Azariel's Ambition

(please forgive I am sick and tired.)

"I've been doing this for more than 40 years now, you're going to have to do better than that, Azariel."
Her voice chided him, the thump of her spear touching the ground again loud in his ears.
His teeth ground together, his breath rushing out in a plume of clouds, his fingers digging into the frosted earth before he rose again, hand moving to cover a wound, then dropping to reveal it as gone.

If anything, he wasn't going to lose. No. Not now.
He'd spent too long training with her and working so hard to lose now.

He was the son of the protector of this forest.
He was the son of a line of Demigods that ran up to the gods Tempestas and Asclepius as his Great Grandparents.
Even if he was young, he couldn't just let himself be weak.
He was going to be stronger, and he was going to get it by his own power.

Readying himself, he stepped forwards, ripping his sword from the earth, its blade humming with electric energy at his touch.
/Our power. This is our power./
Taking his stance, he waited until she did the same, then charged.
This time, he was merciless, defending only what needed to be defended, letting the blade of her spear slice his skin time and time again, the cuts melting away just as soon as she gave them.
Forward, forward, further and further he pushed her back, the thought of victory spurring his movements, the pain of her blows nothing to him.

His sword crackled as he swung time and time again, meeting the staff with incredible force each time she blocked, and gaining power and speed each time he missed, whirring through the open air before circling around once again to deliver another blow against the unyielding wood of her spear.
With each breath came further energy, their duel gaining momentum, his scales humming with the same energy that surrounded his sword, each collision explosive, until finally, /finally/ he got somewhere.
His sword came down and the staff of her spear came up, and this time when they met, not only did sparks fly and energy crackle, but his sword prevailed.
Wood split, splinters falling and his sword continuing down as she leapt backwards, out of the way of what would certainly be a damaging blow.
Drawing his sword back, he didn't hear her praise, he only saw his chance.
Rocketing forward, the wind parted for him, his sword moving almost with its own will, straight for her chest.

But no.
His victory was snatched from him, a foot colliding with his blade, sending it to the ground and out of his hand.
Knocking it away.

Tall, powerful, shining and golden.
Their eyes met, and Azariel's burned before he broke contact, turning and running, unhearing and alone.
Snatching up his sword and heading for the place only he knew.


It was hidden, dark and lonely, but it was his.
A small crevice in the earth leading to an underground pool, with glowing crystalline structures and an old shrine in the center, eroded and unrecognizable.
His own place.

His breathing was the first thing he became aware of, ragged, broken huffs of air, and then his hands found his eyes wet, and his head spinning.
Azariel stood still for a moment, shocked.
Him, crying?
Looking down at his sword, he found it subdued, losing its built up power so quickly.

He collapsed, kneeling in the water and trying so hard to calm down, clutching his shirt and waiting until he could breathe again.
Alone at last.
He'd won, right?
He beat her.
So why did... Why did everything hurt..?

Lifting his sword again, he held it out in front of him, gaze roving across the blade's surface, the crystal in the hilt, the way it seemed alive.
The way his eyes staring back at him in the reflection didn't actually belong to him.

"We're better. We're getting stronger, right?"
His voice was hoarse, and it echoed softly before everything fell silent again.
Pulling it close to his chest, he closed his eyes and sighed.
"Of course we are. How could I think otherwise? We won, after all."
He felt the warmth and the energy surge once again from the blade, and smiled, sitting up. Standing up.
"There you are."

Holding it out at arms length again, his fingers traced the edge of his sword, its gleaming surface humming once again.
"We're going to be the strongest in the world, you and I. Mom didn't feel you, and neither did Grandma, but I do. And that's why we're friends, isn't it?"

He turned the blade, placing the tip into the sheath at his hip and then sliding it in, not letting go of the hilt, and turning towards the pathway up to the world outside.
"We're friends because you know I can be strong, and I'm not going to disappoint you. We're partners. We're going to do this, together."