and surely it was. She had promised he’d adore it, and surely, he kinda did. She had promised it’d entertain him forever, and maybe...that was true?

“A cool trick, huh?” The black magi naively allowed himself to descend, bare feet inches above the crystallized ground.