2There are some things – well, a lot of things – Xelloss despises about humanity. Things he never thought he would ever have the grand fortune of experiencing
After all, what need do mazoku have to ever take a shit?
"This is certainly awkward," he expresses with a smile strained; miraculous, despite the unusual circumstances. He's chained up to a wall, wrists bound by shackles and wearing only tattered trousers. It's warm and humid in his dungeon, layering his (real) skin with a glisten of sweat.
Real blood pumps through his real veins, traveling to his real organs. He breathes real air that inflates his very real lungs. It's an oddly exhilarating experience despite his glaringly obvious disadvantage.
He's certainly not what he used to be – a being of energy, a projection of one plane to the next, one that hungers for the darkness within humans. His gluttony is now for something foreign and he finds himself parched to the point of pain. There's a pressure on the lower half of his body that is making him fidget. He yearns for relief.
"Oh, for the love of—" Lina sighs and calls a pair of guards in, rubbing her temples. She exits the room and lets the undignified deed be done, not knowing whether to be amused or frustrated that he's burdened with basic functions of the living. He's struggling with it. He's struggling with it all, yet she still doesn't know how he got into this predicament and who did it to him.
Her suspicions first went to Hellmaster. Instinct and knowledge, however, tells her he doesn't have this kind of power – to turn one of his own to something distinctly not his own. That eliminates everyone under him, which brings the weary sorceress to her next conclusion.
Whoever responsible has more power than Hellmaster, and that narrows the culprits down significantly to one in particular.
When the guards exit she's told the coast is clear, she re-enters. He's only a little more comfortable as his smile wavers. She uses the wooden stool before him as a seat and crosses her legs, her eyebrow rising at him questioningly.
"May I help you, Miss Lina?"
"Why are you being so difficult?" she sighs. She's certainly not what she used to be, either. Young in age, but the once vibrant soul's been replaced by something jaded, something old. Her hair's a dim auburn, vacant of curls, and there's an agitated pinkness around her eyes. There's a fire there still, one that should have been snuffed out awhile ago. It's too stubborn to go up in smoke. Too stubborn to be nothing but ash.
He tilts his head to the side, eyes opening to examine her more closely. Instead of those cat-like slits, his irises have become perfectly round and human. "What's the point? I'm no use to you."
"Bullshit," Lina snaps and shoots up. She gets close and examines his wrists, freshly raw from being bound. It's a sign of recent struggle. The guards watch from the entry way. She knows this but doesn't care and murmurs the words to a recovery spell. Seconds later, he is healed "I saved your life. You owe me. And I doubt you becoming human suddenly erased your pretty little memories. You've got some insight to Phibrizzo. Playing the role of his bitch and all."
"A crude way of saying it," he chuckles weakly. "Though you know all that I know. His grand master plan, one he waited to execute for a thousand years – and how he's willing to kill everyone you love to get you to do his bidding."
A quiet rage boils inside her. She curls her fingers in a combative way and yet refrains from an attack. His words bring her back to that night. His words bring her to her friends; the look on their faces, frozen in that moment.
Amelia. Zelgadis. Zangulus. Sylphiel. Martina.
Gourry, encased in that crystal. Not long before that she had battled him almost to near-death without realizing it. Sword of Light against her Sword of Darkness.
Phibrizzo killed them once. She remembers their bodies falling, one by one. She remembers Martina choking out words, trying to say something, anything.
Lina always wonders what those last words could have been.
And then he killed them again, shattering their glass tombs the way he shattered those small, golden orbs pinched between his child fingers. His laughter died when he realized that even that had not been enough to yield his result.
Everything that followed happened much too quickly.
A thick knot forms in her throat. Painfully, Lina swallows, but the lines on her face remain stern. "He's running out of people. He can try my family, but is he really planning to go up against the Ceiphied Knight and expect to survive?"
