Theme 13: Zool - Week 2

The end of year is in sight. With every passing day, I feel more stressed - not so much because of the family reunions and whatnot (and gods the food and I'm trying to lose weight noooooooo), but because of that ever-growing feeling that I'm making a mistake going for that course. I remain adamant to be a helpful little pinion in this grand machine that is the world; however, I can't deny that all I want to do is sit at this very computer, and write. It's gone beyond hobby and passion: it's basically a career choice. And the only career I will ever be able to fully embrace is this.

But hrghn, financial stability... e.e

Anyway. My own dilemmas aside, I've been thinking about what I'll be doing with this blog come 2017, and the answer is I don't know (surprise surprise << XD). It's been a blast doing this weekly character blogging, and though I still have characters I could write about, I don't want to repeat it. I did enjoy the monthly themes, so I'd like to do something similar... just with unrelated subjects (although, knowing me, characters will pop up anyway << XD). I dunno. Ideas are slowly forming. Guess we'll see where this'll be going :)

And we've come to week 2 of Zool. As per usual, here comes some writing :)

This story needs a crapload of editing, but I share it for two reasons: one, I adore Haneyra's bravado and how she dares talk to him, and two, herein is shown something quite peculiar about Zool, but that makes sense in the much grander scheme of things. Also, bit of a show of power ;) because that is FUN. XD

(also, no, they don't like one another. Long story that still needs to be written. Oh man is that one gonna be tons of fun. :D; )

Haneyra stared, her eyes narrow and jaws tight. The storm battering the broken windows of Sokyte's church sounded like the prologue of a very, very unwelcome discussion.

"Zool," she said, her voice deep and haughty, "to what do I owe this unpleasant surprise."

The dark-clad woman remained quiet, wiping away the few raindrops caught on her vestments with the back of her sleeves. Haneyra's teeth gritted.

So much power, she thought, deadly jealous, wasted playing mortal.

Haneyra's hair rose and coiled and blackened to match the colour of her eyes. One day, one beautiful day when the young faerie became her embodiment, Zool would be the first to experience her wrath.

She hated him – her; whatever form he took – obsessively. In her eyes, Zool had everything she should have gotten: limitless power, the ability to kill with but a finger if he so wished. And what did he do with all this power? Play Reaper for the mortals. Deny the truth of his essence, the reason for his existence: to kill.

He had destroyed one of her favorite bodies in the past, just because he could. And she had been saved from total annihilation by his pet, a grey woman who stayed his hand with such ease it disgusted Haneyra to this day.

Such power, wasted. Restrained. Diluted. Worthless beast.

She took a step back when Zool strode towards her.

"Where is it," Zool said, a large scythe appearing in her outstretched hand, held effortlessly aloft. Haneyra knew Zool to be a man of few words, even in this semblance of femininity; still, what was she to understand?

"I'll need a few more words, dear, I don't speak Zoolish."

Haneyra made to turn away and Zool's scythe lodged itself where she was about to place her foot, smashing the flagstones to pieces. "Someone here isn't dying," Zool said.

Haneyra very slowly glanced over her shoulder, fury and terror radiating from her deep black eyes. She thought she saw Zool subtly grin.

"What happens here is none of your concern," Haneyra spat.

"You've made it my concern," Zool replied, her tone implying expected compliance.

Haneyra's tension reached dangerous peaks. "What happened to the man who used to kill for fun, huh? Do you think these mortals care? They exist solely for our enjoyment! To kill. To torment. That is what we exist for, Zool, and you'd do well to remember that. I can arrange a remi—"

A strong, muscular hand grabbed Haneyra by the throat and lifted her off her feet. She was unable to shift forms, unable to pry herself away from Death's grip. Zool, now a tall man with wild long hair as black as his eyes, stared up at her with a mad scowl. The arm and hand which had held a scythe now ressembled a grotesque amalgam of black pulsing flesh, ending in three large, scythe-like fingers each the length of an entire arm.

"Where is it!", Zool shouted in a deep, abrasive voice that cracked due to a lack of use.

Haneyra smiled – even though she felt Zool's power on her throat, spreading through her body and preventing her from using physical power, she smiled, and even would have laughed if Zool's grip wasn't so tight.

"Poor pup," she wheezed, choking, "losing your touch."

Zool growled. He sensed Haneyra's power closing in on them, further permeating the entirety of the town of Hahel to prevent him from localizing the one singular soul who had attracted his attention. Haneyra knew he would not kill her, and it gave her an advantage.

How easy it would be for him, to destroy Haneyra. How he craved her destruction.

Oh, how he hated all of them, for being what they were. They should never have existed. None of them.

Almost none of them.

"I knew it!" Haneyra screeched, sensing Zool's grip falter for but the slightest of seconds. It was all she needed. Fingers like needles pierced through thick skin. Haneyra howled in pain, and was tossed aside by Zool like a broken ragdoll.

Haneyra's fingers were blackened at their extremities, where they had attempted to slither into Zool's mind. Skin begun to peel, revealing Haneyra's own darkness underneath. She screamed.

"I warned you," Zool said, the boot of his feminine form pressing onto Haneyra's chest. The scythe's blade pressed against Haneyra's throat, its sharp side inverted for the purpose of threat.

Despite the searing pain throbbing through her body, Haneyra grinned. "You know I never learn. It's your fault for being non-threatening, like now. Women don't scare me."

The scythe's blade shifted, like a finger pressed against her throat. Black blood trickled down, slowly, thick like oil.

"Where is it," Zool repeated calmly.

"Go to hell," Haneyra replied.

"Fine."