Forgotten

[Ezrihel]

Soon enough, and after a rather restful nap, the blonde man and his feathered dragon came through the Camelot gate and out into the stark whiteness of the Nexus. He breathes in the air deeply. It smells different here, clean, and sanitary, like a hospital. Every once in a while a whiff of some strange aroma drifts through the otherwise empty air, allowing the idling Primes and Secondaries to catch a brief scent based view of another verse.

Ezrihel looks out over the nearly alien landscape, his emerald green eyes keenly darting from one figure to the next. He would not be surprised if he could help it. He would not be ambushed and made a fool of. He spots and takes note of the various Kingdom scouts and Imperial Stormtroopers rushing in military squads to differing gates.  The sound of marching boots is nothing more than a faint tickle of the ears to most humans, but Ezrihel can hear each jingle of shifting armor, each impact of boot to ground, as if he were marching with them.

With a gentle thought, he beckons Noctem to go forward into the white realm. She shuffles her wings, attempting to adjust to this place. Giving a snort, she casts a concerned look back at her rider. Come on girl, it'll be alright. With his encouragement she steps forwards, the fleshy pads of her paws dulling the sound of her moving mass. The gradient hues of her fur coat have an unbridled vibrancy in the void of the Nexus, her colors pop out brightly, especially against the black and red of Ezrihel's inquisitor robes. The clicking of her talons against the hard floor echo hollowly in the emptiness.

Trusting Noctem to guide them to the correct gate, Ezrihel takes a moment to pull up the Dataverse Omail system. Society of Super Villains, he thinks, what a name. With the activation of his device, the minute and transparent wires spread from his temple and creep over the surface of both his eyes, projecting a tiny screen across the lens of his eyes. Motioning with his hands, he unfolds a piece of plasteel into a screen an activates the interfacers. A flat keyboard appears, it's letters incomprehensible to anyone not of his race. With nimble fingers he types in a search query for an email.

>Enter search query.
>SocietyofSuperVillains@omail.com
>Invalid search query: Unknown Name.
>SoSV@omail.com
>Invalid search query: Unknown Name.
>IP 192.82.10.1203
>Invalid search query: Untraceable Address.
>fearmastersc@omail.com
>Invalid search query: Unknown Address.

> . . . Please enter search query.|

Ezrihel stops typing and pinches the bridge of his nose with his left index finger and thumb; the finger of his right hand curl sharply before relaxing and attempting to brush through the dragon's mane. Noctem gives a glance back at him, sensing his mounting frustration. Why must things in my life become such trivial difficulties, my dear Noctem? Came his rhetorical question.

Ugh. I'll handle this later then. Just go to the fountain.

Then his inhuman senses pick it up. Soft crying, sobbing? Coming from his right. His eyes snap towards the sound like a predator stalking his prey.

There, a girl. A small girl with pink hair. He could smell the salt of her tears from here, feel the subtle warm flush of her puffy cheeks. Deep down within himself, he feels something stir, something dark, something destructive. Before him, curled into a ball, appears a weak and scared creature, human, from what he could tell.

He reaches his mind out, not touching her consciousness yet, no, he wanted to test the air around her at first. While doing this, he beings to unstrap himself from his riding saddle. He swings his right leg out first, then his left, climbing down Noctem's fuzzy blue arm and starting towards the girl with the grace of a feline. As he steps closer, her sobbing rings louder in his ears.

Weak.

Something curls up inside him, a building tension that went unseen on the surface. The creeping wake of the abyss within as it poised itself for the kill.

She won't fight back. Look at that. Give in. She's just as helpless as Lilith~

He stands about five feet from her now. The emotional energy around her feels like torrents. Confusion is the biggest of these. Fear the second. Like a helpless babe she doesn't even recognize his presence.

The only truth is suffering, the only truth is suffering. It's okay to hate yourself, just lay still don't cry for help. Run, anywhere you can. It's coming, the suffering is here.

Ezrihel gives a soft exhale and drops to one knee.

I'm sick but I need my disease.

He extends his white gloved left hand out a bit, obviously offering it to the young girl. He pushes a stray lock of hair out of his face, putting it back into place.

I'm sick but I need my disease.

"My good lady, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?" His warm voice carries easily, giving an air of control and gentle power.

I'm sick but I need my disease.

"I'll protect you. I won't let anyone hurt you, on my word as the High Grand Inquisitor."

No one is safe. No where is safe.

"If you so wish, you may come with me on my journey so that I may ensure your safety."

I'm sick. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Noctem dips her furry head down and brushes her fleshy, cat-like nose against the top of the girl's head. She gives a soft purr before nuzzling the girl.

"Oh, that's my Dragon, Noctem. She's a big push over for the most part, and it looks like she's taken a liking to you!" Ezrihel gives a quiet chuckle, genuine in it's amused and happy nature.

Surrender is your only hope.

"Do you have a name, young miss?" He asks with a soft smile. He's still down on one knee, offering a hand to the pink haired girl.