Azazel Gray
A D V O C A T E
N A B O O
The constant crash of water filled the air as five men and women stood on the rocky shore at the base of the waterfall. Since the sundering of the Southern Systems, many had worked tirelessly to cleanse the world of the misshapen horrors that had been unleashed. As their efforts seemed to be drawing to their totality, fewer monsters remain to terrorize the survivors that had begun to rebuild on Naboo under the Queen's steady leadership. Now, these few stood with set jaws and lidless eyes as they contemplated how to draw out the beasts that had found refuge in a cave behind the thundering torrent of water.
As the soft crunch of rock announced the presence of another, the group slowly turned in waves to look back at the one joining them there. Adorned in a thin, silver armor and light gray fabric-like material, the arrival's hot blue eyes shone even in daylight. With a nod, those that had chased the terrors to this place turned to withdraw.
As they departed, a slow exhale slid between scarcely parted lips as two pale hands slowly rubbed together. It never seemed warm enough. Not since the disaster. Not since she had nearly fallen to the madness like so many others. So much more than the illusion of safety had been lost that day. Not that Azazel had spoken of it to anyone. It wasn't a sense of isolation that seemed to sap the warmth from her hands, however, nor tension from standing before the mouth of the enemy's makeshift bunker.
For several minutes now, Azazel had been preparing for this confrontation. The others had stayed to make sure their quarry did not flee to some other location or to set upon people anxious to find some semblance of their life before. Preparations that only caused her hands to feel a greater chill than usual.
Slowly, a spectral hand perched itself upon Azazel's right shoulder; the calm and ease of its movements were a poor match for the sheer weight felt under its grasp. A quiet hiss breathed against the side of her neck and tickled her ear, 'It's time.'
With a sudden inhalation, Azazel reached out into the air before her; her fingers slowly curled inward as though grasping the grip of a blade. A double-helix of blue flame spiraled downward and in its wake forged the blade previously unseen by mortal eyes. Slowly, she lifted the inverted blade into the air. Once it was held as high as she could physically, Azazel slammed it into the ground.
Birds broke from the trees with a cry just as a faintly translucent, blue blade appeared above the waterfall. It was as wide as a freight liner and taller than the waterfall. And it followed Azazel's motion to slide down into the cliff-side; the surrounding rock broke and fell as it was forced aside by the intrusive power, and the water's course was forcibly diverted about what some might see as open air.
There might have been a howl of defiance or fear or at least shock from the monsters in the cave. Perhaps. Azazel didn't hear them so much as felt their passing back to the Nether where they belonged, and would reside for all time if she had any say in the matter. A small blue fume escaped her lips as she exhaled the power that'd manifested within; the smoke quickly evaporating as the mystical blade in the falls did.
Azazel stood back up to her full height and turned to regard the rest present, the physical blade still in hand. "There was word of another gathering not far from here. Let's go." Perhaps there would be others there already. Perhaps this trial would soon be over. There would be others. Not the least of which being the one she would not soon escape.
