It was almost unbelievable that Shinsou had been hit. Storm had seen the warrior use all sorts of witchcraft to move quickly over time, creating black portals and dimensions that let him seem to step through the very fabric of time and space. Even with his new toolbelt of magic, Vaan Osiris had once been fast enough to pretty easily sidestep the bolts. Regardless, one of the powerful arcs of white hate hit him squarely, staggering the soldier behind a pillar. Veritas was used to the odor of ozone filling the air, likening the rich air of a passing thunderstorm. Here in its stead sprayed the rank, horrible odor of burning flesh.

What the hell!?

If the wizard was surprised to have hit Shinsou, he was outright staggered to see the old partner withstand the beam. To the best of his knowledge, Storm wasn’t aware of any dampening of power within the Citadel; the reality of the dangers here were part of the whole allure. In an act of bold defiance, Shin appeared to march through the assault, grinning and taunting the electromancer as he conjured a portal, disappearing.

Shit, more ice!

Some awful combination of Shinsou’s proprietary black-purple goo with a thick coating of glistening blue ice formed around a dozen or so long spears, each dancing in air with a uniform precision. As the progenitor of these weapons disappeared into the ethereal, the spears rocketed towards the still-fallen Storm Veritas, who scrambled away with utter desperation.

He was too slow today, the icy footing making for terrible traction and nearly no progress. With a final burst he jettisoned his body away from the scene in an electromagnetic pulse, but the fraction of delay caused by his original scramble cost him an ultimate price. He felt the first spear drive through his chest, an impossible upwards angle toward his supine position, skewering lung and liver, splitting bone and rending flesh.

Am’aleh…

There were other projectiles which hit him elsewhere, one driving its way through his hip bone in a savage, almost explosive shot, another tearing thigh meat clean and wide, spilling blood in a rapid, horrible fashion. The wizard had already been fully gripped with shock and abject fear, his vision rapidly darkening and closing from the periphery.

This was it. This was his end, so unceremoniously. It was only the last breath of air that allowed him some relief, as his eyes dilated and consciousness drifted. The relief of death’s cold embrace came with a final pleasant thought.

You’re in the Citadel, you fucking idiot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

His eyes opened slowly, a spectacularly pristine white room around him. He was comfortable, and devoid of pain, tapping at his chest with extreme delicacy for a horrible wound that he would not find.

“Sir, it is good to see you again. Quite a show today, you two really rallied the audience to quite a frenzy. I trust you are feeling well?”

Please tell me he didn’t operate on me, too. He barely makes a decent cappuccino.

It was the waiter, dressed flawlessly in a black tie by his bedside, his drawl face impeccably neat and drawn to a small, wry smile above a thin, pointed chin. Storm peered in on him with suspicion, considering his words carefully before speaking.

“Feeling five years younger, and one thousand percent less-goddamned-dead. Pardon the intrusion, but are you here for a coffee order? I was more thinking of just some ice water, or something with a little flavor.”

Unmoved, the sentry-like waiter simply smiled and returned a pleasant smile. With a brief bow to the man in the bed, he took a half step back and showed his hands, long slender fingers open and empty.

“Sir, I am simply your ward here. I was sent to greet you along with the others this morning, and based on your generous reception, the monks felt my visage best to greet you upon your return. My form is fully negotiable, should you prefer to gaze upon a familiar face, or beautiful young woman, for example.”

Carefully, Storm pressed his fingers into the soft linen of the bed, stunned with the ease he could maneuver himself. The magics used to heal him were indeed transcendent; he had no residual pain or even soreness to earmark what he had been through.

“Well, you’re not my particular type, but given the circumstances there’s no need to change gears. What room is Shinsou in?” Peering at the door, Storm estimated he was likely in only one of many such healing rooms.

“Ah, yes, alas Mr. Vaan Osiris has already taken his leave. He did direct us to deliver you a gift before he departed.” Without a word, the dapper waiter reached under Storm’s bedside table, moving with speedy grace and returning to full view with a large, glass bottle filled with a thick golden fluid. A white note tag twisted from a string that was tied beneath the bottle’s bulbed head.

He heard the words in Shinsou’s markedly deep, sometimes zealous intonation.

[quote]I guess we’re both getting a LITTLE old, but I don’t need your ancient bones chasing me around for leftovers. Consider us even, until we can split another one.

– S –
[/quest]

With a small smile at the totem, his mission was somehow complete. This fence was at least somewhat mended, as absurd as the path to accomplish such a healing had proven. Shinsou could be a monster, a sadistic, combative sociopath with no hesitation to do the hardest of things. He could also prove a loyal friend, even with his propensity to disappear.

For the next phase of his larger plan, Storm would need both of these facets.