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About Deviant Member ShannonFemale/United States Group :icondown-with-homophobes: Down-With-Homophobes
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When the Wizard is certain he’s no worse for wear, she takes her leave. He doesn’t stop her but the air does seem to get more prison-like. He understands that he needs to stay hidden for his own safety but it is still less than pleasing. He is more heart sick than ever.

‘I’ll be your friend,’ she had said.

Is he so lonely and alienated that he would accept such an offer? He shivers. She had left her blue cloak despite his accusations. However, it’s too short for him. If he pulls it up, his boots poke out. He’s left it where it is but his arms are cold. She must really not want to hurt him. Back in Heaven, he had been fairly decent at reading others but he is no Empath. Not even the Sages could read others as an Empath. Still… her movements had been sincere, if awkward.

“Heaven help me,” he whispers. “Give me peace of mind.”

He doesn’t expect it anytime soon.

A knock comes at the door just then. He looks up to see her poke her head in. At least, he thinks it’s her. He can’t tell since her face is covered by something. When she enters, he sees it’s another cloak. This one is grey with white fur around the shoulders and hood. She’s holding a bundle.

“I’m sorry for keeping you in here,” she says. “Especially with your condition and whatnot. Unfortunately, some of my comrades really wouldn’t mind putting you in the ground. They’re not as understanding as Mercy.” She pulls her hood off. “Anyway, to hopefully ease it up a bit, I brought you some stuff.”

‘Stuff’ turns out to be a big piece of deep brown fabric smeared with a camo pattern and another pillow. The fabric, the Wizard explains, is a blanket. She borrowed it from Mercy, whoever that is. She’s convinced it will be better than her cloak since it’s thicker and definitely larger. Almost quicker than he can keep up with, she whips her cloak off him, dumps it on the floor then covers him with the blanket.

“It’ll keep you warmer,” she tells him. “Mercy uses it when she has to sleep in fields.”

The pillow is shoved behind him, under his head. It’s firmer than the others and fresher.

“I wasn’t sure if angels get cold,” she says. He doesn’t tell her that some do; mostly the ones who don’t use ice, like him. “So I brought the more practical things. It’s getting freezing out there.”

He can tell. Her cheeks had been almost red despite her cloak. This building is cold. The Wizard then takes a breath and waves her hand. A little burst of light and heat is brought forth, seemingly out of nowhere. The colours of fire and flame rainbow throughout it as it quickly zooms around a few times. He is awestruck.

“Sparkflint,” she tells him with a smile. She addresses it as if it were alive. “Sparkflint, this is our new friend. I would greatly appreciate it if you would stick around and warm him up.”

It twinkles, zooms around again, as if in response, then comes close to him. He feels the air get warm. To his senses, the weird creature seems to be alive. Which is odd. He had figured that everything on Sanctuary was made up from angel and demon yet this thing here is neither but here it is. It flies in a circle around his head.

The Wizard beams. “Sadly, he can’t stay long. Only a few hours, but he’ll keep you company and warm at least. Whenever you need him, let me know and I’ll call him back. He likes you.”

She leaves them alone.

“Sparkflint?” he asks.

It glows brighter for a moment.

He swears on the Crystal Arch it is alive.


Sparkflint’s light makes the darkness dance and dance they do with eerie beauty. He is entranced. Earlier, he had reached out to touch it and received a sharp stab of burning pain. His armour had flared bright and it had zoomed away, sparks showering down then dying before reaching the floor. It had floated around, seeming to study the room before slowly returning to him.

He reaches out again, careful not to try to touch and with palm facing upward. “What are you? Are you truly fire? You are not made from Light nor from Dark. You are not a creation of magic. You are summoned but are alive. I can feel it.”

It comes to a stop several inches above his hand; close enough that he can feel its heat but not so close as to burn him again. Behind it, the shadows wait patiently.

A strange myriad of sensations come over him as he stare at it. Inside, the black abyss of failure seems to fill. His hand tingles as if the nerves had fallen asleep and were beginning to wake. He feels warm inside; not just out. Where there had been nothing but Death, something new begins to try to take root.

Sparkflint flickers with Life.

He remembers something Arias had said once.

Where there is Life, there is Hope.

Is there hope even for him?


