LOG; the wolves, my love, will come; Michael + Samail
who: Michael and Samail
where: The Dome of the Rock
what: J-town fainaru batteru!
Samail stood atop the flat portion of the roof of the Dome with his arms crossed in front of him. He hadn't needed to wait long for the Seals to arrive. There was debris scattered all over the Temple Mount now, and even the roof where he stood was littered with chunks of bloody stone. Surprisingly little of it was the remains of the guards and police who had been slaughtered when they'd first arrived; the vast majority of the blood and human parts had come from the body resting at his feet.
In death, Zareena looked frail, her position unnatural and splayed across the stone. The lights that marked the only parts of the city still standing were dim in the smoke and dust the final battle had stirred up, and Samail found himself turning over and over again in his head the words he'd planned.
Michael wasn't sure where the others had gotten to, and wasn't even particularly sure of where he was going or what he was intending to do. His feet were moving on their own, and he was dimly aware of the spear clenched tightly in his right hand. The thing had still never been used, even for every time he'd tried.
Samail had to be around here somewhere. It was the where that Michael was unsure of, but he kept going, knowing in the corner of his mind that he was headed the right way. The way Zareena had gone.
And there Samail was. With Zareena -- or what was left of her. Michael's stomach turned, and he tried to find something to say.
All he managed was a "why?" that came out more feeble and weak than he had intended. He cursed himself inwardly, driving his eyes away from the body.
Samail turned, an excited smile large on his face as he recognized who approached. It was a wholey innocent expression in it's joy, and out of place.
"I knew you'd come, Michael," Samail said quietly, trying to force his voice to a sort of malevolent purr that he couldn't quite manage.
As though the interruption made him abruptly aware of his surroundings, he seemed to suddenly notice the body at his feet. Samail frowned, and turned it over with one black boot.
"And then is heard no more: it is a tale, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." Samail pronounced, ruining the words with a sing-song tone that belied any gravity of the situation. His spear sat next to him, unbloodied by the battle thus far, though a few specks remained on the blade as though he'd cleaned it poorly at some prior date.
Michael gripped the spear in his hand tighter, feeling the cool metal bite into his palm. He forced his eyes away from Zareena yet again, letting his gaze wander over what little was left of Jerusalem and then back to Samail.
"She didn't even -- " he cut himself off before he could finish, unsure of if what he was saying was true. "She was only trying to protect this place," he settled on instead. "Like everyone else." The other Seals were all here somewhere, and Michael drove away the thought that perhaps Samail had killed them too.
"You didn't have to do this." It was becoming a futile mantra, but he found himself saying it again anyway. As he had every time they'd met for the last several months.
"No, Michael, I did." The mirth and the drama left Samail's face, and the expression that was left in their place was a tired one. He reached absently for his own spear.
"There was only one role I was born to play, only one thing destiny crafted me from the ether to do," He waved his free hand expansively at the horizon. "And this is it. This is the grand sum of my actions, the meaning behind my existence. I'd like to think I play the malfeasant well, but the truth is it's really all I can do."
His head should have felt light and foggy from the alchohol in his stomach; he'd comandeered someone's vodka, but it wasn't like it's owner might return alive from this battle, and that's what you got for leaving booze unattended in the Angel house. Instead he felt oddly clear-headed, and strangely sober, the absolute last things he'd wanted to feel tonight. He wondered if it would hurt much.
"But it seems you've forgotten your blocking. This would be the part where you attack." Samail brandished his spear aggressively, settling a fierce and mocking smile on his face. "Or are you going to just wait until I decide Zareena could use some company?"
Michael sank into the closest thing to a battle stance he had ever managed to learn, unsure of what he was doing or how he should move -- or why he had to do this. The moment of his choice replayed in crystal clarity in his mind. He had forced Samail into the role he had, and he knew that. Some part of him thought there was nothing he could do except die to make up for it.
Zareena was a crumpled, twisted body on the stone, and nothing more, and Samail stood there with his spear, ready to kill him. Michael tried to ignore the pain that thought brought along with it, shifting the spear in his hands.
