complete; closed | it's foreign on this side and i'll not leave my home again.

[rehymenator]

When; After midnight, Thursday
Rating; R, violence
Characters; unseenprince, rehymenator
Summary; Prince Nuada and Castiel sitting in a tree; not exactly accurate. Castiel is alone, Nuada drops in to practically kill him.
Log;

It's not as quiet as usual for Castiel's reprieve from the City for the night. Though there isn't any traffic here to fill up the air with rumbling and beeping, there's always the ticking. And that hum of intersecting worlds and timelines that occupy the spaces he's used to moving between. The Shadow City hasn't afforded him much better rest, being so difficult for him to traverse lately, either.

So he stands at the top of one of the taller buildings in the City, and watches from the middle of his roof. The way he used to before he knew the Winchesters.

Comments

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

The curse today doesn't affect the elven prince yet he has no need for it to appear as if he flies. His feet are swift but his steps are soundless like a cat's. He scales this side of the building using the sills, the gouges in the bricks, anything that gives him leverage to cover the height from the open window to the very edge of the top. When he curls over the ledge, landing in a low crouch, his sight sets itself upon the man on the other side. Well, the "man" on the other side. He sticks to the shadows to avoid the reflection of moonlight on his pale skin, but the spear he keeps poised in front, short-staffed as he draws closer to Castiel. Perhaps light will catch on the mirror-polished blade. Perhaps the spot will distract Castiel. Either way, Nuada has a responsibility to kill this being, and he does not shirk such things.

[rehymenator]

Nothing's different, but Castiel shakes himself from his reverie in a movement too minute for most humans to catch. Looking almost as if he's stretching his neck, Castiel raises his chin, glancing to the side before beginning to turn.

His brow furrows with suspicion, the glint of something in the corner of his eye and a distant feeling of a presence. Another sliver of hope lights his eyes and he turns faster, expecting someone much more familiar to him.

"Anna."

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

"No."

It's the only word he imparts, cold and inconsequential, before Nuada slashes the edge of his spear straight across Castiel's eyes. Blind him first, maybe faith will guide him. Maybe not.

[rehymenator]

Jumping back does nothing -- he's blinded before he even thinks to move, and his hand immediately flies to his face. Blood that had sprung fresh smears over his face and he stumbles further back, losing the smooth movement he usually embodies.

Castiel's sword is suddenly held at his side, his opposite hand extended in instinct left over from fighting demons in countless skirmishes. In many other cases, it would be his true weapon, but now he can feel the presence before him is neither angel nor demon. He begins to panic when his eyes don't heal, and hopes that it does not show.

"Who are you?"

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

Castiel's reaction to being blinded is expected. The weapon that extends from his hand is not. Nuada tilts his head in curiosity, interest. He has never seen one of them wield such a weapon, but then again, the Seraphim in his world have eyes amidst the feathers in their wings. How close yet far apart some things are. He wants to test this man, not answer his questions.

The spear swings directly at Castiel's blade, looking to feel its edge and then just as quickly turn to crack the blunt end against the other man's jaw.

[rehymenator]

Moving with the first hit, the blade swings out; he intends to bring it back around, but combined with his disorientation and lack of speed, the Elf's second blow effectively changes Castiel's focus from attack to defense.

With a grunt, he shoves both his arms forward in an attempt to put some distance back between them. He only hopes that he is shoving in the right direction and that his strength hasn't left him quite yet.

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

Nuada deftly keeps his blade between Castiel's and himself, he doesn't know what it can truly do though he is conflicted in wanting to find out. He knows anyone who can still produce a sword and fight without vision is either not quite human or not quite smart. Castiel is the former in addition to being sharper than his appearance would imply, not that the Elf has any sense of humor for accountant jokes. He slides back, distance put between them as Castiel intended, but Nuada is tenacious and sometimes he does not fight fair. To compensate, the spear stretches to full length and he uses this aiming to cut deeply into the back of his opponent's knee. However he doesn't want him to fall (yet) so whether or not it works he twists the spear-turned-staff to slam the blunt end against Castiel's chest.

"Keep up," Nuada utters.

[rehymenator]

The expectation now of the quick, successive blows only barely helps Castiel anticipate what's coming. It doesn't help him evade the hits and there's another quiet grunt when his knee is slashed that's knocked out along with the breath he doesn't necessarily require from the hit to the chest. The breath he won't waste in a verbal battle to accompany the physical.

There is a soldier within Castiel that has been asleep the duration of his stay in the city-sized prison. That soldier instinct is what keeps Castiel outwardly calm, and it's what drives his hands to his chest when Nuada hits him. He's only thinking of grabbing the spear, of trying to wrench it from his opponent and using it against him.

Then his knee finally gives out and he begins to slide downward, still grappling toward where he's hoping the spear might still be.

