Two weeks" Lost.

Her last memory, before she'd vanished, was of her leaning against the alley way wall wondering at the sight of the Dark Man. She'd fought several foes earlier" she'd been hurt by all of them' and unwittingly, she'd overspent her life force energy. (She assumes it was her fight with Morningstar that had left her so depleted" she doesn't know the truth.) She remembers that she dreamed vivid images that had felt more substantial than reality itself. Mel, The Tree of Life, The Heart, but most poignantly Welv.

She'd Dreamed"

Belial had never done that before"

She assumes" *again*" that this new talent is a manifestation of the spell Corwyn had cast...but the truth has more to do with the growing power of the Dreamwitch.

"Seraph"

The title sits uneasily upon her, it isn't something she's embracing; it's something she's struggling with.

Belial's confusion can be traced back to her most ancient history, to the roots of her creation. Once, Belial was a Keeper of Angelic History. She held no gender, she never strayed far from the Grand Library were the "Words" were kept. And with inbred impartiality, she'd kept meticulous records of her brethren's activities. Always she stayed on the outside, never allowing the events to touch her, influence her, for this, she felt, would have tainted her ability to keep the "Words" pure. Yet' over time, even she had began to form opinions, simply by noting trends or seeing the patterns as they unfolded. Logic and reason were gifts the Angelic shared"

She can't recall when the *corruption* started, it began with such small trivial things" Nor can she site the first inklings of her change. The inconsequential moments of existence, tidbits of wisdom learned in too-quiet regard, they clicked inside her head like a slow moving gear, until, at last, one day her opinion was sought"

Many had taken sides, during the Great Wars in Heaven. Many had formed their own ideals. Belial had made note as each reported, she watched their internal struggles, began to empathize with their growing needs. The Lesser were gifted very little upon creation, and they comprised the masses. Belial saw the injustice, but knew not how to approach such topics with those whom communed with the Great Architect, the Seraph.

The Seraph were the icons of her race, the ones rarely seen or spoken to. Few took time to pass their activities on, and never to a Lesser like she had been" Only to the most powerful of the Keepers would the Seraph share. Belial had no access and dared not to seek it. In fact, although she knew that Corwyn was of Angelic descent, she still does not know his ranking. Nor can she recall Aleron's clearly. They both served Above, but Belial never interacted with either.

The moment of the asking, the final question so to speak, had come to her as a surprise. Perhaps she should have spoken dutifully' But the past cannot be undone. They came, they asked and she answered" Belial was the last Angel to Fall, (that fated day); the last of her race to choose free will over domination during the Third Great War. The war was ended as Morningstar and his followers were banned from Above.

What happened to her next is pretty much a fog for her; she holds no memories of her first days, years, perhaps eons, in Hades" She understands she went insane, mad from the loss she'd faced and hadn't expected. Slowly time came back, and somehow she came to believe that she was the daughter of Satan. A creation crafted by the hand of the Fallen Morningstar, and he didn't bother to correct her" Rather he fed to the delusion, as often and frequently as he could.

She'd become a fierce warrior, honing her skills with her rage and her hatred. She could not have told you from whence either sprang, but she was brimming full of both' Over time she worked her way up the ranks of Hell, growing ever harder, losing herself in the games played to gain more power. For with power one had control, and Belial enjoyed having control.

The first of the wars with the Above came"

Belial had earned the privilege to face Gabriel on the battlefield. Hard won was this position, many enemies had been made, some destroyed. But not Kathryn" Never Kathryn. She was there the day the battle horns sounded, watching with anticipation for Belial to fail" Too bad for Kath, Bel won the day, defeating Gabriel and his weak-kneed Legion.

The second war went much the same, however this time Belial was prepared for Gabriel's strategy and the slaughter of the Above took merely minutes. Belial was granted a boon for the victory. Allowed to roam the mortal plane freely, the only cost' A few souls"

Belial became a Succubus, stealing the souls of the lustful to feed her Master's coffers. She liked her job, it was fun, and she had no one to boss her around. So, what, that she killed mortals" What were they to her anyway' Little more than monkeys, short-lived and sheep-like.