"I'm not going to let you," he said. It came out weaker than he meant, so he tried again. "I'm not going to let you."
Samail laughed, and clapped his free hand against the one holding the spear.
"Oh, bravo! A little cliche, a little rough, but that'll have to do. It's not like I expected anything better, after all. You've spent this year letting me destroy everything of beauty and worth that humans have created in this fucking city." He spat.
Samail lunged forward with his lance, swinging it like a quarterstaff at Michael.
Michael brought his own spear up to block out of sheer instinct. The impact forced him a step back, and he held for a minute there before lunging himself once Samail stepped back. It was slightly halfhearted, but it was an attempt, and that was what he had to do.
"You didn't have to destroy any of it," he said. "You didn't have to, and you can stop saying you did. You had just as much of a choice as I did, even if you want to act like I forced you to do all of this. You could have stopped."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I was just having too damn much fun! You ought to try being evil sometime, it's a real rush." Sam laughed, deflecting Michael's blow with a shield of telekinesis, and then pushed the shield outwards at him as a wide blow.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done to people. Would you like me to show you a few?"
Michael fell back another set of steps, throwing up his spear in hopes of blocking the blow. It worked, but he had to move back even more before it dispersed. The spear hummed in his hands.
"None of them deserved any of it. Zareena was never anything but kind to you. I -- " He cut that thought off before it could go further, and lunged again, more forcefully than he had before.
"That's why I killed her! That's why I killed -" Sam stuttered for a second, then resumed his diatribe. "That's why I killed all those people! And it's why I'm going to kill you. And when I'm done with you, I'm going to go find all of your little Seals and kill them too."
Samail scoffed, "Kindness is wasted on me. All I do is consume anyone who cares for me until there's nothing left, and then I take that too. I'm a cancer, and there's no chemotherapy for it."
He swung wildly at Michael's head with the haft of the weapon.
"I'd like to have saved you for last, but I figured you'd interrupt me if I did."
Michael ducked, again moving on instinct, bringing his own spear up as an extra safeguard, in case the direction of the swing changed.
"Then why kill all those people? You didn't know most of them! They probably weren't being kind to you, so why bother with them? Why bother with all of us? Why even keep me alive this long?" He moved quickly, springing to his feet and lunging half-blindly.
Samail spun away from Michael, pivoting on his toes. Canaan had shown him a little about fighting with a polearm, but he'd figured he'd rely on telekinesis if he had any need to do something fancier.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand. But maybe there is something you can understand. You're a bright boy after all, aren't you, Michael? I'm the most evil thing you're ever gonna see. I'm gonna burn this hellhole down, and it's only a shame you won't be there to see the remains of the world." Samail laughed, and it was higher and tighter than he'd have liked, but the mad note to it came naturally.
A small explosion rocked one of the walls around the Temple Mount structure, filling the air with dust, and it looked like a portion of the walls sagged and crumpled. As the flash from the blast illuminated him from behind, Samail struck at Michael, aiming the ancient blade of the spear at Michael's arm.
Michael had turned to watch the explosion, eyes wide, hoping that no one else had died and that it wasn't enough to destroy the barrier -- and the city. He'd been able to see Samail moving out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he had turned, the spear had caught his arm.
He hissed in pain, jumping back and holding the wound with one hand, other loosening its grip on his spear. He immediately risked another glance toward where the explosion had been, but the dust was clouding thickly in the air, and he couldn't see anything.
Samail clucked his tongue disapprovingly, "If you came to fight me, Michael, then fight me. I won't have you ignoring me for others. I'm the real menace here, not my pets. Enthusiastic though they might be."
Adrenaline made Samail feel slightly giddy, and the thrill of his spear meeting flesh had his heart beating faster. He gave Michael a shove with his mind, not hard but not light, either.
Michael had been expecting another attack with the spear, and the telekinetic shove caught him off-guard. He stumbled, rocks catching his feet and knocking his balance off enough that he fell to his knees. His left hand was wet with blood from the wound he had been holding, and he forced the fingers of his right to tighten on the spear again, struggling to get back on his feet.
