“…The world is ordered by balance.
Thus, as one falls, another rises…Till heaven and hell are again matched…”
-Exert from “Principles of Existence”

“In my headlong plummet I met another, rising to greet me.
And as we passed with n’er a word said,
I felt a loss greater than mine own fall for n’er knowing them.
Then I found the ground, and could lose no more.”
-Author Unknown

Opening Moves

Brook’s Way. Black wings. Hurry.
  Shaking her head, the woman tucked the well handled scroll back into the worn leather pouch at her side.  A strong, chill gust blew down the easternmost path of the crossroads, causing the crows gathered atop the steel cage gallows to fly screeching into the sky.  Between raven wings she could see the half-eaten remains of the last criminal to make the cell his home.  Despite keeping her distance from the gallows, her sharp, unnatural eyes could still read the small wooden board propped against the corpse’s chest.
  “’Kidnapping’?  Well he deserved his fate then.”  Though she had no companions on this journey, she had been so long attached to another that talking to air hardly registered as odd.  Her gaze turned to the signpost and she sighed.
  Twenty miles to Karig, said the sign pointing southeast.
  Twenty-seven miles to Morin, said the southwestward one.  She sighed, pulling a rolled map out of her pouch.  The smooth hide had an oily quality beneath her fingers, a mark of the many treatments it had undergone to take the black markings burned deep into it.  Idly, she caressed the cat head pommel of her longsword before unrolling the map and deciphering the marks within.
  “Of course,” she muttered as the wind picked up again, whipping her blonde hair and black cape about her.  “Of course Brook’s Way would be directly south of here, and the only roads to it go miles past it, then loop back around.  All because of this bloody forest!”  With eyes of fiery blue she swept her gaze over the offending trees, which lay perhaps a dozen paces past the gallows and its inhabitant.  The late spring had already filled the branches with dark leaves, creating a false night beneath their boughs.
  A decisive nod accompanied the snap of the map rolling back up, and she tucked it away.  Briefly she smoothed her skirt, cape, and hair into control, then began to stride purposefully forward, bypassing the gallows without a second glance.  She halfway expected a soft voice to berate her reckless decision…but her priestess lay miles away to the south, safely sequestered in the temple.  This was her mission, and her’s alone.
  With a touch at her dragon pentacle necklace and a short prayer, she strode into the shadows of the forest.

  I wonder what spooked the crows.
  Dark blue eyes watched the fleeing shapes cross the expanse of sky visible from the clearing.  The man brushed a few strands of rust and steel hair from before his face, then sent his will into the open space, calling.  Another crow, a straggler, began his flight into view.
  “Here, birdy birdy,” the man said, his voice rasping from disuse.  He stood as the bird’s flying became erratic, confused by the new will being forced upon its spirit.  Yet in the end, it spiraled down to land on the grayish bronzed skin of the man’s forearm.  “That’s a good bird,” he cooed, stroking its feathers with his free hand.
  The bird cocked its head at him, the will still holding it down, but as barely a whisper of suggestion.  Its head tilted this way and that, taking in the surrounds, till its beady eyes fell on the strange rapier partially hidden in the grass beside where the man had lain.  Fear mounted as instinct cried danger, and it spread its wings with a raucous caw.
  “Quiet.”  The will became a crushing force, burying the bird’s instincts in a sea of…inhuman thoughts.  Slowly, the man surveyed the bird’s memory.
  Human.  Woman.  Sword.  Scroll.  Necklace.  The man nodded, settling his will deeper into the bird.  Changes began to occur in the animal’s mind as the man reshaped the way it thought.
  “Would you like to be my friend?”  After a long moment, the crow’s head bobbed in acquiescence.  He smiled, showing surprising even, white teeth, though their tips hinted at sharpness beyond normal.  “I think I shall call you Wulfram.  And do you know why?”  As Wulfram tilted its head, he laughed.  “You’ll find out someday, my friend.  For now, let us prepare to meet this other one, shall we?”
  Wulfram took flight, cawing once before settling on the man’s shoulder.  Careful not to unbalance his new companion, he stooped to take up his rapier from the ground.  The ornate basket-guard caught a ray of light, casting an odd shadow upon the grass before it was sheathed at his side.
  “Up, Wulfram, so that I may settle my clothing.”  Obediently, the bird took wing, flying lazy circles as the man tugged his dark blue tunic to set it comfortably about him.  As he did so, a pair of slits up the back flashed open briefly, to which Wulfram cawed a questioning note.  The man smirked.  “All in time, Wulfram my new friend.  All in time.”
  He brushed a hand idly over his knee-length, loose black pants, checking the various pockets to insure he had not lost anything in his time resting beside the tree.  Standing again, he motioned Wulfram back to his shoulder.
  “And now we wait.”  The raven cawed.

