Excerpt from Soul of Evil
She could feel him tense in a formal sort of way and was amazed at the tenseness in him, even through the lean solid muscles of his ass.
“And so I take up that which I refused you so long ago Nickita. For the children. For Ronin and Rochelle.” His voice taking on a tone of deep formality, the words ringing in the air with the feel of a true and binding oath that could not nor would not be broken. He paused and then took a deep breath, slowly lowering the tip of the sword toward the tendrils of smoke that still wafted from the books, and when it touched the tendrils, spoke a single word, “Sic.” The sword hissed, seemed to quiver, then everything vanished and they were somewhere else.
Somewhere that Scythe had never seen. Dark vaulted walls and a dark stone floor was the first impression, followed by the over powering feel of evil oozing through the air like a sickening miasma. She didn't let go of her hand hold when they appeared, in fact she might have even tightened it, as her eyes darted around nervously, “Where are we?” her voice quiet even as she closed her eyes and steeled herself against the feel of the oozing evil that permeated the room and almost her skin. Had Scythe ever been raped she would have known the sensation for what it was.
Before them stood a massive, locked door, from which the smoke emanated with a slow malignancy. It eddied and pooled at their feet. The closer, more intense contact with this mass of evil set Nick to shaking. It took a great deal of will to not just haul ass out of there. He’d started this thing and he wasn’t about to stop now. In truth, even if he had wanted to, he could feel that the sword wasn’t about to for any reason short of its own destruction, “Where the sword knew to go; a heavy concentration of evil. Not quite the heart, but a solid pool from which to really begin this thing.” His voice coming softly from between gritted teeth. Of course they'd be a heavy concentration of this stuff here, he thought. He'd recognized the door of course. He knew exactly what lay behind it, the books that Scythe wanted access to.
She looked down and shivered slightly, as this was beginning to be a hell of a lot more then she’d bargained for. Nobody had said anything about unwholesome dungeons, smoking doors or pools of this horrid stuff, “Okay. Umm, is it safe to let go or should I just walk around with my hand on your ass?” Making her best attempt at humor, while eying the door cautiously from behind him, “Let me guess, the door is where we are going, right?” Her voice sounding very pale at the idea of that. Whatever else might be behind that door, she wasn’t all that eager to see it. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if she had lost her mind by being so insistent on coming along. Pacing would have been preferable to the unclean, dirty feel that the closeness to this stuff left on her skin and almost her soul.
He managed a tight sort of laugh, his hands wrapped solidly around the hilt of the sword, which was still snarling. He knew what the sword wanted to do, and somewhere deep inside him he was glad that this was just a pooling point for this stuff and not the actual source. He was certain that it wasn’t the source because if it had been, he’d have more then his hands full dealing with the sword. “As nice as that might be, I think you can let go now but don't move and no we aren’t going through the door, because it’s locked. Even though I have the key to it, I didn't bring it with me. It's in a drawer in a chest in my desk in the library.” Not that she'd be able to open the chest but she did ask. He took a slightly shaky breath, flexing his shoulders slightly. The sword was pulling stronger by the moment; it wanted to get on with its mission, “Scythe, this is probably the wrong time to ask but, you would be able to find your way back to someplace safe if you had to right?” Goddess let her have a sensible head on her shoulders, he prayed silently, listening for her answer, not daring to take his eyes off the sword or the pool of smoke.
She removed her hand and flexed her fingers. She hadn't been aware that she had been gripping him that tight till now. Part of her mind wondered if he’d have the imprint of her fingers on his ass, even as she swallowed hard and answered, “Yeah, I have place that will be safe, hopefully. Sal’s place.” She wasn't completely sure if it was still safe but she had to make herself believe it as much as him.
He nodded curtly, breathing an internal sigh of relief. If any place is safe it would be there, yeah. With that last concern out of the way he knew that he had to let the sword do its task, least it rip itself out of his hands, which it almost threatened to do. He dared to flick a glance up the blade, which was pointed at the ceiling, and then flicked a glance down at the sluggishly eddying pool on the floor, “Good, then lets start a war shall we?” he gave one of those nasty, mirthless chuckles, reversed the sword so that it pointed downward at the pool at his feet, feeling it almost move of its own accord. Oh yes, the Sword of Bedlam definitely wanted to kick some major evil ass. All it would take would be four silly words to achieve that, words that he’d heard ring through his childhood, though never until now had they left his lips, “Ollie Ollie oxen free...” as he drove the point of the sword into the middle of the pooling evil, or rather let it leap toward it.
What happened next was perhaps the weirdest thing yet of the evening and something that would stay with Scythe for the rest of her days. The sword seemed to scream with delight, and began to draw the smoke into itself, as if it were devouring it. The smoke from the still closed door billowed forth, enveloping Nick and the sword with an even greater malevolence than what it had held, then vanished completely, leaving nothing where Nick and the sword had been only moments before.
A few lasting eddies of the smoke curled about her feet as if to tease her before they too vanished, leaving Scythe in sudden, complete silence and solitude. Her eyes bugged out in abject horror, and her jaw just about hit the floor, “Holy Shit! He's gone! Oh just fucking great! I have no idea where I am, or what's going on and the only man with some inkling of a clue to what the hell is going on has just up and vanished on me. I think that now would be a real good time to run away.” Oh yes, she was a nanosecond from sheer terror and panic. People and swords don’t do things like that. They just don’t. Her eyes darted around wildly, as she spoke a silent oath, spurred by both fear, and respect. Because point blank, it took some sort of brass balls to do whatever it was he’d just done, she knew she wouldn’t have. By all that I hold dear, I will be back, I'm not letting you go, Viscount Bedlam. I swear I'll be back, and armed with the power of knowledge. Don't you do something foolishly macho and stupid on me and if you get yourself killed I swear I'll bring you back just to kill you myself. However, before she finished her oath she removed herself from there, the feel of evil replaced by the tranquility and peace that only Sal's private domain could offer, but for how long she wasn’t sure. Regardless of for how long though, it was a safe haven for now. When her feet felt the soft grass she collapsed into sobs born of everything this night bore, but at least she was safe, and she knew Sal would be here eventually. Here, on the fringe of Creations private domain, she wept herself to sleep in the soft, sweet grass.