Partner

Short, but I think you can appreciate why it's short. When this first occured to me, totally not what I thought. And... what happened to the other half of this ... poor fog?

Read, Review and Enjoy





Gray shapes moving against a background of lighter gray. Souls passing by, converging and breaking apart again, never to be the same again.

Again.

Again.

Like mist it slid between souls, unaffected and searching. No longer recalling its duty, no longer recalling its name. Between this one, through a hole in the heart of that one. It was broken, it was half of a whole.

Around the mountain of bones and over the well of souls it floated through like a fog, dipping a finger longingly in the waters of the well. For the briefest moments it recalled who and what it had been, what it should be but an instant later the thought was gone. Replaced by a tranquil thought of calm, of quiet.

It could become anything it wanted.

Anything.

Anything at all.

It wrapped itself around a warrior soul, fresh from the world of the living and about to step into the well of souls. Sucked in the emotion and memories and became this other person, this other being. Back that way, that way would be fun.

Fun.

Yes, fun.

It edged towards the entrance to the underworld and felt cold all over, a tingled warning. No, can’t go that way, shan’t go that way. Bad idea, that is.

Bad idea.

Bad what?

Bad boy.

It gave itself a startled shake as a shudder of recognition roiled through its misted form. It turned towards the shadows as daemon sprang up and rushed towards the well, as the bell over head tolled. Bing.

Bing.

Bing.

The bell sounded broken. Like only half the sound was reaching its ears, or the bell simply was broken. Like a toy long abused, like a piece torn asunder by grief. Poor bell.

Is bell broken?

It found itself dissipating and reforming at the bell’s watch tower. No daemon worked the bell, only the power of Ill-rin and there at the base of the tower the goddess stood, arms crossed, a frown crinkling her pretty features as her pale face turned upward, towards the bell. Blue eyes darkened as they looked from one side of the tower to the other and back again, contemplating.

Thinking.

Thinking…

Thinking about what? It nudged the goddess playfully, formed fog around her feet and trailed away. Thinking what? Maybe it could help. It could be useful too! It wanted to be useful.

Useful.

Like before? Yes! Useful like before it wanted to be useful.

It wound under Ill-rin’s feet and towards the well of souls and back again like an eager daemon begging its mistress for a treat. What was she thinking? What did she need? Maybe it had the answer? Maybe it could become the answer!

Ill-rin didn’t even glance down, she didn’t notice the playful fog leaping and bounding in circles around her. She was concentrating on the bell tower.

Ringe-ill appeared beside his mate, hair speckled with gray, an older form of his. Dark hair and eyes caught between the yellow of his father and the orange of his mother, the half-daemon noticed the fog immediately and smiled at it. A heartfelt thing, the god of daemon bent and made a sound by pressing his lips together, like he was calling a cat over. It fluttered towards him and over his hand and back again.

“You have a new friend.”

“Been bothering me for a while,” Ill-rin muttered without glancing down.

“The. Fog has been bothering you for a while?”

“Fog?” Ill blinked at her mate and then looked downward. The goddess screeched and reverted to her natural state, all wisp and fog and whispers, white trailed from her body and her feet disappeared, her hair floated up around her.

“Fog is… bad?”

“Don’t touch that!” she said to him quickly, yanking off her ring.

“The fog.” Ringe-ill said as if he didn’t believe her.

“Yes. Stop touching it.”

Ringe-ill pulled away from it and it tried to climb upward, to meet Ringe-ill’s hand. It wanted to be useful, why couldn’t it be useful, why didn’t they want it to be useful? It pulled away from Ill-rin’s leaning hand, from the goddess’s out held ring. Not liking that. Not liking it at all. It burned at its being.

Burned.

Burned.

Broiled away, it would not be broiled away. It would not be destroyed. Never destroyed, never. Never. Never. It thrust the thought at Ill as he flung his being around the ring and at the goddess, startling her and Ringe-ill both before he took off towards the gates of the underworld.

Ignore the voices, ignore the shouts. Run.

Run.

As fast as you can, you can’t outrun hell hounds. He slammed into the door as it turned to mist and gasped, clenching his eyes shut for a moment before he peeked at the too bright world that was the doorway.

Purple eyes peered down at him, confusion and mild amusement played over the strong features of a male he didn’t recognise. Lips curved into a smile and the man looked away, at someone else and then down at him again.

“Welcome home, Mik.”

.