The Third War came and once again Belial led the legions of Hades against Gabriel. But this time, she lost'

She was banished to the Second Circle of Hades" Where she learned to serve others lusts" It took her a long time to work her way back up the ranks" And during that time, she'd had enough. Spying an opportunity, Belial took it. A girl that lay dying, her soul hanging by a thin thread" The girl was not evil, her soul would not walk the paths of Hades, but that made little difference. As the last breath was drawn, Belial slipped inside and stole the body'

It wasn't long after that she found her way to Rhy"Din"

The past, it holds so much sway over the present. Unfair but true. Enemies made still linger, vendettas earned grudges held. No matter how much she's changed, there are some things" Small as they may be? some things that haven't.

Belial sits upon the rooftop of the Red Dragon Inn, staring at the clouds as they pass overhead. Silhouetted by the moonlight, they dance and twist, creating interesting shapes that keeps her somewhat occupied. It's true she could simply go inside and enjoy a drink or three, while waiting for Ayreg to return" But Bel is trying to avoid being in public since the strange supercharge of energy.

Her sitting here waiting" It's not a reach, a stretch from the normal for her. There was a time when she preyed upon the mortals, crept into their beds in the middle the night to drink down their souls while plying them with lust....But those days were long ago, so far past that the memories are ancient history....Yet, the tricks learned never fade. It is easy to pass through shadow and light, shimmer wherever the prey may await....Her senses are sharp, honed to detect many small physical markers and so much more....And everyone knows just where Ayreg stays; Room Number 3 at the Red Dragon. A room that has its own private bathroom...

Bel is all too familiar with this game, and none of it leaves her settled. In the back of her mind she reminds herself over and over again: Sid really cares for Ayreg, so just don't kill him!!! But even the words sound weak and frail inside her head....For in reality, Bel will do whatever it takes to retain the position of power she now has....to keep the freedom that Corwyn granted, even if it was unintentional. And so it she finds herself perched upon the rooftop of the Red Dragon, her senses attuned to the room two floors below, waiting....waiting for him to return...

The sound of the door opening, the fall of footsteps, the noise of the shower....all signs he's back in his room....and yet, she waits....She clings to the control over the surging energy within her, fighting down the nervousness that threatens to drive her more quickly to her goal....No, she must take this slowly; she must remember that Ayreg is important to Sid....So she waits....until at long last he stands at the window, gazing out. For a heartbeat of a moment, Belial wonders what he is thinking about, his grim expression, the sadness haunting brilliant green eyes, too green to be human. For a moment....she believes she sees in him what Sid may....and there, just beyond the human eye to detect, lurks that darkness....It rides so close to him, yet Bel has never seen it intrude, overwhelm or shadow his soul....it always stays just a thread away from such bindings....Steeling herself, she cants her head to one side and shimmers into being a few feet behind Jodiah, looking at his back as he faces window.

Jodiah is prone to bouts of silent contemplation. Sometimes he thinks on the nature of the universe, or the meaning of life. Occasionally he ponders the artifice of the gnomes he works with, wishing he could harness such skill into his own smithing, every once in a great while, he even wonders on the cosmic importance of naval lint. There are very few subjects the Death Knight doesn't consider when he's taken to having a spell of thought, and this night's stare out the window was no exception. Mr. Howe. Every fiber of his being wanted to scream and crawl, wanted to waylay and annihilate this man. The rational mind knows best, though, in that such a venture would most likely have been impossible, as Mr. Howe so blithely said so.

Not one to waste useless effort and energy, he didn't press the matter. Now, though' No. No regrets.

He shook his head and turned away from the window. Now, the best course of action was likely to curl up into his blankets and— he leapt back, suddenly, as the fact that his room had just now been occupied. Obsidian's sister, Belial, often had a strange notion from the death knight; one that he should be wary off, and keep an eye on. It was one of the first things he had felt about her, and it had stayed true where everything else left away, became muted, changed, or evolved. With as little interaction as he normally had of the much-shorter one, very few actually did have a chance to change.