With the strange little ember as his focus, he thinks hard about what the Wizard had been telling him, about all the recent events, about his Master and brothers and sisters. He keeps going back to the memories of how after leaving the miser and dog, his companion and he had stumbled upon a sorry looking farm. He doesn’t remember much about the family that lived there but he is sure they had been as good as they could be. He remembers also the wandering man they had met who travelled around, teaching those he could to read and write, encouraging those skills to be passed on for he believed they helped save. A memory of the wealthy older woman who ran a town orphanage and a half-way house without expecting any money in return.

He wonders how he could forget such things.

Perhaps they hadn’t looked long enough. Because although it is truth they had seen and encountered more bad than good, they had still found pockets of good, sometimes in the most unexpected places. And it had been pure.

How could something like that be forgotten?

Perhaps this Wizard hadn’t killed Master. Perhaps Master had erred in his path because he had forgotten. Perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps they had strayed from the path of Wisdom since they had forgotten any light they had found.

So what would happen if he tried to remember?

Sparkflint casts its light without destroying its shadow. It sees both somehow and doesn’t worry about having a shadow in the first place. He wonders if maybe having a shadow wouldn’t be so bad. When he was an Angel of Wisdom, he often encouraged his friends to look at the shadow as well.

Fate had let him live for a reason. He might feel better if he can find that reason. He might be able to save what’s left as well. The Wizard might actually even help.

The only question that is truly important at the moment is whether or not he has the courage to fly in the storm again.

Sparkflint is one of the Wizard's Familiar skills and it's a fire based one. My Wizard talks to it as if it's capable of understanding because that is exactly what I would do. And since it's fire and doesn't do Arcane damage, I figure it's probably summoned from the world of fire.
At least I think that's cooler than some stupid enchanted ember. It could actually be a tiny flame pixie or something.

Fire is the element most commonly associated with Creation and Destruction (it marks the Nordic Gods' end as Ragnarok and by ending them, also marks the beginning for their children's Pantheon), Death and Rebirth (the Chinese/Orient Phoenix) and power. It's also used a warder and a cleanser. So I think the Fire is pretty fucking cool, even if it can be asshole-ish and blacken and chaotic.

Um... I wanted to touch on something else... what was it? ... Oh! He starts referring to Kaiya as the Wizard because he's becoming more familiar with her. He's not ready to actually befriend anyone yet but he realizes she does have a name. He doesn't call her that because he doesn't remember.

Questions? Comments? Outbursts of emotion? Because I would love some. :iconloveloveplz:
The next time Lorath is with Tyrael instead of running errands all over the place, the former angel is busy compiling notes on the strange statue Lorath had mentioned and the cruel slaughter of the group of bandits. The young Horadrim is curious about many things but he doesn’t ask. It’s not the right time. Instead, he sets a plate of food by the angel’s arm and takes a sit across the table to start in on his own meal.

Although no sign has been picked up since, everyone is still wary. Rumours swirl about whatever killed those bandits and it Lorath gets slightly sick to his stomach anytime he thinks about them.

Sadly, in all this heavy silence, thinking about them is all he can do.

So he attempts to take his mind away from them and strike up a conversation with Tyrael. To his chagrin, the first thing that comes to mind is something Tyrael said a few days ago.

“Who is it you wish you had been closer to?” he asks.

Tyrael looks up blankly.

“A few days ago, you said I reminded you of someone you wish you had been closer to,” Lorath explains. “I’m just curious as to who it was.”

“Oh,” Tyrael looks back down at his notes, as if he’s debating something and isn’t sure he’s prepared for it. “My brother,” he says finally.

Now it’s Lorath’s turn to give a blank stare. “Aren’t all the angels in Heaven your siblings?”

Tyrael nods.

“So all the male angels would be your brothers.”

Another nod.

“I’m confused.”

“Understandable,” Tyrael pauses to eat a little. “For the most part, the sibling relationship in which angels refer to each other is how comrades do: brothers-in-arms and similar since we all serve the Light. But sometimes, an angel is born with a harmony similar to that of another angel.”

Lorath is still confused.

“Angels are made from music and light,” the angel explains. “Each angel is born with their own unique harmony and melody. But sometimes…”

It clicks.

“Sometimes an angel possesses a similar melody to that of another angel,” Lorath finishes. “Like how humans have blood siblings.”

“Exactly. All humans could call each other brother or sister because they’re all human, like how angels call each other as such. So the heavenly equivalent of a blood sibling is called a rhythm sibling,” Tyrael says.