Samail smiled, and took a step closer to Michael to try and loom over him. Something about the sight of Michael bloody and weak was strangely arousing, and he tried not to let himself get too distracted by it, blaming the alchohol.
"Should I end you here...? I wonder," Samail took a deep breath, smiling magnanimously. "I'm not a very patient person, I don't like having to wait for something I want. But perhaps I should keep you alive long enough to see me rip apart your Seals. Would you like that? Then they could know how little you're capable of. But I'm sure they already do. They've seen you fail time and time again to protect this city."
Samail licked his lips and stared down at Michael. Somehow he'd forgotten half of what he'd intended to say. He'd already forgotten a couple of well-thought out jests and barbs, or they hadn't quite come up the way he'd intended to, but this was hardly the part to be fishing for words.
"So would you? I'd be willing to make an exception for you, to keep myself from killing you immediately. As long as you'd make it worth my time."
Michael managed to pull himself up on one leg, then the other, glaring up at Samail. "Make what worth your time? Killing other people? Destroying this city? What point in there is waiting, if you're so determined to do it?"
He leaned on his spear. The cut was deeper than he'd thought, and blood was trickling down his arm, soaking his shirt. He was lucky he hadn't been caught more off-guard and lost the arm entirely.
"I won't let you kill them."
"You and what army?" Samail sneered childishly. "You've been saying that since this started, what's it changed, Michael? Did your resolutions, did your affirmations save a single person? All your determination has done thus far is create me." He gestured with the arm that held the spear, off at the city and the smoke and the other battles.
"So go on, Michael, stop me. Stop me with your words and your valiant decisions to save the city. And while you're trying to cut me with the dull edge of your courage, I'll kill you and every other worthless piece of trash in this place."
"You're not answering my question," Michael said, clinging to it like a child. "If you want to destroy it so much, what's stopping you? I'm right here in front of you. The Temple Mount is right there. And all you're doing is standing here and talking?"
He shifted, no longer leaning on the spear, taking it in his good hand. It was his left, but it would have to do. He took a moment to breathe before launching himself forward again, blindly as he had before, not really looking at where he was going or aiming so much as just hoping he would strike blindly.
Samail gave a choking cough as the spear went through his chest. So much, he thought, for it not hurting. The blood that gathered around the wound and seeped through to make a stain on his black shirt was every bit as red as Michael's, and he found some small and illogical validation in that. He was dimly aware of his own spear falling to the ground, of a clatter. His knees hurt abruptly, and he thought they too might have hit the dirty rooftop. He couldn't seem to take his hand off his chest; the damn thing hurt more than he could have imagined, and somehow none of the last lines he'd thought of seemed really appropriate all things considered. Death was a great deal more somber than he'd thought, and all the witty jokes and the clever quotes he'd made up or prepared were so out of place and unimportant.
The only thing he really wanted to say, he realized, was the thing he'd spent his whole life trying to avoid saying to the people who most deserved it, for pride, for spite, and for casual cruelty.
"Sorry, Michael..." Samail muttered. His fingertips were cold. His hands were cold, and so were his arms. His head felt a little foggy, like the intoxication that had eluded him before. He laughed, choking hoarse laughs with no breath behind them, as he doubled over, clutching his chest tighter. It didn't hurt so bad, even with the shaking of his chest jarring the wound.
Oh, God.
Michael wanted to release the spear, or pull it back out, or something, but his hands seemed to be frozen. His fingers felt like they were locked tight around the spear's shaft. There was another explosion from the direction of the barrier, but this time he didn't bother turning to look.
"I didn't ..." He hadn't wanted to hit, he realized dimly. For all of Samail's posturing and smugness about killing him last, or killing him at all, that was what he'd expected to happen. He'd practically taken it for granted. He'd only killed one person this entire war -- two, now -- and he'd expected his inability to fight properly to be the end of him.