"Oh...Belial. You startled me."

Then, as if someone having just appeared in his room was a common enough occurrence, he turns and slinks past her, en route to his writing desk. Limping gait not withstanding that bladesman's grace.

"What can I do for you?"

Bel had watched as Ayreg continued his staring, finding it rather odd....She's spent time with many creatures, and none were ever so unaware of her presence as he seemed to be. As she watched the man, she can't help but wonder what it is that has him lost so deeply in thought. (What Bel isn't aware of, since Ayreg has showered and the scent of the Demonic Attorney has been lost, is that he'd had a run-in earlier with Howe....She doesn't sense this in the least, but instead....She feels Sid's energy coming from him in soft, gentle waves....This brings a scowl to the pale perfection of her face.) Eyes flutter closed as she nibbles on her lower lip. She is torn as to how to approach this issue with Ayreg....

Sid's scent, her energy would not be so strong upon him were they not far more intimate than Bel had anticipated. Not that Bel is upset about such things, she's been around too long not to understand that love, life must be seized when the opportunity is ripe....Humans, mortals, they live such short lives, and for those like her it is imperative to grab what you can when you can....Yet, Ayreg is an enigma; she knows that far more is going on with him than meets the eye. But at times of trouble like these, there are no exceptions to the rules of survival.

'If only Corwyn were here, he'd know what to do'. The thought gives her no consolation.

Corwyn's closeness to Sid makes him weak, in Bel's eyes that is, especially when it comes to Sid....He would likely assume that Ayreg can be controlled, that there are other ways to strengthen this otherwise weak link....But Bel isn't nearly so blinded. As he turns at last to find her waiting, his leap back speaks volumes of his warrior training and, although her eyes are still shuttered from his sight, she *sees* him with the power of her race. His voice is dry, hard-worn yet soft as he speaks her name....and still Bel remains motionless, nearly a statue of pale skin and bone.

Whatever glamour she'd been wearing of late is gone, the small frame stands in lightweight body armor, blasters riding holstered upon each full hip. That tail is still too, as if the life that animated it has fled....But it is all an illusion, for Bel is fighting hard to keep the energy from leaking out....She stands motionless only because to do otherwise would weaken her in his eyes, (or so she would assume were the tables turned). Hopping about like a nervous cat just dipped in a well would not do much at retaining her reputation, now would it'

She feels him brush past her, already aware of her surroundings as this is something she's trained herself to do with casual glance alone, she knows what lays beyond; His desk. But his room is full of weapons, steel and otherwise. Yet Bel doesn't expect him to attack her, at least not yet....The limp is felt, not seen, for Bel's eyes are still closed. His grace" She's always noted his grace....it is something that makes her fear him....One that knows the art of the dance is one that should never be underestimated. His words reach through her thoughts, bringing her back to her purpose for being here. Slowly she turns, eyes opening to stare at Jodiah.

Should he look he would notice that her internal struggle has been taking its own toll, those green eyes once so bright and nearly human are gone....Black orbs dotted with a million stars stare from the familiar face, this being looks far from human now.

"You can answer my questions, Milord Ayreg....For now is the time to prove yourself....You, Sir, are a threat to me and mine....It is only fair that you allow me the opportunity for reassurance..." Her tone is soft, melodious, not in the least familiar to how she typically sounds. Even though he's known her for such a short time, even Jodiah can notice, should he choose to, that something really isn't right with Belial....No, something is most definitely wrong.

Perhaps he did notice. The death knight had always had an eye for details; such a trait was a necessity on the field of battle, at the head of armies. Not noticing a minor detail — a feint, a flank, an opposing force's line being thin in a particular section — could very well cost one the conflict, reeling to lick wounds or, worse, led away in chains. Jodiah Ayreg was not a man suited for chains. Kristia's words describing his nature quite succinctly. You, Jodiah, would make a terrible slave...and anyone that thought you looked like prey for a collar probably deserved one themselves. Though not a subtle man in himself, Ayreg certainly had a knack for subtleties. Perhaps it was his trek to the writing desk that was made to get away from the window, should she a mind to push. Perhaps it was to get a better, clearer view of her.