En Passant

  The forest fought her passage with root and bough.  Or so it seemed to the woman as she once again bent a branch out of her way.  A pair of robins sang in the higher branches at her passing.
  “Wish I knew what I was actually looking for.  Could run into it before even reaching the town, wouldn’t that be funny.”  Still, her yellow-rimmed eyes kept careful watch of the shadows about her.  At times, she paused and strained her ears to listen for telltale signs of unnatural passage, a quieting of the woodlands creatures.  But nothing passed of this vigilance.
  Once, she entered a large clearing, with a thin trickle of a stream cutting its way across.  Taking the opportunity, she found a relatively clean space beside the water and sat on her cloak.  Tipping her head back, she was surprised to note that it was nearing dusk, judging by the reddish tint of the sky and few wispy clouds.
  “Damn, I really need to start making better time.  Maybe I should’ve flown, like Avalyn suggested.”  Picking herself up, she hopped across the small crick and strode back into the woods proper.  She set herself a hard pace now, ducking under branches and sliding between bushes and trunks.  At times her cloak or skirt would try to catch the edges of bushes, branches, and bark, but she pushed on with sharp tugs to the offending article of clothing.
  So intent now was she on making time that the slow hushing of forest life didn’t register in her brain, nor the single lonely caw of a crow in the distance before her chosen path.

  Crouching still upon his high branch, the man watched in silence as a woman—the woman, according to Wulfram—forced her way through the thicket and into his chosen clearing as the light fell.  A smile touched his lips as she strode purposefully straight across the wide expanse of grass for the forest on the opposite side.
  “You’re going the wrong way,” he said in a friendly manner as he dropped from the branch to land on his feet and stand slowly.  The woman spun about, the barest measure of surprise showing on her face before being washed away with caution and suspicion.  Her hand lay on the grip of her sword, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.  For a long moment, neither said a word as darkness descended.
  “Who are you?” the woman demanded tersely.  Momentarily taken aback, the target of her query didn’t respond.  He had expected her voice to be gruff, worked hard from years of travel and battle.  Instead, there was a quality to it he could not identify, a sweetness that sounds…more than human.  With narrowed eyes, he extended a piece of his will with utmost care towards the hunter.
  “Don’t move! Answer the question!” she said quickly as the man jerked back a step, appalled at what his senses told him.
  Nothing! I can’t feel anything from her! She’s…not human, whatever she is.  The situation is delicate.  Keeping his hands in clear view, and willing Wulfram to stay hidden in his perch, he answered her.
“A guide is my purpose and my place.  If you seek Brook’s Way, like so many before you, you are traveling the wrong path.”  He kept his voice even and friendly, desiring her to lower her guard just enough.  While her posture relaxed slightly, her hand did not stray from the sword’s handle, a sure sign that she did not trust his answer.
  “How do you know I’m going to Brook’s Way?  What others before me?”  In answer, the man bowed at the waist and tilted his head up to gaze at her with shaded sapphire eyes.
  “Have we no manners?  I ask only your name before I answer further questioning.”  At his response her hand gripped tighter about the sword and she scowled angrily.
  “I could make you answer me…”
  “True,” he laughed, turning slightly so as to bring his own blade into easy view, “but you would be hard pressed to do so, and one of use may die well before the questions find their true answers.”
  “…”  Another tense moment passed before the woman released the sword and took a deep breath.  “Morgana,” she said slowly.
  “Morgana?  Such a name.  Mine, should you choose to call me by it and not my title, is Elavi.”  He bowed again and smirked.  “As to the questions then, well, it is not a hard guess.  Brook’s Way has been sending for saviors and hunters and priests for nigh on two fortnights now.  It is expected that you would be going there, when so many clearer paths lay to the nearer towns.  Only the impatiently stupid or brave take the forest as a short cut.”
  Despite herself, Morgana felt a tug of a smile at the corner of her mouth.  The man talked a lot, and obviously thought himself well learned in reading and understanding humans.  Then she frowned, for something didn’t feel right.  Carefully she focused her mind on her senses, closing her eyes to hide the expanding of the yellow rings as her nose, ears, and eyes shifted partially to her heightened self.
  “Its difficult to get a good look at you, Guide.  Perhaps you’d be so kind as to step forward a few paces?”  Her senses picked up the presence of some fair sized bird amongst the trees, but nothing else.  The man barely registered, but for the slightest whiff of…something.
  “It is hard to see someone if one’s eyes are closed, Morgana.”  His tone was lightly mocking.  Releasing her shifts, Morgana’s eyes sprang open quickly.  He shouldn’t have been able to tell she’d closed her eyes from that distance…
  “Does Brook’s Way often expect travelers by way of the forest, so they appoint a guide here, just hoping the travelers stumble upon him?”  Elavi smiled, dark eyes twinkling at her question.
  “Ah, they do not.  In fact, my position is more…self-appointed.”  Morgana narrowed her eyes.
  “Then why are you here?”
  “Many people have answered the call to fight the demon of Brook’s Way.  Most have died horribly.”  The smile on his face suddenly seemed fixed, his eyes piercing.  “Tell me, Morgana, how good a fighter are you?”
  “What’s it to you?”  Morgana felt her hand straying to her sword again.  Something felt wrong.  As Elavi’s sword jumped into his hand with the barest warning, she knew why.
  “I have fought it and lived, though I could not kill it.  If you can’t beat me, you can’t hope to survive more than a few moments against it,” he said coolly.  The woman scowled again.
  “I don’t have time for this nonsense.  Which way to Brook’s Way, Guide.”  His answer was a rush, sword held up by his shoulder in a double-grip with the end aimed straight for her.  As he lunged for her heart, out came her blade to smash his rapier away with a force and resistance that caught both fighters unaware.
  Strong! came the thought echoed by each.  Taking a fencer’s stance, Elavi prepared to strike again.  Instead, Morgana jumped forward, sweeping the blade at chest height, drawing on her other half’s strength.  The man leaped back a step—sword dropping beneath her blade as it whistled by—then lunged forward again.
   Morgana’s rapid parry kept him back and she quickly cut at his hands.  Catching the attack on his guard, the man kicked at her pommel with one foot while pushing her blade up and away.  Though she lost her grip, she reacted instantly to grab it with her left hand and make another cut, which he expertly deflected towards the ground.  When he didn’t return the attack, she dropped back a step.
  “Bad idea,” he said, jumping forward and spinning to send his heel into her pommel once again.  This time she kept her grip and pushed back, hoping to unbalance him.  Instead, he merely spun the other way, sweeping his blade out low for her knees.  Sword still in her left, she dropped the blade in a rapid block and put a fist into the side of the man’s face, rocking him back on his feet as she bit back a howl of surprise.
  What the hell?!  His face is hard as rock!  Shaking out her hand, she swapped the blade over as Elavi stood working his jaw around.  Finally he looked up and over at her with a wary glint in his eyes.
  “That…hurt.  You’re quite a bit stronger than I thought.”
  “Well thanks,” was the sarcastic answer.  “Can you just give up now and show me the way?”  Elavi sighed, his eyes and will looking into the trees.
  “Block this, and I’ll stop.”  He started forward.  Suddenly a dark shape tore out of the air above Morgana, wings beating heavily and yellow claws aimed for her eyes.  Her senses gave her just enough warning to duck under the assault before Elavi was on her.
  Blow after blow he rained upon her guard.  The speed and strength behind the strikes seemed inhuman, but still she was able to block him—many times only barely.  To make matters worse, the crow made several more passes, which she dodged each time and resisted the urge to strike the bird down.
  If it’s the man’s pet, he probably won’t help me if I kill it, but this has to stop, she thought, and then saw an opening.  As the thin blade dove in for her side, she let it with only the slightest turning of her body.  Though it cut a shallow path across her bicep, the tip became caught in her cloak and she bull rushed him, knocking him off his feet and tearing the sword from his grasp.
  Staring up the length of silvery blade resting at his throat, Elavi could only smirk.  With a loud caw the raven settled onto a low branch to watch.  Morgana’s piercing gaze didn’t flicker, remaining on the man at the end of her sword.
  “Give up now?”  His response was a short laugh that caused the sword tip to prick him slightly and a shifting of his eyes to the crow.  Despite her enhanced vision, Morgana saw no blood trickle from the man’s throat.  An odd sign for sure, but perhaps just a trick of the darkness…
  “What do you think, Wulfram?  Has Morgana proven skilled enough?”  At Wulfram’s responding noise, he looked back to the woman.  “I place my life in your hands, if you shall place your path in mine.”  After a moment of study, she removed her sword and sheathed.  Offering a hand, she pulled the strange man to his feet.
  “Alright, Elavi, lets get a move on.  I want to sleep in an actual bed for once.”

