Power is a very strange thing. It's occurrence in nature often asserts itself in the form of powerful animals staking their claim in territory or in their acquisition of females. In human form, though, power reigns under the crown of politics or the individual with the greatest ability with manipulation, coercion, and sheer will power. Any one of those traits alone generally did the trick, but when they were added together or multiplied the equation became reproductive in a way that nothing else really could replace. Power, in its raw form, was something to respect and be proud of. By witnessing it, you aspire for it or to be like the individual asserting their power. But by garnering your own? Either philosophically, physically, or literally by piecing together the things that might encourage powerful displays of magic or otherwise... It was a force to be reckoned with. The strangest idea, though, lies in the nature of the thing itself. Can you be born powerful, or is it a circumstantial type of thing? Was I born with the abilities I had been introduced to throughout my short life, ... or were they learned traits? Had I learned to manipulate from some kind of brain side effect, or was it because I needed to eat when we didn't have enough money for food and the shop keepers were all too willing subjects to practice on? I don't know. But perhaps it's some of all of the above; quite literally, the sum of all fears and all beliefs or experiences you have ever had. And that equation? That equation is the reason for individuals like Damon, like Azrael, ... Like myself. Maybe, instead, we're the victims of a vengeful maker.

As of being the victim of power was what we truly were. Each one of the individuals listed clearly benefitted from their abilities to procure whatever it was that they needed for survival. No, I'm not tooting my own horn, I'm simply stating that intelligence and power didn't make us a victim. The only punishment from being a powerful individual was the fact that sometimes others didn't understand, and sometimes they couldn't fathom what you could do.

The cell of sorts was woven in a way as a playing field. When you entertain yourself with video games, you are more likely than not to experience a scenario where you fight a boss in a dungeon cell. Call it cliché, or mastery (I'd choose the later, honestly), but the cell was an illusion cast with the intent to show him it was a game we were playing, and that instead of death there was a respawning factor. It was already obvious that he thought games tiresome, but if he had years on his side - ... Wasn't it obvious to even him he liked to play games? Because a hunter wouldn't live that long if they didn't like engaging in their trade.

"Of course it isn't your first," I remarked acridly, the words bare silver on my tongue. "But if the game was as unamusing as you say, you wouldn't be playing."

It was a truth we both knew. If Azrael didn't at least want something besides violence from me, he would have made quicker work of a target that was unsuspecting. Coward. The intent of the cell was to reinforce our little game, and inspire his next move. What I knew of the hunter suggested that his temper would play whatever cards he had been hiding quick enough, and I wouldn't have to wait long. His musing about the cell itself was beginning to lose my interest; why talk? There was enough space to cast whatever his intent into the open, but he chose to become an old foggy and remark about the stone and the walls. I exhaled hotly, nearly bringing up my rising boredom. Come along now, Grandpa. I'm sure you have something better than moth balls rolling around in your head, yeah? I let the fires die with his musings, allowing darkness to reign before it's short lived occupancy is traded in for a purple, glowing light in his hand. The chuckle emanates, and is nearly replied with a laugh of my own. It wasn't really a plot twist, but at least he had decided to partake instead of talking about the (weather?) cell.

The sonic light source shatters most of the illusion as I knew it would the second he began manipulating the ball of light in his hand. My brows furrowed, irritation writing itself all over my face. He had to go and ruin it! We could have, quite literally, had a duel and perhaps that might have rid any of our ineffectively male energy, but the hunter evidently sought it to be not the case. It gives me a brief moment of time to understand that the hunter's power is unfortunately in a realm I can't touch. The laugh he gave made it plain that he knew this, too. With the hint of static electricity, the illusion fell and the stone walls gave way to the palor of the walls of my bedroom, flooding us with familiar light that felt too heavy on my eyes already. Such a whirlwind of weakness reminds me of my inevitable mortality, and I submit to the spear that he immediately aims for me by letting it knock me backwards and sear into the recently closed wound, thanks to Serafina that the vampire Frank had inflicted in this very fucking bedroom.

Maybe I need to move.
The spear uses enough force to flatten my back against the wall, and I surrender to it with loose muscles as to not cause myself more damage. This move in particular would allow Azrael to see that a little pain and violence phased me not at all, and would not be without retribution. The drawers of my dresser behind Azrael were easy to access and redistribute their parts into near walls on either side of him, pressing together as if he were the ingrediants of a sandwich that the dresser drawers intended to flatten, using the metal knobs as spikes to pierce his skin and hold him in place.