‘So your brother is an actual brother. His harmony was similar to yours?” Lorath asks.

Tyrael nods slowly. “Very similar. So similar that if you heard both at the same time, it would take a minute to realise there were differences.”

Lorath gets the impression this brother of Tyrael’s isn’t something the angel likes talking about so he chooses his next words carefully. He allows for a few moments of silence to pass while he takes it all in. The idea of serious, focused Tyrael with a sibling is… intriguing? Shocking? Mind boggling? All the above?

“I take it you two weren’t close then,” the Horadrim says softly.

“That is putting it lightly,” comes the response.

That is rather sad. Lorath’s own family was close to each other, whether as brothers-in-arms for the Knights of Westmarch or as close as family. He couldn’t imagine having someone share blood and not want them close.

“What was he like?”

The answer is surprising since Lorath doesn’t think he’s like that at all.

“Stubborn. Obnoxious. Caused a lot of mischief and trouble. Argued with me whenever he got the chance and ran away a few times.” the angel frowns at his broccoli. Lorath thinks he looks rather regretful. “But… I think he wanted to do the right thing. He asked a lot of questions, sometimes repeated them just to be sure he was on the right path. He worked hard, was polite and never judged. I remember the other Counsel members- Imperius especially- liked him.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Can you miss someone you don’t really know?”


After he’s done eating, Lorath leaves Tyrael to his task. He goes outside and frowns when a gust of cold air promptly slaps him in the face. Winter is definitely on its way. Drawing his cape tighter around him, he begins walking down a street, thinking about what Tyrael had told him.

‘He used to cling to me,’ the angel had said. ‘He hadn’t liked going to school and I never understood that. He used to read anything he could get his hands on and he was smart. His teachers told me so. But something happened and he decided he didn’t want to go to school. It was weeks before he would go again. While he wasn’t there, he was hiding under my desk or sulking around.’

‘I was busy most of the time so I didn‘t really have an opportunity to go meet him after he was born. So instead, one day, he came to meet me. I think he was one of the few who was openly excited to such a thing. Usually it was for Imperius. He was odd. But he was a good angeling for the most part.’

‘What happened?’ Lorath had asked.

‘That I can‘t say,’ Tyrael had answered. ‘But… those who noticed said it was my fault.’

Lorath isn’t sure what he should make of all this. Tyrael’s inability to function in relationships is more obvious than he realises. Still, Tyrael seems to regret not being closer to this mysterious sibling.

He wonders if there’s a way to find closure for that.

‘He had good intentions.’ Tyrael shakes his head. ‘He did everything with the best intentions. I just don’t think he really ever understood consequence.’

It would be hard to have Justice for a brother and not understand such a thing.
Past Future Presence 03

Oh, yes, Tyrael. Inarius understood consequence.

Were Inarius and Tyrael close? Somehow, I don't think so.

Questions? Comments? Outbursts of emotion?
LoA- Vigilante Tyrael? by StealingBabiesBRB
LoA- Vigilante Tyrael?
I love this game. So much Diablo influence.

I'm surprised I haven't broke my CAPS lock button.
The first time he had met his friends had been for a group project. Several little groups had already formed themselves in the classroom, leaving four angels lost on the sidelines. The teacher, in her wisdom, decided that those four would make up the final group. For him, it was apprehensive. For the others, he could only guess although one angel, clad in soft, cloudy greys appeared to be quite nervous. They all stared at each other until one finally had enough.

“All right,” he huffed. “We’re stuck working together so let’s get the introductions over with and move along.” He looks them over. “My name is Cassius.”

He knew right away that Cassius was planning to be a soldier. His robes were styled in the same fashion as the trainees for the Valour Angels.

Another laughs harmoniously. The very air lightens. “Well, okay. I am Destriel.” He puts an arm around the grey angel. “This is my good friend, Arias. Forgive his silence. He is very shy.” Arias offers up a small, quick wave and dips his head.

Hope and Fate respectively. Arias wears the trainee robes of the Ascetics while Destriel sports those of the Hope Bringers. Of course these two were close. The ascetics almost always bonded with one or two of Lady Auriel’s angels.

Finally, it is his turn.

He draws a slow, even breath in. “I am Erechtheus.”

Cassius nods. Destriel grabs his hand and shakes it too roughly out of joy. Arias gives another small smile.