Craftsmen had an eye for work, and Jodiah was a craftsman of weapons, and of armor. Brilliantly green eyes remarked her dress, noting the lines of armor appreciatively. Anodized black metal holstered at her hips. Such weapons he had become familiar with, true, but has hardly an opportunity to explore one. Perhaps this would be a possibility, if he could only convince her to hand one over to him. Not bloody likely.

Bare feet were, perhaps, the only thing of the death knight not scarred or maimed in some way. Loose-fitted black trousers of some kind, soft in material not unlike linen, kept his dignity under her staring, soulless eyes, though his torso and arms — and the plethora of scars from injuries sustained over his years; a dipping concave in his upper-right chest; a deep, deep slash from shoulder to belly; a vertical cut, healed now with the power of Goldenrod from Sid; arrows, daggers, stabs, cuts, even the pebbled marks left behind by the burn of dripped acid from one put to The Question, drawn and stretched like some piece of meat for the Questioner's 'tender' ministrations; a searing mark, mirror-backward letters surrounded by a deeper circle. zAB — the Blood Amazons — were left visible for all the world to see. He was, after all, preparing for sleep.

And that tail. So uncommon these days throughout the Realm. It actually likened her to the more bygone days of his youth. Thin lips twitched.

"A threat, you say' You flatter this old blacksmith, Belial, but as you like it. Ask your questions."

Belial stares at the nearly nude man, those star-filled orbs drift over the scars her expression softening as a small hand lifts....almost as if to trace fingertips over the more vivid of them....Yet she doesn't step closer, no contact is made, it is merely a distraction of a dangerous bend. A canting of her head sends short ebony curls dancing over her cheek, spilling into her face....And with a suddenness that hints at her dis-ease guilt darkens her brow and a single tear trembles on the edge of an eye that shines with a universe yet birthed.

There is to this man in his age and his battle wounds something greater than she's know before, and this does not sit well with her....Something unfamiliar and strangely attractive....Is this what Sid sees" Belial has no compass here, and would never pretend to understand when in truth she doesn't. She's much more likely to pursue an answer than assume one. A flick of that pointed tail as she moves first to her left, then to her right, a shimmer of the nervousness, a telling edge of the fight she wages inside, but she does not take to her bad habit of pacing....No, tonight there is a seriousness that overrides everything that once proclaimed her personality.

She lifts a hand to wipe impatiently at her eye, her gaze drifting from the man before her to rest on his desk, before moving towards the bed. She can feel Sid's presence here, somewhere in the room, a reminder that she must keep hold of the darkness threatening to overwhelm. Were it up to Bel she would have liked to contemplate with Mel or Corwyn what it was happening to her, but that was not to be....Instead she's left to fend for herself and those she loves....Something she was once well honed to do, but over the past few years, that edge has been lost....Lost to emotions of compassion and love. A snarl tugs at full lips, her rage at such an invasion evident in a momentary loss of facade. Then his words again bring her back to this moment. That gaze moves back to the man, one step closer towards him is taken.

"The darkness that haunts you, Milord....It is not familiar to me. From whence does it come?" She fully expects him to answer for Belial doesn't know Ayreg really; she has no understanding of his past or lack of it. She seeks merely to understand what she *sees* and what she suspects is meant to be hidden.

The Plaguebringer. The man before her, the one she took a singular step closer to, frowned. It may have been as a result of her own twisted visage, so full of malice that it was in that brief moment it had remained visible, or perhaps of her question. His arms, corded thick with muscles gained from slinging forge hammer, and from slinging steel, cross loosely over his wiry chest. Lean and hungry, perhaps, was a good way to describe his physical stature. The only thing giving him a truly powerful appearance at all would be the broad shoulders that, also, were ripped with muscle beneath dusky skin. Many in this Realm were pale, alabaster, or nearly transparent in their color. Jodiah Ayreg was a human, and a mortal through and through. Duties, responsibilities, and simple business alone required him to travel extensively by day at times, and forges were a place of heat and black stain. While not dark enough to have been considered Ethiopian, like those rare few visitors to these Realms that had kinky hair and Drow-dark skin, he did seem to cast an image of having been gilded by the sun.