"Oh, God. Samail...." Another explosion. The dust was heavy in the air, and he could excuse the stinging in his eyes from it.
where: The Dome of the Rock
what: J-town fainaru batteru!
Samail stood atop the flat portion of the roof of the Dome with his arms crossed in front of him. He hadn't needed to wait long for the Seals to arrive. There was debris scattered all over the Temple Mount now, and even the roof where he stood was littered with chunks of bloody stone. Surprisingly little of it was the remains of the guards and police who had been slaughtered when they'd first arrived; the vast majority of the blood and human parts had come from the body resting at his feet.
In death, Zareena looked frail, her position unnatural and splayed across the stone. The lights that marked the only parts of the city still standing were dim in the smoke and dust the final battle had stirred up, and Samail found himself turning over and over again in his head the words he'd planned.
Michael wasn't sure where the others had gotten to, and wasn't even particularly sure of where he was going or what he was intending to do. His feet were moving on their own, and he was dimly aware of the spear clenched tightly in his right hand. The thing had still never been used, even for every time he'd tried.
Samail had to be around here somewhere. It was the where that Michael was unsure of, but he kept going, knowing in the corner of his mind that he was headed the right way. The way Zareena had gone.
And there Samail was. With Zareena -- or what was left of her. Michael's stomach turned, and he tried to find something to say.
All he managed was a "why?" that came out more feeble and weak than he had intended. He cursed himself inwardly, driving his eyes away from the body.
Samail turned, an excited smile large on his face as he recognized who approached. It was a wholey innocent expression in it's joy, and out of place.
"I knew you'd come, Michael," Samail said quietly, trying to force his voice to a sort of malevolent purr that he couldn't quite manage.
As though the interruption made him abruptly aware of his surroundings, he seemed to suddenly notice the body at his feet. Samail frowned, and turned it over with one black boot.
"And then is heard no more: it is a tale, Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." Samail pronounced, ruining the words with a sing-song tone that belied any gravity of the situation. His spear sat next to him, unbloodied by the battle thus far, though a few specks remained on the blade as though he'd cleaned it poorly at some prior date.
Michael gripped the spear in his hand tighter, feeling the cool metal bite into his palm. He forced his eyes away from Zareena yet again, letting his gaze wander over what little was left of Jerusalem and then back to Samail.
"She didn't even -- " he cut himself off before he could finish, unsure of if what he was saying was true. "She was only trying to protect this place," he settled on instead. "Like everyone else." The other Seals were all here somewhere, and Michael drove away the thought that perhaps Samail had killed them too.
"You didn't have to do this." It was becoming a futile mantra, but he found himself saying it again anyway. As he had every time they'd met for the last several months.
"No, Michael, I did." The mirth and the drama left Samail's face, and the expression that was left in their place was a tired one. He reached absently for his own spear.
"There was only one role I was born to play, only one thing destiny crafted me from the ether to do," He waved his free hand expansively at the horizon. "And this is it. This is the grand sum of my actions, the meaning behind my existence. I'd like to think I play the malfeasant well, but the truth is it's really all I can do."
His head should have felt light and foggy from the alchohol in his stomach; he'd comandeered someone's vodka, but it wasn't like it's owner might return alive from this battle, and that's what you got for leaving booze unattended in the Angel house. Instead he felt oddly clear-headed, and strangely sober, the absolute last things he'd wanted to feel tonight. He wondered if it would hurt much.
"But it seems you've forgotten your blocking. This would be the part where you attack." Samail brandished his spear aggressively, settling a fierce and mocking smile on his face. "Or are you going to just wait until I decide Zareena could use some company?"
Michael sank into the closest thing to a battle stance he had ever managed to learn, unsure of what he was doing or how he should move -- or why he had to do this. The moment of his choice replayed in crystal clarity in his mind. He had forced Samail into the role he had, and he knew that. Some part of him thought there was nothing he could do except die to make up for it.
Zareena was a crumpled, twisted body on the stone, and nothing more, and Samail stood there with his spear, ready to kill him. Michael tried to ignore the pain that thought brought along with it, shifting the spear in his hands.