From there, the four were inseparable.


He sits in the half-ruined hut covered by the blue cloak and lost in his musings. The fabric whispers as he runs his fingers across it.

This morning, he had become aware with a sense of urgency. He keeps thinking of his friends and how Cassius had begun to pull away first, burying himself in patrols and training. The Valour Angel had become increasingly more irritated as the debate over Sanctuary continued. As a result, getting on his bad side became more and more frequent. The last time he had really spoken to Cassius ended with a vicious argument. He had retreated back to Malthael’s Pools, confused. Although he was no Sage, he had snuck close to the end of one pool and looked in.

He saw a redness spreading through.

He saw it claim Cassius.


He tries to move his body. It doesn’t want to cooperate. It takes a few moments of trying but eventually his legs respond, followed by his arms. A tingling sensation skitters up and down throughout. His joints grind and pop as he attempts to get up. He is breathing hard as he swings his legs to the side. Already the room is swaying but he manages to stand. There is nothing to grab onto should he fall and he is alone.

But at least his eyes are better. At last he can see the greyish-brown walls and the matted purple of the rug on the floor. He takes in the small group of vials and little bowl sitting on the rug. Perhaps it was from those that the healing salve had come from. It blurs out of his view. The whole room spins.

Still, he attempts a step.

And fails.

He hears the sound of his body going down, feels the sharp pain when he hit’s the floor and hears the ragged sound of his breathing. He can tell he doesn’t have the strength or the energy to stand. Black fuzz starts to overtake his vision.

Without Master to make sense of it all, he feels as if he is drowning.


“Hey, hey!” the voice says urgently. He can hear its alarm. “Are you all right?”

He keeps his head down, stuck against the cold floor and shakes it. No. He is not all right. Nothing is all right. He doubts he’ll ever be all right again and shame on the person for asking such an offensive question. The black, skeletal appendages droop, heavy and a stark reminder that they are his wings now. No longer does he have wings the colour of the sea. Had he cried while he was not aware? Why does his face feel weird?

The person puts her hands around him and tries to lift him up. He’s dead weight. She can’t. She swears in a language he’s never heard before then tries again. A few more attempts and she succeeds in hauling him up to his knees. He won’t look at her. He won’t let her see how vulnerable he really is.

“What happened?” she asks, panting lightly. “Did you try to walk?”

No answer.

But yes.

He had tried to stand, to walk, only to fail at such a stupid task. But it was to be expected.

After all, had he not already failed his friends, his home and his Master?

She’s crouched by him. She should go away and leave him to whatever misery Fate has in store.

But she doesn’t.

“All right,” she sighs. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She helps him stagger to his feet and back over to the bed. It’s only when she’s pulling the blue cloak over him that he dares to finally look at her.

Long, slightly wavy ebony hair falls loose over her shoulders and down her back. Her face is thin, high cheek-boned and her skin pale. Her full dry pink lips are turned down in focus and her eyes are slightly slanted. Despite her thin form, she possesses little muscle. She’s a mage.

He gasps when he realises she’s the one who nearly killed him.


He holds himself rigid, tired muscles taunt with anger; staring at her whether she likes it or not. She is patronizing him. She has to be. Why else would she almost murder him then try to heal him? Well, he isn’t fooled.

“Don’t!” he finally snaps at her. “Don’t you dare play me like a fool!”

She starts, then gives him a confused look.

“I know your kind!” his voice breaks harshly but rises in volume. “Murderers! Liars! Twofaced backstabbers! Warmongering, greed-filled demonspawn!”

Now she looks hurt. She opens her mouth to speak but he drowns her out.

“You killed my brothers and sisters! You killed my Master! Your kind has taken so many from us and you don’t care!” He spits.

“What?” she finally says. “I didn’t do that! That was Li-Ming. Not me and how dare you accuse me of anything when you don’t even know who I am!”

He glares at her. She wears only teal robes over black hose with knee-high black boots. Underneath is a purple undershirt of sorts. Her hands are uncovered save for six rings- three on each hand. She doesn’t look like the woman Urzael had given him a description of. She also doesn’t wear any armour. If she intending to fool him, taking off the armour would be a stupid thing to do. He still has fight in him and could damage her easily.

Unless she’s not trying to threaten him.