But we digress.

His eyes narrowed slightly at her question asked, and before the frown had even been more than few seconds old it was replaced by the image of stoic neutrality again. He was a trained soul in hiding his emotions.

"What do you know about it, my lady Belial?" If she insisted on honorifics, so too would the death knight. "And how" It is....not something I speak of."

Eyes of dark lights stare at the man. Perhaps it was the familiarity of her approach, of a memory of times past when she'd snuck about in the wee hours of the night seeking to quench her thirst and add souls to that growing list demanded by Morningstar....Or perhaps it was the very darkness that she is questioning" She cannot deny that power attracts....The day she'd entered Heaven to tear open the eyes of her siblings and nearly died, Corwyn had summoned her into him....The power had held her enthralled, she'd been lost inside of it....

A tickle of lust rises, but Belial knows not to follow that path....It leads down roads best not traveled. Pushing thoughts of seduction aside, she takes another step towards him, reminding herself as she moves that he is indeed not food, and that she certainly doesn't need any more energy added to her already overloaded state....

A delicate brow arches as she regards the man before her. What had brought this moment to pass" Is he the threat that she *feels*, or is this all fantasy' Can she just walk away?

Yes, she had known he could tap into something this powerful....And yes....This may be the end of her. A quiet acceptance of sorts but in this she must remain steadfast....It matters little now if she wins, it matters only that she stand her ground. That small hand snakes out, too fast for the human eye to follow....But Jodiah isn't human, not really....not anymore....Cool fingers wrap about his arm tugging them closer together. She's made no outward threat towards him, but as soon as those fingers curl he can feel her attempting to psychically slither inside him. Her goal is to tap into this power, find its source and know what its motives are concerning Sid, herself and those she loves.

Bel doesn't speak aloud, but rather inside Jodiah's mind the words come, a caressing sense of touch against the tumultuous tossing of the power he's unleashed. "You must stop this, Jodiah, for it may consume you....Let me see them....But then let them go..." Whether he will do as she bids....remains to be seen....for he is now in their grip....and she could be simply dead meat in a scant few seconds....Belial is no match for the Filth Goddess....nor is she foolish enough to believe otherwise.

There was darkness.

A pitchy color so black as to make one believe one had stepped into the depths of the earth itself. A thumping sound, rhythmic and pounding, overwhelming — the sound of a heartbeat. The innards of some great monster, perhaps, on a scale to dwarf the Titans of old that crafted the worlds and ordered the universe, a single step beneath the encompassing omnipotence of the Architect of Eternity.

A light. Brilliant against the blackness, but only just enough to make clear what could be seen. The ground was pink. The ground was red. The ground was greenish. Sallow. Hair-like protrusions creating an obstacle, perhaps, if one could move. An organic pipe, a vein, pumped some kind of viscous, thick black fluid through organic walls, crawling with monstrous insectoids the size of a jungle cat. A single man, wrapped in rivetless armor that would remind one of black snakeskin. Solid black eyes — but not. So thick with Saa as to appear black. Dead-eyed. Expressionless.

Beyond" A deeper darkness, rife with a sudden chorus of inhuman guttural snarls and barks, grunts and clicking, throaty howls. A myriad of x-shaped lights, the eyes of a beast far larger than any human could dread to nightmare over.

And one moved. The dead-eyed man moved away, melting into darkness, and the Malfean slithered forward. Like some kind of huge, grotesque worm, riddled with tentacles and insectoids burrowed into slimy husk. Eyestalks were turned solely upon the interloper, this....creature ...of singular thought, and mind, children of the Grand Maw from which all evil spewed in the first days. Old when the world was young. It slithered toward the interloper, and...changed. The front spiraled open, a gaping mouth, lined with circular rows of teeth into the inky black void of its gullet from which more tentacles sprang forth to grab, to manipulate, and to pull asunder; over the grind of rows and rows of vicious incisors.