Castle King Side

  “Tell me about this demon.”  Elavi paused in his walking, snapping off a few low branches in their way before glancing back.
  “What is it you wish to know?”
  “Anything,” she said, crossing her arms.  The light of the twin moons—one full and one crescented—streamed through the gaps in the forest cover to catch her gold hair.  “You said you’ve fought it.”
  “Did I now?”  He looked up as Wulfram darted past, then moved on again.  “This way.”  Blinking, Morgana followed, starting to open her mouth to demand an answer again.  “The demon holds a very human form, Morgana, such that were it not for its skin and fiendish wings one might think it a normal being of this world.”
  “What can it do?”
  “Oh, many things.  Command creatures, create fire of the hell variety, moves with unnatural speed and strength.  Highly deadly, it is.”  He continues his forward path, often breaking through obstacles rather than avoiding them.  Morgana eyed his back.
  “How’d you survive then?”
  “I survive—pardon, survived—by force of will and strength of arms.  One doesn’t train for many, many years only to have those skills utterly fail them.”
  “You don’t look old enough to claim ‘many, many years’,” she commented.  “Unless you started at a very young age.”  Elavi smirked, glancing back over his shoulder briefly.
  “Certainly.  A part of my people, we shall say.”
  “Who are your people then?”
  “Ah, they are…Aha!  There is the destination of our wanderings!”  He broke off to point ahead in the trees.  Squinting, Morgana could barely make out the sides of a few cottages.  She turned her gaze back to her guide, narrowing yellow-ringed irises.
  Surely he can’t see them…even my sight had to strain.  He’s avoiding the question.  Elavi, unaware of her piercing gaze, was speaking very softly to the crow upon his shoulder.  Concentrating, Morgana found she didn’t understand the language in which he spoke, though it had similar patterns to others she knew.  What?

