William Holloway

I'm a devil in disguise

This was not the way this was supposed to go.

William was not naive enough to expect that things with Vhalla would instantly go back to normal. No, William was well aware of the fiery anger that would likely erupt in the girl due to the Hunter's prolonged absence. And even then, Will couldn't really blame her. He had disappeared without a trace.

But what Will couldn't understand was the anger that continued. He'd explained himself! He'd made it perfectly clear that the choice to leave her hadn't been his at all. That he had thought about her every moment of the past few years. That he had prayed for this moment - the moment he would finally come back to her! This was supposed to be a happy moment, the moment that they could finally be together once more. Not this. Not this drunken, angry moment in which she proclaimed that she felt nothing for him anymore.

The hurt was the first thing that Will felt, presenting itself as a coldness that started in his chest and worked its way all the way to the tips of his toes. The words that come next are full of that hurt that filled his chest now as he protested that she couldn't possibly mean the things that she said. She had to be just angry. She had to want to punish him for the worry and pain and hurt that his absence had caused her. Yes, that had to be it. It was that that propelled William forward to stand before her once more. At this distance he could easily smell the alcohol that clung to her breath, and yet he wanted little more than to find his mouth on hers once more. "Vhalla," He said again when she didn't speak, his tone urging her to provide him with the warmth that he so desperately craved.

The words that escaped the witch's lips next did more than stoke that hurt. The proclamation that she didn't care prompted that anger to flash in the pits of his stomach. His hand darted out, ensnaring her wrist tighter than he'd ever touched her as he yanked her forward. It was almost pleasurable to see the change in her own demeanor; to see the shock that crossed her features instead of the coldness that existed only moments before. How dare she say she didn't care about him! William could really smell the alcohol on her now with her pressed against his chest. Normally, William might have even leaned to kiss her in this position, and yet he did nothing but speak firmly, his words and actions so willing her to understand. She, of everyone he knew in the world, should have understood the helplessness that accompanied having so little control.

There was a pleasure that erupted from his own madness at her fiery response and the anger that existed in her features. Finally, some sort of response besides that icy exterior that he'd been presented with thus far. What the fuck did he expect? He'd been perfectly clear on that, hadn't he? He expected that she might accept his apology, of course! That she'd understand that he'd had no choice! That he'd returned to her the moment he'd been safely able to do so?! William didn't grab after her as she jerked herself free, nor did he reach out to steady her when she stumbled into the table behind her. Instead, William remained wholly focused on the words that poured from her lips, unable to contain the way his own anger flared up at the words so harshly thrown in his direction.

"Don't you think I know that life isn't bloody fair? I have lost everything that has ever mattered to me!" Will yelled back. His voice was far louder than he'd ever used with her, the decorum taught to him in his human life having been present throughout his time with the girl. The hand that broke between them enough to send William staggering back a step, the heat of the flame only igniting his own anger further. For a moment, the girl in front of him went wholly ignored as his own madness crept up on him. The edges of his vision seemed black, the world somehow less sharp than it had been a moment ago. No, no, no. William, too, fought to keep himself composed as he stood in front of her, the action rapidly becoming a losing battle as the insanity took him prisoner. It was a different kind of terror to lose yourself to your own mind, and Will would much prefer the coldness of the cell he'd been in for the past several years to this.

He'd almost composed himself - really, he had - when she spoke again. William's eyes flashed up at her at the question, prepared to answer it before the second one that followed made a burst of anger flash in the pit of his stomach. How dare she! How dare she compare the Hunter to her cruel master. William was nothing like him. William loved her, didn't she see? However, It was her final blow that prompted any sort of reaction from the Hunter. How he remembered his desperation to see her that he'd paid for an evening with her. He remembered the fear that she'd once confessed of her Master. The vulnerability that she'd shared with him and only him. How he had tried to save her from that, and only for it to be thrown right back into his face. Those words, the ones fully meant to hurt him, were the final straw in holding any control over the madness that raged inside of him.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, William realized that the girl in front of him was important to him. Though that seemed significantly less important compared to the anger he felt - though why exactly he was mad seemed to be slipping further and further away. His hand shot out rapidly, grabbing the assassin's arm. Once he had her in his grasp, he turned, throwing her roughly to the ground in front of him. William moved forward then, stepping so his feet were firmly planted on either side of the girl's body. William paid no attention to whatever look might be on her face or any other reaction from the girl that lay trapped beneath his feet. William didn't think, nor did he care. His mind lay entirely trapped beneath that innate need to rid the world of the very thing that had hurt him: her.

William stood over her, staring down at her with that cold expression on his features as his power called to him. After four years now of near daily use, the blue sparks came as easy as breathing. It took seconds before that energy pieced together the blade-like shapes within both of his palms. William gripped the hilt of his blades, feeling the warmth of the energy that pulsed under his palm as he stepped in closer to her. There was no remorse on his features, nor any love or affection for the girl in front of him. That part of William was buried far down below the madness, incapable of stopping himself as he moved to bring the blade in his right hand down upon her.