"Oh, he will. He'll win." Xelloss smile enlarges into a grin, but it's not the same sinister grin she used to know. It's a sorry attempt to mimic his previous form, composed of veiled evil and sweet deceit. He's desperate to be all he knows how to be. In truth, he despises Hellmaster, but knows this is all futile. It will end one way or another. "You know he's trying to break you. Why else would he pull the puppet strings on your dead friends?"
Her fingers curl again. It's a miracle she doesn't explode, or doesn't cast something that will explode. The urge is there – it festers and burns, simmering with contempt and all she can think about are her friends again, pulled around on strings and doomed to never find peace beyond death until Hellmaster is ripped apart.
Once, she had been found through Gourry. It was then she swore that her heart stopped, turned black and crumbled when their eyes met, blue reunited with red. She knew what was happening, had seen it in the City of Ghosts known as Sairaag, and it was with cruel mercy he had said, "you made the right choice."
Even if that choice meant everyone's death.
She regrets the choice. She regrets not casting it, regrets not having chosen him over the world. It's selfish, she knows. Part of her doesn't care.
"And the rest of the mazoku lords?" Lina presses on and paces in front of him. "Deep Sea? Dynast?" Then, a pause. "Beastmaster?"
He snorts.
"Well?"
"That…is a secret."
It's within an instant her movements change, grabbing his head by the roots of his hair and slamming the back of his skull against the concrete. He lets out a cry of pain that quiets into a hiss and glares daggers.
"Welcome to humanity," Lina grits her teeth and is teeming with rage he can no longer taste. "Human pain. Human feelings. Feels different I bet, huh? Can't exactly use my emotions to strengthen you? You're weak and a snack to dragons. Wanna know how many golden dragons are just begging me for your head?"
Xelloss says nothing. His breathing is heavy. It's a strange feeling, having a beating heart race so violently beneath his breast. His throat tightens. His stomach (at least he assumes that's what it is) feels like its been flipped. He's not sure what this emotion is.
"You're not mazoku anymore, so your loyalties lie with shit," she sneers and releases him. Her temper's barely calmed "Let it go, Xelloss. Keeping their secrets and dirty laundry isn't going to magically make you what you used to be."
That's what it is. That's exactly what it is. A once powerful agent reduced to something with barely a lifespan, reduced to something so fragile and so needy of things – water, food, shelter, clothing.
Reduced to humanity.
"Welcome to the rest of the world. Your instinct's now to survive in it, not destroy it. Free will's yours."
Lina turns to leave him. The thrashing begins quicker than she originally anticipates. Nonsense is screamed; it echoes through the walls, and she imagines his wrists will be raw again soon.
A familiar woman awaits at the end of the hall. Her arms are crossed over her utmost plentiful bosom and her eyes – all ice – stare at the direction of their prisoner.
"Anything yet?" asks Naga, impatient.
"I'm getting there, Gracia."
Naga turns her nose up at the sound of her name.
"We need whatever information he's got," Lina insists as she adjusts her jeweled gloves, moving along with Saillune royalty in tow. "He needs time to figure this human stuff out, and that he's not bound to them by the call of that hierarchy. Lucky us, your dad realizes that and is too much of a pacifist to torture the intel out of him or, y'know, just outright kill him."
They reach the surface. Sunlight should be greeting them, but instead they're met with stormy clouds and a sky the color of blood. "Wonder how things would have been if you cast the damn spell," Naga muses darkly as her feet step on rubble. Her kingdom's not thriving, although it's at least surviving.
Others were not so fortunate.
Gourry's words echo. His smile, forever sincere, is seared into her memory. You made the right choice.
There should be no second guesses. She isn't supposed to have any of those.
And yet...
"Hellmaster somehow doesn't make me lose control, everyone lives and there's a happily ever after?" Sarcasm drips like poison from her words. Lina's half-smile is bitter. "Would be nice, wouldn't it?"
It would be. Perhaps, maybe – somewhere in another life.