The arrival of Lailah brought a guttural roar tearing from Zariel's throat. Trapped within the luminous cage, the Reaper's form flickered like a guttering candle flame, his rage a tangible presence in the air. He slammed his fists against the shimmering bars, each impact sending ripples through his essence, but the light held, unyielding.
Harry edged closer to his mother, his gaze flickering between her and the furious spectacle of the imprisoned Reaper. "What are you doing here, Mom?" he asked, concern etching lines around his eyes.
Lailah offered a small, reassuring smile. "Just watching over you two." Her voice, though soft, possessed an undeniable firmness. Since Michael's departure for the realm of the Gods, a heavy mantle of responsibility had settled upon her. For Harry, undoubtedly. But also for Cindy. The girl was a miniature echo of Gaya – sharp, quick-witted, undeniably cunning. Yet, that very brilliance was twinned with an unsettling impulsiveness, a recklessness born of a desperate need to prove herself, an eagerness to leap headfirst into the maw of danger.
Lailah had to admit, Cindy's plan was impressive. She had stalked Zariel, anticipated his every move, and laid traps for his inevitable tricks. She'd made it look almost effortless. Too effortless. And then she'd informed them of her intentions, a surprising act of inclusion. She had coordinated with Harry, looped in the Dark Army. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision; this was a meticulously crafted strategy.
Lailah's gaze swept over Cindy as she approached, taking in the gleam of the sword at her hip, the taut string of the crossbow slung across her back, the sturdy lines of her armor. "Young lady," she began, her tone a careful blend of admonishment and undeniable pride. "I'm impressed. Truly. With your plan. But you should have taken someone with you. You could have been injured. Or worse."
Cindy's chin lifted, her dark eyes blazing with youthful defiance. With a toss of her head, she sent her hair cascading over her shoulder. Sheathing her sword with a practiced flourish, she then holstered the crossbow with a familiar click, the very movement an echo of Gaya. Crossing her arms over her chest, she met Lailah's gaze head-on. "Pfft," she scoffed. "I had this handled. I had this." She tapped a gauntleted finger against her breastplate, the runes etched into the metal glowing faintly. "And I had training. I'm not some helpless damsel, you know."
Amusement flickered in Lailah's eyes, but she shook her head, her expression sobering. "That's no excuse, Cindy, for rushing into danger," she countered, her voice remaining gentle yet firm. "You should not underestimate your opponents. What if he'd had a way to bypass your armor? To possess you? Despite the runes, despite the protections?"
Sensing an opening, Harry stepped forward. "She captured him, Mom," he pointed out, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. "Can you just lay off a bit?"
Lailah turned towards her son, her gaze softening as it landed on him. But a single look, a flicker in her eyes, was enough to send Harry recoiling slightly. Harry was brave but he was not brave enough to push his luck when Lailah gave him a 'mom look'.
Cindy, witnessing his reaction, couldn't suppress a snort of laughter. "Mommy's boy," she teased, her voice light and playful.
"I am not," Harry protested, a flush rising in his cheeks.
"You are," Cindy retorted, a wide grin splitting her face.
Lailah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Language, young lady."
Ignoring her mother's mild reprimand, Cindy turned back to Zariel, her smile vanishing, her eyes hardening to chips of obsidian.
"Don't think this is over," Zariel growled, the merchant's voice twisted into something guttural and menacing. "You can't kill me. You can't hold me. I'll escape. And when I do, you're all going to wish for death."
Cindy chuckled, a low, dismissive sound. "Don't get your hopes up, idiot. We're going to research how to kill you permanently, so enjoy the little bit of time you have."
Harry, emboldened by Cindy's confidence, joined in. "She's right. We have tons of resources and texts. It's only a matter of time before we figure out a way to kill you." Even as the words left him, a flicker of doubt crossed his face.
Trapped. Caged. These mortals had outsmarted him. He had underestimated them. Especially her. Cindy. He'd been so certain of his power, his ability to manipulate, to terrify. He was Zariel, a Reaper, a harbinger of death. But now, a cold knot of fear tightened in his chest. He had betrayed Fourcrux, his god, his creator. He'd escaped one cage, only to blunder straight into another.
And this one... this one felt different. Final. He doubted he could escape this time. Not again. His usual tactics, threats and intimidation, felt hollow, empty. They wouldn't work here. Not against them. He needed another approach. A different strategy. He needed to think.
His gaze darted around the chamber, cataloging the faces of his captors. The angel. The boy. The woman. And behind them, barely visible in the flickering shadows, the soldiers. He needed information. Leverage. Something he could use. Suddenly, an idea, a spark of twisted inspiration, ignited within his mind. A way out. A chance. He forced a smile, a grotesque imitation of human warmth stretching the merchant's features into something unsettling.
"Eve," Zariel purred, the merchant's voice now laced with a low, unsettling seductiveness. "Your Dark Lord's best friend. She's dead, isn't she? But I know a way. A way to bring her back. And I know who she really was."
Despite his isolation from Fourcrux, Zariel still possessed a network, a web of whispers and shadows. He had heard the rumors, the hushed tones discussing Eve. He knew about her, about her true nature – that she was an Incarnation, a mortal vessel for Death itself. A secret that even the God of Darkness had not fully comprehended. The Three Horsemen had struck her down, a calculated move to weaken Death. But even in their arrogance, they had underestimated the entity they sought to diminish. They had shattered the mortal shell, but Eve's essence, a fragment of Death, still lingered, tethered to him. And he, Death, could potentially draw her back, should he choose to. The irony of the situation was a darkly delicious prospect.
The mere mention of Eve's name, the insidious suggestion that he held the key to her return, landed with the desired impact. They froze, their attention snapping to him, their faces reflecting a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a flicker of desperate hope. Even Lailah, usually an embodiment of stoic composure, seemed visibly shaken. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, her lips parting in a silent gasp. Cindy's jaw went slack.
"Don't play games with me, Zariel," Elidyr growled, his voice low and dangerous, the initial shock giving way to suspicion. "She's dead. And no one, not even the Dark Lord, can bring her back."
A dry, rasping chuckle escaped Zariel. "She's dead, but not truly dead," he countered, his gaze sweeping across their stunned faces. "You have no idea who she was. She was an Incarnation. A vessel. For Death himself."
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