  ”Fly ahead and be certain there is naught waiting,” was the instruction Elavi gave Wulfram.  With a low caw, the raven took wing, rapidly disappearing into the darkness ahead of them.  After a quiet, long moment, he started forward again, listening as his companion followed after.
  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said upon catching up and settling in beside him.  He felt her eyes boring into the side of his head and smirked.
  “No, I did not.  Is that a problem?”  Another quiet moment passed before she shook her head.
  “Guess not.  What can you tell me about Brook’s Way?”  Glancing out the corner of his eye, Elavi watched her brush hair out of her face in the darkness.
  “Very superstitious place it is.  They have warded the grounds, such that creatures of inhuman natures may not pass without assistance of the Higher or Lower Powers.  This is how the demon was discovered.”  She nodded, a thoughtful expression passing over her face, and he turned to watch his path again.
  “So the demon then attacked?” she asked, ducking under a low branch and hissing when a trailing finger caught in her hair.  Violently she yanked her head forward, snapping the offending branch off.  Stopping, she reached her hands back to try and work the remnants out.
  “Here, allow me,” Elavi said, halting himself and moving around behind her.  Slowly, Morgana moved her hands away to let him work, deciding to give him a little trust, or so it seemed to the guide.  Deftly he untangled the twigs and removed them, speaking as he did so.  “And no, it did not.  The people of Brook’s Way struck fast, while it was unaware of what had occurred.  Its companion, a twisted mockery of animal shape, was killed quickly.  It did naught more than throw fire to cover its escape and flee into the woods.”
  “The woods?!”  Morgana spun around, hair whipping about and forcing Elavi to duck.  “So it could be here now? Why didn’t you say that?!”  The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace.
  “Because it isn’t here right now.  The woods are large, and last I saw of it, it was farther north and east.”  He watched as the woman took a breath and relaxed…slightly.  Striding past her, he turned around to walk backwards down the relatively clear pathway.  “Now, come.”

  It didn’t take them much longer to reach the edge of the woods.  Morgana had kept a close eye on her surroundings, but nothing had seemed off…besides the lacking of wildlife sounds.  Glancing to the moons and stars, she guessed the hour to be shortly after midnight.
  The closer they had come to the borders, the less willing to talk Elavi had seemed.  He had an air of preoccupation about him, like he concentrated on something beyond sight and mind.  Idly she wondered what it could be, but she wasn’t about to pry.  Disregarding the incident of their meeting, he had been a fair companion, and useful.
  “There lies your destination, Morgana,” he said, breaking the silence.  “Good luck in your future endeavors.”  She looked to him, raising a brow.
  “What, you’re leaving?  Thought you’d look forward to being back here.”  Shaking his head, he kept his eyes averted, scanning the woods about them and the dark windows of the nearest buildings, only a few dozen paces away.  Silently he pointed to a series of tall wooden pillars, placed about the edge of the town in even intervals.  “Yeah, what are they? That barrier you mentioned?”
  “They are that,” was the bland response.  Morgana narrowed her eyes.  Something was bothering her guide, something about the town.  On an impulse she reached over and grabbed his arm, starting towards the pillars.  “Hey!  What do you think you’re doing?”
  “Least I can do to thank you for the guidance is buy you a drink.  So come on.”  Surprisingly, when he dug his feet in she stopped, unable to pull him forward.  With a roll and twist of his shoulder he was free of her grip, and she turned to eye him, placing hands on hips.  “Now what?”
  “These people…do not appreciate the task I perform.”  Brushing his own rusty gray hair out of his face, he smiled, though Morgana could tell it was forced.  “It is a misunderstanding, but I do not wish to make it worse at the moment.”
  “Screw them, you’ve been helpful.”  As he shook his head, she sighed.  “Alright, at least walk up to the barrier with me then?”
  “Why?”
  “Why not?” she countered.  After a pause, he smirked.  With a slight bow, he moved up beside her and strode forward.  Following, Morgana eyed the pillars with distaste.  How might they affect me, I wonder? They both stopped short of the line formed by a pair of pillars.
  “As far as I go, Morgana.  I shall wait till you are through, though.”  Turning his back on the town, his gaze swept across the line of the forest.  Swallowing, Morgana stepped across the line.
  A tingle ran up her spine as she passed, the strong magic of the wards sweeping across her body and soul, exploring every nook and cranny of her being.  A sense of fear rose as she felt gathering energies grow in the twin pillars.  Until she felt an echoing response in her amulet.  Slowing, the energies died down, and she looked to see angelic runes glowing strongly on the pillars down the line.
  Thank goodness.
  “Everything ok?” Elavi called back in a hushed voice.  Turning to answer, she could see his own gaze fixed on the runes of the pillars, a dark expression upon his face.  She nodded, then realized he wouldn’t see it.
  “Yeah, it’s good.  What do those runes mean?”  The man started to answer until a screeching call sounded from the air above them.  His head snapped up and she followed his gaze to see Wulfram spiral down towards them, then bank off in the direction of the woods.
  “Better go, Morgana.  Nothing you can do—ARGH!”  Suddenly Elavi doubled over, clutching his side.  Morgana’s sharp eyes caught the glint of metal sticking out of the back of his shirt.  It was a crossbow quarrel.
  “The hell?!  Hey, whoever the hell is shooting, hold your fire!” she commanded, calling loudly in the direction of the shot.  As three figures stood from the woods and moved towards them, she narrowed her eyes and drew her sword, moving up beside Elavi.  Glancing down once, she noted that he was searching with one hand for the quarrel’s tip.
  There isn’t much blood, she thought as she looked back to the assailants.  Then her ears picked up something…odd.  I can’t hear his breathing…
  “We ain’t got no issue with you lady, get out of our way.”  The three men were clearly distinguishable now.  The leader—at least she assumed he was such, after his speech—carried the unloaded crossbow.
  “You have attacked my guide.  Therefore, you have an issue with me.”  She glanced down quickly at the escape of a tiny chuckle from Elavi.  His hand had taken a tight grip on the feathers of the bolt, and he was twisting it.  But still no blood.  “Don’t do that, you idiot,” she whispered fiercely.
  “Yer guide?”  Morgana turned her hard gaze to the trio in time to see the leader look at Elavi.  He looked back up to her, a dumbfounded expression clear on his face.  “Lady, you got any clue who yer with?”
  “Of cou—hey!”  In a blink Morgana found herself shoved heavily to the side, landing on her back and knocking the wind out of her.  Quickly rising to a ready crouch, sword gripped tight, she look up to find Elavi on his feet, glaring at the trio.  His face was hard, eyes chill.  “What the hell are you doing?”
  “Still trying the same tricks, are we Beau?” he addressed the leader.  With a grimace of agony, Elavi ripped the bolt from his side and held it up.  “You should know by now that even blessed objects aren’t effective weapons.”  Morgana noticed that his hair, eyes, and skin seemed to be darkening.
  “Oh fuck, oh fuck…”  The trio backed up slowly.  One tried to raise his crossbow to fire, but a feathered form darted out of the sky to snatch the bolt from its housing, cawing as it flew off.  Standing, Morgana moved towards Elavi, raising her sword rapidly to rest its tip against the side of the man’s throat.  He didn’t move.
  “What the hell is going on here?!  Don’t you dare move, or I’ll—“  She froze as his skin turned black and a massive pair of black-feathered wings shot out from his back, whipping around unnaturally to knock the sword from her hands.  He turned to look at her, eyes cold.  Yet...
  Why does he look haunted?
  “I’ll be waiting,” was all he said before launching back and skyward.  She watched his shape turn south and disappear into the darkness.  After a long time listening to the heavy breathing of the would-be-hunters, she turned on her heel and strode into town, picking up the sword as she went.
  What now?

