Page 92 of Remnants: Disruption
“Doubtful,” they say with a snort.
Which kind of hurts, actually.
But that means Mary hadn’t told them. Or, if she had, they wanted to hear it from my perspective. Which is odd given the way they seem to hang on her every word.
Sort of like how I do.
Stupid lesbian brain.
“Let’s just say I had a fight that I lost and I’m willing renegotiate my stance on the training.”
They pause for a moment before nodding and sitting again in the chair they’d occupied last night.
“Are you strong enough to move now?” they ask and I shift a little, wondering the same thing. To my relief, whatever had been blocking the regeneration was gone.
Or maybe Mary had wiped it out.
“Probably,” I nod.
“And are you mentally well enough to experience what could be a tedious journey of pain and self-discovery?”
“You’re not beating the cultist allegations, white mask,” I snort. “I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows, but I—”
I want to help Mary.
Despite the way she’s playing me like a fucking fiddle, I want to do this for her. And something tells me that the shadows won’t let me go until I either conquer them or something else kills me instead.
And that option seems much less appetizing in the light of day.
Plus, I’m sick and tired of being the victim. Being the one taking the beating.
“But?” they prompt.
“But I want to be powerful,” I settle on instead. “I want to pay back Darkrend for the spine he shattered, and I want to tear Omen’s head off.”
And it’s not like it’s a lie, either. I do want to kick the shit out of that dirt bag. And I really, really want to break Omen down into scraps and feed them to the nearest meat grinder.
Azazel lets out a soft chuckle that sounds genuine. It’s disconcerting that my exploration of violence was the first thing to make them to seem even remotely human.
“We can make that work,” they stand and offer me their gloved hand.
I reach out and take it.
“I am Azazel, the Red Mage,” they say quietly. Like the knowledge itself is a secret.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, taking my hand back. “I thought you were in the Alliance?”
“I am there from time to time,” they nod. “But I go where the God Queen needs me.”
Azazel’s renown is less legend and more mystery. A top ten Remnant per RISE, they often show up in major conflicts though for which side is always unknown.
“Red Mage?” I ask, glancing down at Azazel’s outfit. It’s a dark blood red offsetting the white mask. The look screams “cultist” but apparently that’s a no-no word—again.
One day, I’ll be able to meet a cultist and call them that to their face.
“I will explain in more detail. Suffice to say that our powers and a handful of others on this godforsaken planet are unique enough that they no longer follow laws established after the Second Disruption.”
I nod, accepting the cryptic response for what it is. If Azazel is to be a guide, then I suppose it would do me good to start getting used to half-answers.
