The Curse of Eternity

Death Nine

 To dear Sammy. This chapter and all other updates wouldn't be possible without you. Thank you for the charger. 

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Lord Jerrath watches Desolation pat herself, touching her head, her body, and finally staring at her hands. He's curious to see her reaction. During the four long nights, he pondered on how to explain why she lay in his bed. He couldn't exactly say, "Oh hey, I murdered you, again, and by the way, did you know you have a split personality?" He decided to tell the truth, well, as much as he could without exposing his involvement and her other side. That secret is not for him to tell.

Lord Jerrath expected Desolation to grow angry, shout, cry, scream and all together act very female about finding herself in such a compromising position. Furthermore, he's aware of how Desolation perceived herself. No, she didn't do any of those things, the wail that issued from her mouth turned into a witch's cackle; a howl like the baying of luppina's, it is a laugh of a woman who has lost her grip on reality.

The air becomes thick with power. Desolation's hair lifts from her shoulders making her veil slither down her back. In the same moment, the stool he sits on grows alarmingly hot and he jumps. The stool explodes. His litheness does nothing to save him from the large pieces of flyaway wood. Thank the Dyu's most of the pieces embedded themselves in the bedposts and walls. The rest is embedded in him.

Desolation turns toward him and in a sing-song voice says, "Tisk, tisk, tisk, I told you not to make her angry."

Lord Jerrath stumbles backward and hits the wall facing opposite Destruction, noticing all the wooden splinters going around her body making a perfect replica of her shadow on the wall behind her. Of course, she wouldn't be harmed by her own power.

Exquisite pain blossoms up The Immortal Lord's arm where a piece of wood pins his hand to the wall. Slicked with blood his right-hand attempts to pull the stake free, but to no avail, even the strength of Ur'kull would be hard-pressed to remove the implement.

"You lied. You said you only appear when Desolation dies."

Destruction swipes her right hand across her face, pulling hair away from her eyes. In a demonstration of feminity, begins to braid it.

"I did not lie Lord Jerrath, you simply bring out the best in us and I simply couldn't wait to see you again. I must admit this is the first time I've come forth in anger. Oh, you've made her very mad."

All the while, her fingers slowly entwine her hair in hypnotic tangles.

Destruction spits his name like poison and acid that would corrode bone and flesh in a blink of an eye. It mattered not how she said his name, he relished in it, it reminds himself of how he is, a part of himself he nearly forgets. To others, he has always been The Immoral Lord, The Dea'mond Lord. His staff aways My Lord. To hear his true name is refreshing.

The stand near his left leg heats and sears his skin. He clenches his teeth knowing what is to come. The stand explodes. The largest pieces stake his left leg to the wall, one through the thigh and two strikes through both feed, grounding him to the forest green carpet. His unnatural quickness with marque casting did not save him from all pieces of flyaway wood. Though, many burned to ash as he cast Ku with his free hand. His head and right hand remained free.

"Now that you have my attention."

Destruction continued braiding. He noticed it is not a simple, three-strand Lycaine braid, it is a very complicated, six-strand Ma'mu'dairu braid.

"You have until I finish braiding my hair to tell me why you've made her so angry or I will act on Desolation's whim and attempt to kill you. Though I know it will be futile, you still feel pain as mortals do."