"I'm not going to let you," he said. It came out weaker than he meant, so he tried again. "I'm not going to let you."
Samail laughed, and clapped his free hand against the one holding the spear.
"Oh, bravo! A little cliche, a little rough, but that'll have to do. It's not like I expected anything better, after all. You've spent this year letting me destroy everything of beauty and worth that humans have created in this fucking city." He spat.
Samail lunged forward with his lance, swinging it like a quarterstaff at Michael.
Michael brought his own spear up to block out of sheer instinct. The impact forced him a step back, and he held for a minute there before lunging himself once Samail stepped back. It was slightly halfhearted, but it was an attempt, and that was what he had to do.
"You didn't have to destroy any of it," he said. "You didn't have to, and you can stop saying you did. You had just as much of a choice as I did, even if you want to act like I forced you to do all of this. You could have stopped."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I was just having too damn much fun! You ought to try being evil sometime, it's a real rush." Sam laughed, deflecting Michael's blow with a shield of telekinesis, and then pushed the shield outwards at him as a wide blow.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've done to people. Would you like me to show you a few?"
Michael fell back another set of steps, throwing up his spear in hopes of blocking the blow. It worked, but he had to move back even more before it dispersed. The spear hummed in his hands.
"None of them deserved any of it. Zareena was never anything but kind to you. I -- " He cut that thought off before it could go further, and lunged again, more forcefully than he had before.
"That's why I killed her! That's why I killed -" Sam stuttered for a second, then resumed his diatribe. "That's why I killed all those people! And it's why I'm going to kill you. And when I'm done with you, I'm going to go find all of your little Seals and kill them too."
Samail scoffed, "Kindness is wasted on me. All I do is consume anyone who cares for me until there's nothing left, and then I take that too. I'm a cancer, and there's no chemotherapy for it."
He swung wildly at Michael's head with the haft of the weapon.
"I'd like to have saved you for last, but I figured you'd interrupt me if I did."
Michael ducked, again moving on instinct, bringing his own spear up as an extra safeguard, in case the direction of the swing changed.
"Then why kill all those people? You didn't know most of them! They probably weren't being kind to you, so why bother with them? Why bother with all of us? Why even keep me alive this long?" He moved quickly, springing to his feet and lunging half-blindly.
Samail spun away from Michael, pivoting on his toes. Canaan had shown him a little about fighting with a polearm, but he'd figured he'd rely on telekinesis if he had any need to do something fancier.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand. But maybe there is something you can understand. You're a bright boy after all, aren't you, Michael? I'm the most evil thing you're ever gonna see. I'm gonna burn this hellhole down, and it's only a shame you won't be there to see the remains of the world." Samail laughed, and it was higher and tighter than he'd have liked, but the mad note to it came naturally.
A small explosion rocked one of the walls around the Temple Mount structure, filling the air with dust, and it looked like a portion of the walls sagged and crumpled. As the flash from the blast illuminated him from behind, Samail struck at Michael, aiming the ancient blade of the spear at Michael's arm.
Michael had turned to watch the explosion, eyes wide, hoping that no one else had died and that it wasn't enough to destroy the barrier -- and the city. He'd been able to see Samail moving out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he had turned, the spear had caught his arm.
He hissed in pain, jumping back and holding the wound with one hand, other loosening its grip on his spear. He immediately risked another glance toward where the explosion had been, but the dust was clouding thickly in the air, and he couldn't see anything.
Samail clucked his tongue disapprovingly, "If you came to fight me, Michael, then fight me. I won't have you ignoring me for others. I'm the real menace here, not my pets. Enthusiastic though they might be."
Adrenaline made Samail feel slightly giddy, and the thrill of his spear meeting flesh had his heart beating faster. He gave Michael a shove with his mind, not hard but not light, either.
Michael had been expecting another attack with the spear, and the telekinetic shove caught him off-guard. He stumbled, rocks catching his feet and knocking his balance off enough that he fell to his knees. His left hand was wet with blood from the wound he had been holding, and he forced the fingers of his right to tighten on the spear again, struggling to get back on his feet.
