Deal With The Devil - Ransom
Dec. 16th, 2013 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsFollowing this email and a meeting with the X-Men, Amanda heads into the unknown to cut a deal for their people.
Amanda landed on the rocky floor with a bump, stumbling slightly as she tried to reorient herself. The portal had been bad enough, swirling with dark energies, but worse was the feeling of dislocation, the sudden absence of the New York's energy. Like the constant background purring of a great pet cat, Amanda had gotten used to and was comforted by that inhuman presence - now it was cut off, she realised just how alone - and how vulnerable - she was.
"So, you have come," said the figure seated on the throne. The voice was gravelly and rough, deep and resonant and utterly, utterly evil.
The witch approached Belasco, holding her head up and her shoulders straight. We are equals, her posture said, and for a moment, doubt crossed the demon lord's face. He was diminished, somehow, less than he had been the last time Amanda had seen him during Illyana's abduction, so many years ago. Then he had been the Lord of Limbo. Now? He had poured much of himself into creating this dimension, this pale copy of the realm he'd once ruled, and it showed.
"Of course," she replied to his statement. From out of her jacket pocket, she pulled a small drawstring bag. "You offered a deal. Our people for the bloodstones. I've come through with my side of things."
"How you have grown, little witchling," Belasco purred, watching her with yellow eyes gleaming and fixed on the bag. "And you have grown wise with it. I had expected you to refuse."
"Not when you have my sister and my ex-boyfriend," Amanda said, face twitching slightly at the thought of what a demon dimension could do to people, especially an empathic shapeshifter like Meggan. "Enough of the shite, Belasco. Set them free, and the stones are yours."
"That is the problem with youth, no appreciation for protocol." Belasco beckoned her closer, holding out his clawed hand for the bag. "First the stones, witch. Then your friends."
Amanda snorted. "I wasn't born yesterday, demon." She emphasised the word in mockery of him. "Set them free first, then I'll give you the stones."
"I am ruler here, human." The demon lord's tone and presence hardened, malevolent light glowing in his eyes. "The stones. Or I keep you and your friends here both."
She met that inhuman gaze for as long as she could, feeling her soul shrivel inside her under its influence. In that void, she could see the truth - he would do as he had said, keep his captives here forever, letting the magical energies of the place corrupt and twist them until they were mere shadows of their former selves, demonic monsters with just enough humanity left to know what they had become. Amanda was fully prepared to pay the price, but she couldn't allow others - especially not Meggan, who was, in her sister's mind, the epitome of what was good and pure in the world - pay that price as well.
Tightening her lips into a straight line, she walked forward and dropped the bag into Belasco's waiting hand. It lay there, tiny in the giant, leathery palm.
"You get what you ask for," she said, something flickering in her own eyes.
"Indeed I do." Belasco's hand closed over the bag. "As do you you, witchling." He nodded at someone behind Amanda and too late she began to turn.
There was a quick blur of motion behind Amanda's left shoulder. A dagger, its blade faintly glowing, appeared. Then it was plunging through the witch's chest. Although it was incredibly sharp and possessed of magicks, Pixie still had to push it forcefully through her chest cavity. Blood welled up in the point of entry immediately and still further it went, twisting muscle and cartilage. Pixie's wings buzzed with effort and her hands grew slick with the spurting blood as she drove the dagger home. She was also screaming, which she hadn't realized she'd been doing until she ran out of breath. Then it was done, and she wrenched the blade free again.
The physical injury was bad enough, but worse was the impact of the soul blade on Amanda's magic. All the stored mystical energy in her system went haywire, exploding outwards from the bloody wound in a lightshow of multi-coloured beams, neon, traffic lights, street lights, airport warning lights: the sound of traffic and construction and millions of pairs of feet on the pavements of New York; sewerage, hot dogs, exhaust fumes, subway stench, body odour, Central Park... every sensory experience was reflected in the energy bursting from the small blonde woman who was dropping to her knees at Pixie's feet. Blood leaked from between her fingers, clamped over the injury.
Belasco smiled thinly and tightened his hand over the small bag. With a small "pop", the stored up magical energy inside was released as he crushed the contents.
"I knew you would attempt to cheat me, witchling. And your attempt to assassinate me with the contents of this bag has failed." He gestured to Pixie, indicating she should come perch on the arm of his throne. "And as you see, I have no need for the bloodstones. I have a new protegee now."
Pixie nodded and moved toward the throne. Suddenly everything was moving very slowly, but her heart and her thoughts were racing. She stepped over the pool of blood and it seemed like it took a year to find passage to the other side, over tiny cracks and bumps in the floor. In the meantime, she was forced to relive old Pixie’s life — her entire life, every moment, but sped up. Some parts of it didn’t make any sense, like in the beginning—when her mum was going away—but that wasn’t her mum. Some of it was painful, like watching old Pixie’s powers manifest for the first time. Some of it was boring, like the parts about school. But she felt mostly numb. It was all necessary, of course, to bring her to this present point in time.
A drop of blood slid down the Soul Dagger and fell to the floor. Suddenly she was catapulting forward in time. She felt like she was falling, and instinctively fluttered her wings to correct her balance. She landed on the arm of the massive throne in a graceful movement despite her unfocused state. “Yes. It was known all along. This was meant to be."