Of course, his attack came as quick as my retribution had, and I found twin spears on either of my sides. This hardly implicated me from using another illusion (big mistake) of the beam of my ceiling falling to hit him though the wood of the illusion was still something I could manipulate and I kindly let it smash the drawers on him. What a bruised, bloody effect that would have. Unfortunately, his second spear had stayed put and I could feel the searing heat of blood and puncture dripping down my stomach. With a short exhale, I shut my eye sand let his words sink in. Did I care about control?

Lord, did I ever.

See, the thing is, you can care about being in control but generally those who are authoritative and assertive understand the otherside, too. I had been hit, I had been tortured, I've been shot, I've been stabbed... I understand the loss of control at pain's sake. I understand the loss of control better than anyone I've met, which is why I have better control over myself, my situations, and my experience sthan anyone I have met, and yet to meet. I remain unirritated, though, and simply watch the hunter who is closer now. His golden eyes meet my nearly white crystalline blue, and with the weight of my gaze would be pinned there. It is only when he mentions controlling women, do my eyes narrow.

"I would never willingly hurt or extort a woman, Azrael. Can you say the same?"

My words were devoid of emotion or pain, but the very visible blood stains from the spears in my sides would alert him to the fact that I was probably paying attention to the wounds. In reality? Nothing of the sort. I don't know if my eyes have shifted as white as they were in the moments of his recap of my history. Rapist? The word is so far from any definition I could have ever given myself. Even she wouldn't say it when ... When he'd... She had willingly given me permission to take what I had been ordered to take, and she had surrendered me her life seconds afterwards with her deep, deep mahogany gaze resting in mine and her hands secretly tucked into mine between our chests -... I hadn't... I could taste blood at the venom in his mouth, and felt the drip of crimson staining my lips. My - ... Had the situation been any different, ... I couldn't even debate that hypothetical situation as my breathing became more and more erratic and I found a void where I reached for anything stable and strong and real to hold onto before everything starting seeping into crimson and white.

It hadn't been my fault she'd died. It hadn't been my fault for either one... She had been the sun, the moon, the rain, heaven... She had been the very reason my circulatory system relied on my resiptory. There had been nothing that I hadn't been willing to do for the soul of that perfect, perfect girl and ... I felt myself cough on blood and exhibit a vulnerability I had never felt before. Not even as I had held the ... My daughter before burying their lifeless bodies because nobody else would in the yard of her family's home... While they watched... I would have swallowed the blood in my mouth over and over again if only to contain the memories of how warm her body was even though there was nothing in her eyes. The cold, nothingness of her eyes when they had only ever shown me kindness and patience.

I couldn't even bring myself to say words to his allegations, and Serena's memory was far too bright and perfect and - ...

Tarnishing it would have allowed him to win.

I had been staring at the floor beyond the body of the denizen of hell in front of me, but it was time my white gaze move as slowly as it could from that place to grab strangle hold of his revolting golden gaze. Regardless of his movements, the seething, destructive and almost medieval in volatile strength wraith in the pit of my stomach stirred and now? With a crack as sickening as the words from his lips had felt, one of the beams from the ceiling flailed helplessly but with purpose from the ceiling, splintering into spears of wood as it fell which would crush the hunter to the floor or allow him seconds to move, but he wouldn't get away without reaping the splinters. Whichever, I felt my very skin nearly pealing away from bone in order to rid myself of the disgust as I exhaled heavily and crumbled the floor beneath him, knowing that the basement floor was the only one beneath us. If he fell, the pain he would have sustained would have been absolutely immense as the beam would have followed him down but I was confident in his ability to get back to our floor quick enough. Not before this could happen, the out let by my head exploded, and sent a wave of electricity through my body that was rivaled by nothing I Had felt before. Never before had anyone played on my weakness, but the strength of his power and the electricity ravaged my body like heroin had never. As the wave ebbed away, my eyes would have rolled back like a rabid animals.

"I've paid for my-," I started, taking a deep breath to avoid hyperventilating at the aftershocks in my body. It was almost enough to pass out and relinquish hold, but it was more important to focus my wavering breath. "You think you've struck gold, punishing a man you think you know. How does it feel to play judge and jury?"