Check

  “This is what you wanted, right?”
  “Yes.”
  “What you’ve waited for?”
  “…Yes.”
  “Then why, by the heavens and hells, are you pacing so anxiously?”  Wulfram cawed once to punctuate his question, head tilted to watch the back and forth path of his creator across the clearing.  Elavi scowled darkly at the bird.  The noon sun filtered through the trees, dancing across the man’s darker skin and hair.
  “What makes you think I’m anxious?”  At his maker’s question, the bird warbled in humor.
  “Your wings are sprouting again,” he pointed out, ruffling up his own in demonstration.  The man quickly put a hand back to his shoulder blades and cursed to find part of a feathered wing-bone sticking out the tunic’s slit.  Shutting darkened eyes, he concentrated and felt the appendages fade away.
  “I shouldn’t have given you life.”  The fallen angel smirked.  “You’re too smart for my own good.”  The raven flew from his perch to land gently on the man’s shoulder, watching his expression with beady black eyes.
  “Yet you did.  What will you do this time?”
  “The same thing as always.  Tell her what I am.”  He sighed, raising a hand to massage his forehead and feeling the sharp prick of the dark horn beneath his skin, waiting to show itself.  Quickly he willed it away.
  “Then what?”
  “Pray to die this time.”
  “Why do you always fight back?  You know most mortals can’t kill one of your kind.”
  “After all the vows I’ve broken, despite all the death I’ve caused, I’ve stayed true to one promise.  I will never let myself simply die.”  Bobbing on his perch, Wulfram made his equivalent of a nod.
  “Who did you promise this too?”
  “Myself.”

  This has been such a wonderful few days, Morgana thought as she left the town and strode to the woods.  Following the incidents of the previous night, the warrior had been forced to offer explanations of who she was and what she was, to set off the wards so.  Luckily, their questions had not probed too deeply, and the town’s elders had been quite willing to accept her words as truth.
  “…an Ascended…” her sharp ears heard as she had passed the last house in the town, where the events of the past night had occurred.  Morgana could only shake her head at the superstition that abounded in these northern lands.  They wouldn’t know an ascended demon from a fallen angel.
  And that, she mused, brought up another question.  Just what was Elavi?  She hadn’t been able to feel anything overtly demonic…or angelic in his being.  Yet he had black feathered wings, and seemed immune to even blessed weapons.
  Then there was the factor of his reluctance to approach the town’s barrier.  Had he been exposed that way?  They had allowed her to pass, marked as angelic despite her…past.  Could he have been marked as demonic, and that was why the townspeople wanted hunters?
  I had black wings once…