Amanda landed on the rocky floor with a bump, stumbling slightly as she tried to reorient herself. The portal had been bad enough, swirling with dark energies, but worse was the feeling of dislocation, the sudden absence of the New York's energy. Like the constant background purring of a great pet cat, Amanda had gotten used to and was comforted by that inhuman presence - now it was cut off, she realised just how alone - and how vulnerable - she was.
"So, you have come," said the figure seated on the throne. The voice was gravelly and rough, deep and resonant and utterly, utterly evil.
The witch approached Belasco, holding her head up and her shoulders straight. We are equals, her posture said, and for a moment, doubt crossed the demon lord's face. He was diminished, somehow, less than he had been the last time Amanda had seen him during Illyana's abduction, so many years ago. Then he had been the Lord of Limbo. Now? He had poured much of himself into creating this dimension, this pale copy of the realm he'd once ruled, and it showed.
"Of course," she replied to his statement. From out of her jacket pocket, she pulled a small drawstring bag. "You offered a deal. Our people for the bloodstones. I've come through with my side of things."
"How you have grown, little witchling," Belasco purred, watching her with yellow eyes gleaming and fixed on the bag. "And you have grown wise with it. I had expected you to refuse."
"Not when you have my sister and my ex-boyfriend," Amanda said, face twitching slightly at the thought of what a demon dimension could do to people, especially an empathic shapeshifter like Meggan. "Enough of the shite, Belasco. Set them free, and the stones are yours."
"That is the problem with youth, no appreciation for protocol." Belasco beckoned her closer, holding out his clawed hand for the bag. "First the stones, witch. Then your friends."
Amanda snorted. "I wasn't born yesterday, demon." She emphasised the word in mockery of him. "Set them free first, then I'll give you the stones."
"I am ruler here, human." The demon lord's tone and presence hardened, malevolent light glowing in his eyes. "The stones. Or I keep you and your friends here both."
She met that inhuman gaze for as long as she could, feeling her soul shrivel inside her under its influence. In that void, she could see the truth - he would do as he had said, keep his captives here forever, letting the magical energies of the place corrupt and twist them until they were mere shadows of their former selves, demonic monsters with just enough humanity left to know what they had become. Amanda was fully prepared to pay the price, but she couldn't allow others - especially not Meggan, who was, in her sister's mind, the epitome of what was good and pure in the world - pay that price as well.
Tightening her lips into a straight line, she walked forward and dropped the bag into Belasco's waiting hand. It lay there, tiny in the giant, leathery palm.
"You get what you ask for," she said, something flickering in her own eyes.
"Indeed I do." Belasco's hand closed over the bag. "As do you you, witchling." He nodded at someone behind Amanda and too late she began to turn.
There was a quick blur of motion behind Amanda's left shoulder. A dagger, its blade faintly glowing, appeared. Then it was plunging through the witch's chest. Although it was incredibly sharp and possessed of magicks, Pixie still had to push it forcefully through her chest cavity. Blood welled up in the point of entry immediately and still further it went, twisting muscle and cartilage. Pixie's wings buzzed with effort and her hands grew slick with the spurting blood as she drove the dagger home. She was also screaming, which she hadn't realized she'd been doing until she ran out of breath. Then it was done, and she wrenched the blade free again.
The physical injury was bad enough, but worse was the impact of the soul blade on Amanda's magic. All the stored mystical energy in her system went haywire, exploding outwards from the bloody wound in a lightshow of multi-coloured beams, neon, traffic lights, street lights, airport warning lights: the sound of traffic and construction and millions of pairs of feet on the pavements of New York; sewerage, hot dogs, exhaust fumes, subway stench, body odour, Central Park... every sensory experience was reflected in the energy bursting from the small blonde woman who was dropping to her knees at Pixie's feet. Blood leaked from between her fingers, clamped over the injury.
Belasco smiled thinly and tightened his hand over the small bag. With a small "pop", the stored up magical energy inside was released as he crushed the contents.
"I knew you would attempt to cheat me, witchling. And your attempt to assassinate me with the contents of this bag has failed." He gestured to Pixie, indicating she should come perch on the arm of his throne. "And as you see, I have no need for the bloodstones. I have a new protegee now."
Pixie nodded and moved toward the throne. Suddenly everything was moving very slowly, but her heart and her thoughts were racing. She stepped over the pool of blood and it seemed like it took a year to find passage to the other side, over tiny cracks and bumps in the floor. In the meantime, she was forced to relive old Pixie’s life — her entire life, every moment, but sped up. Some parts of it didn’t make any sense, like in the beginning—when her mum was going away—but that wasn’t her mum. Some of it was painful, like watching old Pixie’s powers manifest for the first time. Some of it was boring, like the parts about school. But she felt mostly numb. It was all necessary, of course, to bring her to this present point in time.
A drop of blood slid down the Soul Dagger and fell to the floor. Suddenly she was catapulting forward in time. She felt like she was falling, and instinctively fluttered her wings to correct her balance. She landed on the arm of the massive throne in a graceful movement despite her unfocused state. “Yes. It was known all along. This was meant to be."