Mulhecturous.

The Filth Goddess.

And then it was over. A flicker-flash of reality setting itself right again, and the Saa vanished from Jodiah Ayreg's eyes. What unhappy chance could have landed Belial into the Hall of the Nihil, in the very heart of Malfeas itself" What might have happened had she not been drawn back to safety, back to the mortal world of the living" Always hungry, these monsters that lurk in the back of the minds of men.

Released from the agony of maintaining this channeling of energy, the death knight slumps against her. Warm breath, unequally human once more, washes in staccato bursts over pale skin of the once-demon that has become his crutch.

She was inside a....Beast"! She was *food*....This is what hit her first....then as the blackness clears and the thrumming beat of a heart overwhelms, she can see. To her it looks like she's inside a stomach, the belly of the beast, and it isn't where she wishes to be....Until she sees the large insects....Sees the man with blank, black eyes....And at last....The Malfean. Belial has never before faced such a being....She senses that there is a joining of minds, a singular motivation....But then....The *Monster*, for indeed that is what it is....a *monster* of the like no mind would dare create is approaching. It charges not slow, not languid but with malice and delight....And it is reaching out to devour her....

Bel is not one for screaming like a sissy, in fact, the only time she's ever raised her voice is in battle cry....But here in this place, there is an overwhelming sense of desolation, a devastating lack of hope, as if such feelings or thoughts have been wiped from existence....And so it is that just before Jodiah pulls her from that place she screams....Like a girl.

No, these creatures care not about her, or her race....The games played by the Above or Below mean nothing there....Jodiah is not a threat to her, Sid or her family....Jodiah is a threat unto himself alone As he sags into her, the small frame looks as if it would bend beneath the weight of him, but Bel is far stronger than she appears. Small arms fold about the broad shoulders as she takes on his weight. Slowly she eases him towards the bed, not at all sure what to do to aid him....And ever fearful that if she does not control the streaming energy inside her she will no doubt do him more harm....In fact, even through this casual touch she can feel her energy leaking from her to him. Shaking her head at how stupid she is, she reaches up to smooth the aged brow, a gesture rarely granted by Bel, a token of emotion she keeps for her family, friends or lovers alone....And yet, the knowing of his truths....Has forged a bond at least for her.

She gives him the time to regain his strength, loathe to leave him in this condition....It is now that she is assailed by guilt. Sid is most certainly not going to take what she's done to Jodiah lightly....But aside from that....Jodiah did what he did to enlighten Bel. She owes him. Black orbs of starlight fade as green eyes return. The stress of the "seeing" has taken a bit of the edge off....a good thing, she thinks....But it is still hard to wrap her mind around what she's seen. It's far too alien, nothing that she knows. Gazing at the man she admits that his actions have gained her respect....She will think far better of him now.

In a soft, gentle tone she asks. "Jodiah' Jodiah, are you with me" Are you ok" Is there..." Again that sad shake of her head, for this really is her fault. "Is there anything, anything that I can do to help?"

Yet, she can't resist just a tiny taste....

She reassures herself that nothing need come of it; it will be a passing moment, a blink of an eye....and nothing more. With the quickness of her race she returns to him, lifting up on tiptoes, her body pressing lightly against his. In this his height works in both their favors, her shortness, his average height, it is easy to brush her lips over the roughness of his. Slowly she slides down.

"If you have need of my aid, know that I am here. I will stand with you, Jodiah, but I would not ask you to stand with me....My enemies know no boundaries, and they are far too numerous....It is best you stay away from all of us, at least whilst in public....It is for you own good." She means this to keep him safe.

That would have been a surprise to Belial to discover — later, perhaps — that the Telling was not all-encompassing. Had she delved into his mind, then; raped his psyche for every vivid memory of his past. Every sordid detail of every army headed, every banner flung into the sky, every lover held, every murder committed. Had she done so, she would have found a distinct lack of Corwyn and Belial in those memories of the Telling. She would have discovered that Ayreg was no mere and simple kitten crawling around the common rooms of inns and taverns, but she would have discovered no knowledge of her past meeting her that night below, when Obsidian and he shared a bottle of Midnight Tears for the first time.