  The sun had passed its zenith by the time Morgana began to feel a presence in ahead of her, along her chosen path.  Though it was otherworldly, she could not distinguish a particular energy to it.  Was it heavenly or hellish?
  Is it Elavi?  The forest sounds were quieted, the wind barely brushing the ends of her hair as it passed.  Cautiously she drew her sword, then—caught on a whim—held it up before her.  Her eyes traced the patterning down the silvery blade.  It reminded her of her past, and her obligations.
  Even if he is a demon…he didn’t attack me while I had laid my trust in his hands.  If I could be redeemed…  It was a moving thought, and a goal.  Unless he was a servant of one of the Lords, maybe they could both walk away from…whatever comes.  Without sheathing her blade, she strode forward.  As she walked, she unleashed her senses fully, for it was pointless to hide her nature now—at least to this man.
  It was because of this release that she heard the flutter of wings well before the crow lanced out of the trees for her.  Ducking, she instinctively began to strike out, but froze her blade before she hit the black shape as it passed overhead.  Cawing loudly, Wulfram passed over again, darting between branches as he flew in the direction she was going.  Morgana picked up her pace.
  Finally, she entered the clearing they had first met in.  As she passed the great trees at the edge, she had a sudden crawling sensation—like that of passing through a spider’s web.  Glancing at the trees, she saw massive runes gouged into the trunks in a parody of angelic script.  She turned her gaze to the man across the shallow creek bed.
  He stared off into space, mouth moving in syllables with the barest breath escaping to sound them, such that Morgana could not hear the words.  The rapier he had carried was stabbed deep into the earth before him, unsheathed.  Silence stretched for several moments, but when Morgana started to speak, he suddenly added volume to his words.
  “Do you know what a Guardinal is?”  Morgana blinked, surprised by the question and wondering at its direction.
  “A small choir of angels.  Closely tied to dealings on the mortal plane, but not like those used as Protectors.”  Where was he leading with this?  He turned his gaze to stare at her, unblinking.
  “How low can an angel fall, do you think?”  She narrowed her eyes.
  “Hell, of course,” was her answer, and then she blinked as he shook his head.  “What can be lower than Hell?”
  “How about being unwelcome in Heaven, Hell, or on this world?”
  “…Where are you going with this?  What are you?”
  “My name,” he said slowly, “is Elavi Templares.  I am a Guardinal.  Or perhaps was is a better appellation.”  Morgana scowled darkly.
  “So you’re a fallen angel?  Servant of some demon Lord?”  To her surprise, he laughed.  “What’s so funny?”
  “Normally, angels can only fall once before becoming demons, or mortal.  Guardinals are a special case.”  He held up two fingers before his face.  “Because we deal so closely with corrupted people and beings, we are given two chances to redeem ourselves.  The first is as what we call a Fallen Angel.  We are that after our first contact with great corruption and evil.  After, is the Shadow Angel.  At this point, demons may pull the Guardinal fully to Hell, if they can catch them.”
  “And what are you then?”
  “Twilight Angel.  Neither demon nor angel found me after the Fall, so I hid away.  I wallowed in my guilt, and the crimes I had committed, till the balance was such within me that neither Heaven nor Hell shall take me back.”  He stepped forward and rested his hand on the rapier’s hilt.
  “So you think you can’t be redeemed,” she said, as a statement and not a question.  Elavi raised a brow, skin beginning to darken perceptibly.
  “Did I just say that?  Regardless of my actions now, when I die my soul will remain trapped within my remains.  But I’d still rather die.”  Morgana shook her head.
  “I don’t believe that,” she said softly.  Now it was Elavi’s turn to scowl as he shifted his grip to the handle of the blade.
  “You came here to kill me.  I warn you that I promised that I would never willingly go to my dea—“
  “I came to kill a demon.  Not you,” Morgana interrupted sharply.  The man’s eyes widened slightly at the conviction in her voice.  “As misguided as you are, you’re still not Hell-crew.  You just need a shot at redemption.  Like I had.”
  “…You don’t have a choice anymore.”  With those words he ripped the sword out of the ground and changed.  Twin ebony wings lanced from his back, oddly jointed and tipped with three-clawed hands.  Here and there, like snowflakes in the night, white feathers lay amidst the black.
  He grasped the blade with both hands, turning to face her as his skin blackened and the blue of his eyes was replaced with a stark white.  The rusty hair turned steel, and twin horns—short barbs—sprouted from his forehead.  Yanking the handle in opposite directions, the blade extended, becoming closer to a greatsword than rapier.
  “There’s always a choice,” she said, watching with a mixture of sadness and anxiety.  It was impossible to know what he was truly capable of in this shape.  She crouched, gathering herself in.
  He doesn’t know what I’m capable of either.  As Elavi turned the point of the blade towards her and charged, she unleashed herself.
  Ducking under the first lunge, she felt more than saw the white fine fur sprout across her skin, the lengthening of her fingernails to claws.  The wing nearest her bent at an unexpected angle and crashed in on her sword arm in a fist, nearly breaking her concentration.  Leaping aside and parrying the other wing’s attack, she felt the resistance of the wind as it broke upon her newly sprouted wings—pure white and small.  And growing fast to match Elavi’s.
  Elavi swapped hands rapidly, lashing out in a wide arch that proved immediately that his blade didn’t require two hands for proper use.  Morgana deflected the blow high over her head as her ears extended.  At that point, she focused her will through her amulet and the changes halted.  She had enough.
  “What are you?”  Turning her yellow eyes to the man’s face, she saw his surprised expression.  He was still holding the blade where it had stopped after the last strike.  Morgana stood proudly, facing Elavi in a sideways stance.
  “I was a Bezekira.  I found salvation.”
  “Hell-cat.  I see…”  With a sad shake of his head, he attacked again.  Barely ducking the high sweep of his blade, the ex-demon jumped back, then parried low for the return strike.  “Attack me.”  His next strike was an over-hand chop, which moved so swiftly she felt the wind on the cut as she hopped aside.
  “No.”  Damn, he’s fast.  And he moves that thing like it doesn’t weigh an once.  The realization of her only option hit her hard and nearly cost her, her next block barely making it and forcing her off balance for precious seconds.  I have to disarm him somehow.