Samail smiled, and took a step closer to Michael to try and loom over him. Something about the sight of Michael bloody and weak was strangely arousing, and he tried not to let himself get too distracted by it, blaming the alchohol.
"Should I end you here...? I wonder," Samail took a deep breath, smiling magnanimously. "I'm not a very patient person, I don't like having to wait for something I want. But perhaps I should keep you alive long enough to see me rip apart your Seals. Would you like that? Then they could know how little you're capable of. But I'm sure they already do. They've seen you fail time and time again to protect this city."
Samail licked his lips and stared down at Michael. Somehow he'd forgotten half of what he'd intended to say. He'd already forgotten a couple of well-thought out jests and barbs, or they hadn't quite come up the way he'd intended to, but this was hardly the part to be fishing for words.
"So would you? I'd be willing to make an exception for you, to keep myself from killing you immediately. As long as you'd make it worth my time."
Michael managed to pull himself up on one leg, then the other, glaring up at Samail. "Make what worth your time? Killing other people? Destroying this city? What point in there is waiting, if you're so determined to do it?"
He leaned on his spear. The cut was deeper than he'd thought, and blood was trickling down his arm, soaking his shirt. He was lucky he hadn't been caught more off-guard and lost the arm entirely.
"I won't let you kill them."
"You and what army?" Samail sneered childishly. "You've been saying that since this started, what's it changed, Michael? Did your resolutions, did your affirmations save a single person? All your determination has done thus far is create me." He gestured with the arm that held the spear, off at the city and the smoke and the other battles.
"So go on, Michael, stop me. Stop me with your words and your valiant decisions to save the city. And while you're trying to cut me with the dull edge of your courage, I'll kill you and every other worthless piece of trash in this place."
"You're not answering my question," Michael said, clinging to it like a child. "If you want to destroy it so much, what's stopping you? I'm right here in front of you. The Temple Mount is right there. And all you're doing is standing here and talking?"
He shifted, no longer leaning on the spear, taking it in his good hand. It was his left, but it would have to do. He took a moment to breathe before launching himself forward again, blindly as he had before, not really looking at where he was going or aiming so much as just hoping he would strike blindly.
Samail gave a choking cough as the spear went through his chest. So much, he thought, for it not hurting. The blood that gathered around the wound and seeped through to make a stain on his black shirt was every bit as red as Michael's, and he found some small and illogical validation in that. He was dimly aware of his own spear falling to the ground, of a clatter. His knees hurt abruptly, and he thought they too might have hit the dirty rooftop. He couldn't seem to take his hand off his chest; the damn thing hurt more than he could have imagined, and somehow none of the last lines he'd thought of seemed really appropriate all things considered. Death was a great deal more somber than he'd thought, and all the witty jokes and the clever quotes he'd made up or prepared were so out of place and unimportant.
The only thing he really wanted to say, he realized, was the thing he'd spent his whole life trying to avoid saying to the people who most deserved it, for pride, for spite, and for casual cruelty.
"Sorry, Michael..." Samail muttered. His fingertips were cold. His hands were cold, and so were his arms. His head felt a little foggy, like the intoxication that had eluded him before. He laughed, choking hoarse laughs with no breath behind them, as he doubled over, clutching his chest tighter. It didn't hurt so bad, even with the shaking of his chest jarring the wound.
Oh, God.
Michael wanted to release the spear, or pull it back out, or something, but his hands seemed to be frozen. His fingers felt like they were locked tight around the spear's shaft. There was another explosion from the direction of the barrier, but this time he didn't bother turning to look.
"I didn't ..." He hadn't wanted to hit, he realized dimly. For all of Samail's posturing and smugness about killing him last, or killing him at all, that was what he'd expected to happen. He'd practically taken it for granted. He'd only killed one person this entire war -- two, now -- and he'd expected his inability to fight properly to be the end of him.
"Oh, God. Samail...." Another explosion. The dust was heavy in the air, and he could excuse the stinging in his eyes from it.