"Very well. I will not excuse what you have done, but I will forgive and forget it ever happened, if that pleases you."

Yet even as he speaks, she is pulling away from him, drawing back. His fingers remained wrapped about her wrist, though, as she had not drawn back far enough to require their release. Thoughts of lust and physical satisfaction were counterpointed in his own mind, though, hidden behind the steely mask he wore from which her finger gently traced the mark upon. The image of her arms around him flared thought and emotion strong. Need. Desire.

He was a man of self-control, though; his most highly-valued and prized trait of all. He would not make such a vulgar gesture as to—

She kissed him. The slightest of brushing gestures of lips upon lips, but their height worked in such a way as to seem perfectly made for each other, didn't it' It was a quick thing, a teasing thing, a taunting thing, to him. The Divine worked in strange ways, and if this was a test of his willpower and self-control that she performed upon him now, then...

Well, he failed that test. Corded arms seized Belial into his grasp, and pulled her back to him. Her words were heard, understood, and pushed aside. Stay away from them' As well ask the sun to never rise again.

Lips crushed to lips in a heated embrace from the death knight. How humans were such slaves to their own thoughts and feelings; where thought and logic mattered little! Her reaction to this lapse of iron-fisted control might very well shape the remainder of this night, though.

Would she melt against him, even as he pulls her to him' Or would she draw back, and smite him sharply across his angular jaw"

Time would tell. Very, very soon.

Having spoken her piece her goal was to leave him....Of course, for Bel it is always all about Bel. She may have come a long way since her creation, but alas, there are some lessons still needing the learning. Selfish as she is, she hadn't thought of his needs in the least. Only her own desire for a small taste....His reaction'

Suffice it to say she isn't quite sure how best to respond....

Her mind spins out of control and all thought of logic and what she *should or shouldn't* do seem rather distant when caught up against the hard body she's been considering exploring since she'd first arrived. She would like to blame it all on her past, accuse herself of debauchery....remind herself that Sid is involved....dig up every aspect of guilt she can muster all in the name of saving him from her....And yet....Selfish as ever, what she really wants to do is yield to her own urgent desire....The small voice inside her head whispers, whispers and whispers, ever insistent, ever persistent....and she blatantly ignores it.

The body armor she wears is very fluid and flexible, it is a high tech creation from Oberon Enterprises, and works much like a second skin....However, there is no obvious way to remove it....He can feel every inch of her pressing against him as her lips respond to his with a hunger that is certainly all her own. The energy she's been keeping tightly in reign since her arrival begins to leak from her, small electric shocks seem to dance over what little open flesh the body armor leaves. But she has enough control not to allow it to harm him through their physical contact....The true question is can she keep it up" Belial doesn't know, she's never been this supercharged before....and yet, even the thought of potentially harming the both of them, doesn't seem to be stopping her....

Now, it's true it's been a long time since she's felt any need for such intimacy with another....But there is something about Jodiah....Sid had spoken of it, but Bel hadn't seen it until tonight....Sid is right....Perhaps it is the scars" Or the age" Or....Bel realizes with a mental start that nearly everything about the man holds something that attracts....And for the first time ever she wonders who's actually in control right now? She certainly doesn't feel like she's the one holding it....But she doesn't feel he's taken it either....The entire thing is leaving her confused but even that can't stop her....

Fingers tangle in long graying hair, tugging him ever closer, drinking him down like he's a fine wine which hasn't ever been tasted before....She knows she should stop this, before it goes too far and she hurts him....But every ounce of her riles against it. At last, she tells herself, in the hopes of reassurance, that everything really will be fine....Really... even though in the back of her mind that little voice has begun to scream, loudly...

A kiss that changed everything.

Before the end of their time together that night, Belial left a small piece of herself inside Jodiah A precaution of sorts, a way of knowing should any of her enemies attack. Jodiah is a strong warrior, but he's still just a mortal now playing in the games of Gods and Angels.