OoC: Ta-da.

BiC: The Demon had not noticed the boy enter, and had continued to muse over his books. The intruder had, however, given himself away.

When Timaeus laid eyes on the warrior, he felt something within him unlock. His bloodlust was unleashed in him, sailing around wildly. He went dizzy with the rush. Hew knew that a battle was going to take place.

He did not pay too much attention to what the human said, but he got the gist of it, and smiled at the comment. The furious red hair of what Timaeus knew to be an opponent caught his eyes instantly. He felt the chill emanating from the being, and he chuckled. The Angel looked his foe over, noticing the sword sheathed at his side. He also noticed the boy’s cocky demeanor, young face.

“Greetings, infant. I would like to welcome you to the Vershaniskarn Library.” Timaeus brushed his hair aside, allowing him to gaze with both eyes. “I am Timaeus, the Searcher.”

And after that, nothing had to be said. Not even a glance. They both knew that they were going to fight. And in answer to their chaws, they clashed together. Blade slide along shield, blood sung, darkness clashed with ice, fire mixed with the air.

Timaeus could taste the battle in his mind. He could taste the movements of the other warrior, the swift movements that dodged the Searcher’s onslaught. He tasted the adrenaline that fuelled the magic lancing between them.

Minutes, or hours, or no time at all, elapsed as the two praised themselves for their efforts. The flurry of technique, swoops, blade and shield filled Timaeus’ gut.

Then they stepped back and looked at themselves; neither had sustained any injuries. Timaeus made the first move, tossing a bookshelf and its contents. He jumped down to the level below. He could not see the redhead in the explosion of parchment, but he did feel the cold slice of a blade down his back. Under his robes, a hand was severed, and it hit the floor with a spasm and a thunk. The Elemental stared at the twitching limb for a second, and then thrust his sword forward. Timaeus’ arm was flung up by instinct to deflect the stab, which was followed by several icy missiles lodging themselves in the wood.

Timaeus reappeared several feet away, atop a ledge off books. “Haah! I loooove that trick. And you were confused by it, weren’t you?!” Timaeus howled with laughter, barely constraining himself, the image of the human’s expression repeating itself in his mind.

The deed was returned by the blunt of the icy blade smashing into Timaeus’ face. He lost his balance – as did the books upon which he stood – and fell backwards, connecting with the ground in a kaleidoscope of paper, blood and cursing.

Abruptly, Timaeus appeared beside his punching bag, and landed a fist in the child’s cheek. The movement of the boy hurtling through the air and bouncing as he hit the ground appeared in slow motion for Timaeus. Without a twitch, he spoke:

“Let’s dance, pretty boy.”

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