Chapter Two

Azrael smelt the popping pus which oozed from its skin before he heard it. The delicate and fertile forest soil cracked beneath its feet, its stomach jiggling with each step. A low growl gurgled in its throat, the tusks that caused its bottom jaw to jut out gnashing together as its stomach rumbled in hunger.

He'd barely caught a sniff of nettle emanating from the elf when he'd leaned towards her earlier. And judging by how intensely it stalked, Isolde had been its prey for a while now. Probably because of the nettle. Nettle was to some Others the same as catnip was to a cat.

It inched closer, still hidden in the shadows of the darkening forest, the skittering feet of Others rushing out of its path echoing through Azrael's inner ear. Its grip on its club tightened, the lazily wrapped leather squeaking.

Isolde ran up to Azrael's side, her anger seeping through her previously controlled expressions. She grabbed his arm, ripping at it so she could catch his attention. The movement shifted whatever covered the nettle musk, Azrael's sense of smell overwhelmed.

The Other erupted from the left, roaring loudly as it swung its club fiercely at the two of them. Azrael grunted as he caught the club, Isolde underestimating his ability as she crashed into his body, shouting, "WATCH OUT!"

His back leg stumbled from under him, his wrist overextending as the Other pressed its club into him. He winced in pain, his bone throbbing. The path splintered around him from the sheer force, a strangled grunt leaving Azrael's throat as his feet left imprints in the ground. Isolde stared up in awe, a cough leaving her lips from the dust that stirred up at Azrael's feat of strength.

Ha. Feet of strength. Oh, that gets me every time.

"Not. Helping. Narrator." Azrael hissed quietly so the elf wouldn't hear him, his arms shaking with effort from holding the club with his weakened hand.

Oops. Sorry.

The Other roared again, jumping back with its club when it couldn't pressure Azrael into submission. Quickly it charged forward, reaching its grubby grey hand around Azrael for Isolde, unprepared for the shoulder that slammed into its liver.

Isolde scrambled backwards, her eyes finally ripped away from Azrael's captivating image. They widened in realisation, her voice stuck in her throat, "That's – that's – that's a gogma – a gogmagog!"

The gomagog collapsed to its hands and knees, its chest heaving as it wheezed. The giant club rolled towards Azrael, his foot slamming down hard and crushing the wood in half. He wouldn't be lying if he said it was revenge for his hand. His head whipped around, his once serious posture relaxing as he gestured comically at the Other with his thumb. "A who-ma-na-what-now?"

"A gogmagog." Disbelief washed over Isolde, her eyebrows raising as her fingers dug into the dusty path.

Perfect teeth nearly pierced his pink lips as Azrael stifled the laughter in his chest, keeping an eye on the Other that continued rolling around in pain, "A clock-ma-cog?"

Isolde scrambled to her feet, the vein in her skull popping as her face reddened, "A GOG. MA. GOG."

Azrael couldn't hold it any longer, laughter bursting through his lungs loudly. Tears welled in his eyes, Isolde only noticing them as they slid down his cheeks, the moles and scars on his face becoming visible as the tears glistened in the reawakening sun.

The gogmagog pushed itself up, the wheeze in its lungs returning when Azrael's fist stumbled into its liver, distracting it from the punch that slammed into its throat. His stomach spasmed as the gogmagog fell to the ground again, slapping his knees when the Other couldn't seem to fathom what was happening. It's puzzled expression disfiguring its already disgusting face.

"Wh – why are you laughing? What's so funny? You need to have a least a dark green core to defeat a gogmagog. This is a strong monster." The elf couldn't understand what was going on. The arrogant masked man in front of her knocked down the Other with his bare hands yet had the audacity to laugh at her over … over… what?

Azrael raised his gloved hand, wiping his tear-stained face, gasping with effort, "Oh, it was hilarious to hear it the first time, but, but … who calls it a gogmagog?"

Without batting an eyelash and completely serious, Isolde answered, "Brutus the – "

"Rhetorical question, Elfie." Still on its knees, the gogmagog reached its hands to its throat, its breath barely escaping through its thick neck. Azrael's steel gaze cut through the cerulean hood, no empathy in his heart for the disgusting giant. "I've had quite enough of history lessons."

Both of his hands wrapped around its neck before it had a chance to flinch away, twisting it forcefully until the bones snapped, protruding through its neck. Dark grey blood oozed from the wound, almost dripping onto Azrael's leather gloves that seemed to linger for a moment.

The gogmagog's gnashing tusks lost their strength, its tongue hanging limply out of its mouth. Colour drained from the already lifeless skin, all the muscles slackening until it collapsed face first at Isolde's feet.

Her own jaw lost strength, her eyes flickering between Azrael and the gogmagog, as if she was waiting for it to suddenly lash out at her. A strangled sound left her throat, her bustling thoughts betraying her voice, rendering her speechless. Maybe he did have a reason for being arrogant.

Azrael intertwined his fingers, stretching them outward so they cracked. He hopped over the large body, careful not tread on any of the uneven cracks that protruded from the ground, his movements featherlight. His gaze drifted from Isolde to the gogmagog and back again, "Since you probably had no idea that thing has been following you for a while, I kinda feel responsible for you now."

"Following who?" Isolde scrunched her eyebrows, her hand itching to reach for the dual swords on her back. Instead, she pointed at herself, scoffing, "Me?"

"For all we know, it was you." With each word, she slammed her finger into the middle of Azrael's well-built chest. He gently grabbed her finger, pulling her body into him. His nose grazed hers for a brief moment, her breath quickening at the sudden contact. She froze in his arms, hyper fixating on his soft cheek that scraped against hers, his breath brushing against her ear, "Says the one who's smothered in nettle. Hog-ma-wog's love that sort of thing."

Isolde flinched back, falling to the ground as her ankles hooked one behind the other. She grit her teeth, "I told you, it's a gogmagog."

"I know. It's just hilarious when you're mad, Elfie." Azrael bent over, a small smile embracing his features as Isolde backed up every time he inched closer, until he trapped her against the gogmagog's cold body. "Where're you headed? I'm going to Toussaint Manor, so … while I'm feeling responsible, you should come with me."

Hesitant to answer, Isolde stared suspiciously at the gloved hand outstretched towards her. "You're headed to Toussaint Manor, as well?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Azrael scoffed, pulling her to her feet, "Yep. You're lucky I was behind schedule."

"Bullshit." Azrael nearly laughed at the soft whisper he so obviously wasn't supposed to hear. Isolde held onto her other arm, their previous position making her ears flick in embarrassment. Unaware or uncaring of Isolde's rising embarrassment, he grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder. "Who knows what they might do to my lil' Elfie if I'm not around, hmm?"

"Put me down!" Isolde screeched, her legs kicking into Azrael's back, her arms trying to flail in his grasp. "And I told you, my name is Isolde!"

He brought one of his hands to his mouth, teeth biting at the glove that stuck to his fingers, ripping it from his injured hand. He balled it up, shoving it in her mouth. "Looks like you didn't learn your lesson about being quiet from the sock-ma-shoes."

Manipulating the energy around the glove to keep it in place with a quick wave of his hand, no matter how hard Isolde tried to spit it out, she couldn't push past his power. She kicked him in the back again, a soft caress compared to Alka Hadeon's beatings. Azrael flicked Isolde's forehead gently, his hand aching slightly, "Keep trying, Elfie. Maybe you'll get stronger."

Finally in peace, his conscience at the fact he wouldn't be leaving a naïve little elf on her own and his ears no longer bombarded by said elf's screeching, Azrael took the first step of a slightly long journey.