  The fallen angel lunged again after several more rapid slices, and Morgana thought she saw her only chance.  Mouthing a silent prayer, she twisted, her blade whistling as it swung in a wide arch to smash against the basket guard of Elavi’s blade.  She put her full unholy strength into the strike, and was rewarded with seeing the weapon flung into the trees.
  Her elation was short-lived as a black wing whipped out to backhand her across the face, spinning her to the ground.  Wincing, she scrambled to her feet, only to be met with a rain of blows across her back and wings as the man moved quickly behind her.  Hissing, she fanned her wings and spun, sword flashing.
  This time it was Elavi who was forced to dodge back, and unthinkingly Morgana pressed her attack, kicking into a leap with her powerful legs.  Once again he evaded backwards, very close to the edge of the clearing.
  Morgana opened her new salvo with a series of rapid cuts, and was startled to see Elavi merely wrap his wings about his body and take them, feathers flying off.  She stepped forward for a new attack, only to have him explode from his guarded state into a rush.  The movement was too unexpected, and Morgana found herself suddenly pinned in midair, his wing claws holding her arms still and away.
  As one of his hands reached for her sword, she snapped out a kick, which he grabbed and restrained.  Immediately, she drove the other foot for the nearest wing bone.  Because he had been reaching for her blade, he could not react fast enough.  There was an audible snapping of bone and Morgana was dropped to land in a heap.
  As Elavi staggered back, pain blazing across his face, Morgana slashed upward from her position, catching the other wing as it flapped forwards.  He screeched as the tip of the wing was severed, feathers scattering like dust.  Springing to her feet, she kicked his chest, sending him through the space between two trees.
  At least, it should have.  Instead, the runes flashed and he was thrown forward, body smoking slightly as it struck the ground hard.  Morgana moved in, slashing the air instinctively as a flapping of wings alerted her to the bird’s diving attack.  Wulfram collapsed a few feet away, flapping its remaining wing ineffectually.
Elavi raised himself to his hands and knees, wings hanging limp as Morgana approached.  Smoke still rose from his back, the cloth of his tunic and the black flesh beneath scorched.  Morgana paused.
  “What did you do to the clearing?”  Her sensitive ears picked up a strange sound.  Something like … flesh tearing and molding.  But she dared not take her eyes of the fallen one before her.
  “Warded it, so neither of us could escape till it was over,” he said haltingly.  Slowly, the burns across his back faded.
  “I heard Guardinals were strong magic users …why are you holding back?”  Grass crushed underfoot nearby, sending Morgana’s elongated ears straight up.
  “Who said I was?”
  Spinning towards a sudden rush of sound and movement, Morgana found herself suddenly pinned beneath a massive black wolf, barely retaining her sword as her head struck the earth, wings flaring at the last second so as to not get broken.  The wolf snarled down at her menacingly.
  “Get off!” she snarled back and shoved, swinging her sword to connect its crossguard with the wolf’s skull.  With a yelp it fell off her and collapsed beside, unconscious.  She struggled to get her feet under her, seeing Elavi also rising.  “How the hell did a wolf get in here…?”
  “Wulfram means ‘raven wolf’, Morgana.”  Grimacing, he straightened his wings, the broken one snapping into place loudly.  He gagged in pain.  “Wings…”
  “That’s Wulfram?!”  She glanced to the wolf, still unconscious on the floor of the clearing, then immediately snapped her gaze back to Elavi at a sudden spark of hellish energy.
  “Your fight is with me!”  Hand burning with black flames, the fallen angel struck his fist to the ground.  A wave of deadly black flame raced across the grass at Morgana, climbing higher the closer it got.  Throwing herself out of the way of the dark wave, Morgana felt her face begin to stretch, instincts causing her to shift further towards Bezekira.  Rapidly she kicked off her boots, her feet and legs turning into digigrade cat feet.
  “Thanks for the warning,” she said, her voice harsher with the change, and lunged for him.  Elavi staggered back, deflecting the overhand blow with a wing suddenly turned to steel, sparks flying as he tried to maneuver himself away from the edge again.  White fire pooled in his hand and he flung a ball of it towards her.
  Ducking under the ball, Morgana felt its energy and was momentarily startled.  It was holy!  It seemed Elavi could wield both forms of energy, but watching him she saw how exhausting it was.  His seemingly unlimited reserves did not deplete with physical exertion, but using aligned powers weakened him.
  Hence why he avoided using magic.  Slashing out, she drove him back towards the form of Wulfram, keeping up the pressure to force him on the defensive.  Black feathers flew, as he seemed unable to armor his wings again.  A flare of gray flames forced Morgana to leap back, the flames bursting from the ground in a geyser before her.  This time, she could feel no alignment within the flames, and adjusted her assessment.  Ok, maybe not.
  Elavi used the temporary respite to pool a blue flame in his hands and drop it upon the injured wolf.  Oddly, the flames did not burn, absorbing into the body of Wulfram and fading.  The wolf’s leg twitched and it began to rise as Elavi stepped away, drawing gray flames into his hands again.
  “You healed him…”  Morgana shook her head in amazement at the odd nature of this fallen angel.  Elavi merely nodded sharply before sending a stream of flame in her direction.  Caught off guard by the speed the flames traveled, she felt several feathers ignite and her fur singe as she spun away.  “Ah!”
  “Stop getting distracted,” he said, eyes darting to where sword had flown.  In that moment, Morgana threw her sword, following it in a sprint.
  “Speak for yourself!”  Elavi turned to look back as the blade lanced into his shoulder, throwing him backwards and to the ground with a shriek fit to shatter glass.  Morgana leapt, landing to further pin him to the earth.  She yanked the sword out and held the tip to his throat.  “Give up.”  He looked up to her, a small pinprick of blue in the center of his black eyes.
  “You’ll have to kill me.”  A low growl alerted them both to the awakened presence of Wulfram, who was moving unsteadily towards them.  “Just don’t hurt Wulfram anymore, ok?”  He smirked as Morgana raised the sword.
  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
  The blade flashed down as Wulfram howled.

