In the deep cavern, the walls, saturated with a crimson glow, gave off a feeling of foreboding to the Archer. Standing a fair distance away form the source, the heat still had him and the swordsman sweating beads. The crackling and bubbling of magma filled their ears with the occasional hammer strike, which threatened to rupture their eardrums. The lava pool cavern filled the archer with dread at what was to come. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush in, kill the demon, and toss the sword into the infernal abyss…

Yet, his mind told him it would be suicide.

Galan seemed anxious as well, although the archer could tell he just wanted his master back so they could bring more death and ruin. Zalif remembered when they first met, although he would rather forget. The boy seemed somewhat disturbed, but was okay when you caught him at the right moment. Now, he seemed… no, he was, little more then a soulless puppet doing its master’s bidding. He felt some pity for the boy, but he brought this fate upon himself.

The sword, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying itself; dipped time after time in the lava until the blade was nearly molten. The demon was taking great care to repair the sword as best he could, pouring a liquid compound of metal into the cracks and massive hole that Gabriel’s Arrow created. Vaskalen sat in a rocky tub for this procedure so that the heat would have no effect.

When the demon was happy with his progress, he poured some water onto the sword, hardening the one side so he could repeat on the other. Zalif could do nothing but watch as his greatest became a reality before his eyes. Did that shadow girl give up and flee to another dimension? If she hadn’t, where was she and what was taking her so long?

*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*

Under any circumstance, she would be an odd sight: if not for her purple hair, or blood-red eyes, then for her choice in clothing. Today, the case would be that she chose the normal style for the region, but it was the colour. In this heat, anyone wearing all black would be carrying a death sentence, yet it did not matter to her. She traversed the golden dunes and cracked dirt with on goal in mind: to find him.

But what would she do when she found the kid? He’d probably try to kill her, so he’d let him have a shot, try to get all that aggression out. All in all, when she would explain that they had the same goal, she knew he’d cooperate.

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(Avy by insaney, sig by an assortment of various ZUers present and past. You know who you are. =3)
Figments of my Imagination.