He thinks hard. Before fighting her, he had trailed her through the ruins. She had been going through the back alleys, away from areas still filled with corpses and Reapers. She hadn’t succeeded; he had cornered her in a courtyard but even then, she mostly fought on the defensive.

“But my Master…” he says softly.

“Wasn’t killed by me.” She shakes her head. “That was Li-Ming and her friends.”

That name sort of rings a bell. Urzael had mentioned hearing conversations about some people who were heading to kill him and Master. Names had been mentioned. Was Li-Ming one of them? There had been a V-name in there somewhere too.

‘Then… who are you?!” He demands.

“I’m Kaiya,” she says. “I’m a Wizard too but I swear on anything you want that I didn’t kill your Master and I’m really sorry for killing your brothers and sisters.”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. “I’ve seen your kind! I’ve seen your heroes! Inarius shouldn’t have spared you.”

She gives him a pained look.

“If your kind didn’t exist, we wouldn’t have lost so many!” a flood is welling up inside him. Heaven has lost so many angels and it’s all her kind’s fault.

And yet…


She had tried to save him.

She is trying to save him.

What was it she had said?

‘I hope you go home,’ she had said. ‘I learned what you used to be and was horrified.’

‘I am really sorry about killing your brothers and sisters.’

And he has to wonder: statements like these… are they statements said by warmongers? Are they said by greedy liars and careless monsters? Are they said so sincerely by someone who shifts awkwardly under the weight of fury?

Are they said by demonspawn?

Before he can stop it, a sob leaves him.

‘I’m going to do my best to save you so you can go home. You have friends who care about you and want you to come back.’

She’s watching him without judgement. He is aware that he is breaking underneath frustration and desperation. He knows it.

But he can’t stop it.


He’s drained and exhausted. The Wizard had stuck around while he grieved. She at least hadn’t tried to comfort him. He wouldn’t have been able to handle that.

“What do I do?” he whispers to himself. “Everyone is gone. I can’t go home like this.”

“No, they’re not,” she answers. She pauses then her face goes slightly pink. “I’m so sorry. You weren’t talking to me.”

He looks at her woefully. He briefly wonders if it’s the same expression the dog had given him all that time ago.

She sucks in a breath. “I’m so sure you still have friends in Heaven. Heaven’s still here, you know.”

He shakes his head. Doesn’t matter. No one would be his friend now that Master was gone and they all had failed.

“Can’t return to Heaven. Not like this.” He mumbles.

“That is debatable.” She answers thoughtfully. “I’m sure they’ll take you back. You’ve been gone so long, they’ll be relieved when you finally enter those gates.”

He sits there miserable. “I’m still stuck here. And you mortals want to kill me.”

“I don’t,” she tells him. “I don’t want to kill. I don’t want to kill anyone. And I won’t.” Suddenly she offers him a quick smile. He’s reminder of Arias. “But I’ll tell you what- and you don’t have to answer now- but just hear me out.” She takes in a breath. “You aren’t fully healed yet so you’re stuck here. I know we mortals disappointed your Master and you but, if you want, for as long as you’re here and hopefully even after you leave, I’ll be your friend.”

Questions? Comments? Outbursts of emotion?

P.S. The Wisdom Angel/Reaper's name is Erechtheus.


P.P.P.S. Malthael's not dead, okay? He's just on vacation.


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So, I was rifting in Diablo 03: RoS (but had to quit because Comcast's internet service is such shit. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.) and stumbled on the lore book talking about Death Maidens and it got me thinking.

Malthael is a peerless warrior. He's even better than Imperius. It seems like nothing was capable of hurting Malthael until the Nephalem. Imperius gets hurt but he seems to recover quite quickly, even after taking a hit from the Prime Evil. His pain tolerance seems pretty impressive too.

I guess my question is this: who would win in a flat-out fight? Malthael as Death or Imperius as Wrath? I mean, we all know what Malthael was capable as when he was Death but Imperius as Wrath would probably be something very similar to the Hulk. :P

Honestly? My money would be on Imperius.
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RosarkaHamill Featured By Owner 4 days ago
Thank you so much for adding my Loki x Sigyn fanfic to your favorites! I hope you'll like the next chapters just as much La la la la 
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Thanks for the fav, Shannon!  Your continued support is very much appreciated. *hugs*
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You're very welcome! :meow: Keep up the great art! :love:
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Thanks for the :+fav: :D 
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