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

Again he tilts his head, secretly intrigued by Castiel's resilience and ability to assess his environment. But his hands in grabbing the spear's strait works to Nuada's advantage as well. He shortens the staff, hoping to pull Castiel towards him, to bring his sword within reach so Nuada can attempt to disarm him first.

[rehymenator]

Downward and forward; now clambering with armed hand at the spear and free one at the space, or the lack of it, in front of him. Jerking forward with the prince's weapon, he fumbles and Nuada is victorious in achieving the desired effect.

Castiel's sword clatters away from him across the cement, but it's just as quickly forgotten. In a last ditch effort, his hand shoots upward, attempting to make contact and use a last semblance of his power to incapacitate his attacker.

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

The victory isn't without consequences. A cut opens up on his arm, the spoils of close combat war but it's the last of them as the sword falls. Only then does Nuada see the hand coming towards him. If anyone knows the power of the open palm it's the Elf Prince. He must catch Castiel by the wrist first before Castiel can catch him. His curiosity is strong, he wants to see just what that hand can do, but not at the risk of his 'campaign'. Nuada has worked too hard and is too far along to sacrifice this fight. He'll stop this man within a hair's width of his own chest if he must, but he will stop him. And then he'll read him. Another spoil.

[rehymenator]

Failure, even repeated, is not something Castiel is unfamiliar with. He's existed on faith alone, if not in himself, in his brethren and in his Father. None of which are serving him any good (though you wouldn't hear him admit that) in this fight.

Another failure given him by the feel of a grip around his wrist and no contact with his fingertips. Then his knees hit the ground with a crunch.

He wonders what the purpose is, if he'll simply reanimate by the deities' want in a day's time after his death. Whether it's in defiance of his own doubt or out of habit, or even some remaining true faith, the incantation flows almost naturally, calling for the light that won't come.

"Yolcam olpirt iaida," Castiel gets through a few of the words before he starts to cough and splutters blood from his nose and mouth.

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

What strikes Nuada the most is the amount of question in this man, this being. Are His creations not made in His image? His perfection? Was it not His and His creations' majesty that turned the Fallen One away? The Elf Prince is no expert on their kind, no more than he is an expert on Anung un Rama, Son of the Fallen One. But they are not humans (only worshiped by them) and that makes them better.

"Interesting," Nuada whispers, almost stilling as if he's waiting to hear the rest of Castiel's magic. He'd like to, but he won't. Not tonight. It isn't safe at all.

He keeps a hold on the other man by the same wrist and with irony in mind the Elf Prince plunges the spearhead into Castiel's side, looking for that place between his ribs to bury the tip. The momentum pushes them forward, he uses this to his advantage, taking both of them towards the edge of the roof.

[rehymenator]

Everything is trivial, now. The struggling to push back at Nuada, the yelp that emits from Castiel when the spear plunges into him even as he tries to finish the incantation. The curiosity at what sort of being could ambush and fall an angel, even one who was close to the edge before this moment, all all unimportant.

"Why?" It's all he can manage after falling to his side, speaking to darkness at a being he can't fathom. At a man he cannot, and were this encounter to happen months ago, want to understand.

[unseenprince.livejournal.com]

Nuada stares down at Castiel with yellow eyes that are anything but gold. They are mildly sick, embittered, incapable of being that metaphorical window poets often covet. Even Nuala, his sister, cannot understand them. Of course, who can expect Castiel to when the man can't see? Nevertheless, Nuada only sneers before twisting the spear to break the tip off, leaving it inside the all too questioning angel. They should always ask questions, ask in search of the truth, before He makes the wrong judgment and destroys them all because He made the humans, and the humans are everything imperfect. Everything the Fallen One stands for.

What sort of being? The kind who was made with the Earth before humans took it as their own divided kingdoms. Nuada, exiled prince, father-killer, will right that wrong even if they must make sacrifices along the way, of which Castiel will become one of many.

He shows no remorse when he delivers the final kick to push Castiel over the roof's edge, wrist released so he may fall to the street below. Nuada wonders if the blinded angel will sprout wings. He wonders if the angel has the faith to try.

FIXING this because holy crap kids, don't tag so late

[rehymenator]

He waits, in that short moment, for a response to his question. The pain hits him again, a shock as the spear is (what Castiel assumes) ripped out, unable to comprehend that something has in fact been added.

He waits still, between the time it takes for Nuada to pull back and come forward again, and then he's weightless in a way Castiel has never felt before.

If Nuada watches, he'll see no burst of light come from Castiel when he lands as his kind commonly display. The prince will only hear the sickening crunch as limbs catch beneath him and a faint glimmer when the wings Nuada seeks take form in shadow across the alleyway underneath the now unconscious human.