Checkmate

  “This is the proof?”  With skepticism visible in his eyes, the well-dressed man accepted the small cloth bag from a battered—and human—Morgana.  Biting back the first response that came to mind, the woman brushed sweat straggled hair from her face.  The early morning light shown brightly on the mass of people gathered at the borders of Brook’s Way.
  “Just open it.”  She glanced about at the crowd, noting the numbers as the man worked on the drawstring.  So many come to witness the end of their “nightmare”.  All putting their trust in the swing of a blade.  Morgana frowned to see the bloodlust in many eyes, and not just in the men.  Whispers passed amongst those gathered, of hope and of fear.
  “The body would be far better…proof…”  The ground to a halt as he flipped over the bag to let the object fall into his hand, dropping it instantly as though it burned him.  Smothering a smirk, Morgana stooped to pick up the large, oddly jointed wing claw.
  “You’ll have to make do with this.  I burned the body, as dictated by my calling.”  She held out the claw, which the man hesitantly took as another spoke up.
  “How do we know you truly succeeded?”
  “The demon is dead,” she said sharply, turning a withering glare upon the speaker.  “You have my word, as a Protector.”  After a pause, the man nodded and backed off.  Morgana turned back to the village head.  “Is there anything else?  I want to be on my way back to the Temple.”
  “There is the reward we had originally offered.”
  “Donate it to the Temple.  I travel light, and don’t need to be carrying around such.”  Startled, the man stepped back and bowed his head in thanks.  Morgana turned on her heel and started down the road to Karig, as the sounds of celebration began to move through the crowd.

  Only a mile down the road Morgana stopped and looked about.  The roads these days were not the safest, so it came as little surprise how empty of travelers it was.  But it suited her purposes.  Carefully, she removed a tiny strip of paper from her pouch and penned a short message.
  Mission complete.  Return delayed.  She strode to the just inside the forest and knelt as the large black wolf approached.  Wulfram sniffed at her hand, then followed it with a lick as he glanced up at her.
  “Can you take this to the Temple for me?” she asked.  After a pause, Wulfram bobbed his head and stepped back.  Morgana glanced away as the wolf shed its form with a sickening collection of sounds.  Moments later, a raven hopped up onto her knee and raised its leg.  “Thank you, Wulfram.  I promise I’ll take care of things.”  Carefully, she attached the message.
  “I’m not worried.”  As Morgana stared in surprise at understanding the bird, Wulfram cawed with humor and leapt into the sky, vanishing into the treetops.  Shaking her head, she turned to meet the gaze of the man lying in the shadows of an old oak.  Standing, Morgana walked lightly over to look down at Elavi.
  “I don’t need your help,” he said softly.  With difficulty he started to stand, his many bandages standing stark against his skin.  Morgana grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.
  “I cut off your wing, Elavi.  You don’t heal nearly as fast as you’re used to.”
  “I know.  Why didn’t—“
  “You know the reasons already.  Come on, we need to make Karig before it gets too late in the day.”  Letting go, she smirked and turned to the road, only to be stopped by Elavi’s hand.  “What?” she asked, glancing to him.
  “What did you tell them?”  His blue eyes were searching.
  “The truth.  The demon they all feared is dead.”
  “How do you know things will be any different?”
  “Have a little bit of faith.”  Pushing past his hand, she began walking down the dusty road.  Elavi hesistated.
  “Faith…”  Grimacing, he sprouted his remaining wing and swung it about to examine.  Under his gaze, one feather slowly changed from black, to gray…to white.  He smiled slightly, letting the wing fade away.  “I guess I could try.”
  Moving into the sunlight, he joined Morgana.

END