The Raven & The Dove {Reaper}

[Deleted]

The city of Sarajevo was bustling in preparation. The streets were being swept for the small and clunky cars. It was the sort of weather that one could expect from a typical summer day in the city. It was reaching upwards of twenty-six degrees Celsius, and there was a faint breeze blowing in the wind. It was the sixth of June in the year 1914. There was nothing exciting about this day to the typical Sarajevan. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary was to visit in twenty-two days and, while the average person didn’t care much for the commotion, it was a welcome break from the tedium and the tensions.

It was also, let it be said, a rather fine day to plan an assassination.

Europe was on the brink of war. The Ottoman Empire was collapsing. The established European powers and the new nationalist movements were tearing away at the Empire, like hyenas ripping apart a stolen corpse. Six years before our beautiful June day, Austria had plucked control of Bosnia-Herzegovina away from Turkey. Sarajevo, of course, is the capital city of Bosnia. Sarajevo was coveted land – both Serbia and Russia wanted the land. Turkey was too busy trying to defend its territory against both Italy and its colonies and the Balkans.

The countries were too nationalistic. It was a mistake that Iblîs recognized over the countless years that he’d been alive. They were too paranoid of losing its power. The Austro-Hungarian Empire feared a fate similar to the once powerful and great Ottoman Empire. Objectively it was, of course, the Balkan sense of nationalism that could be blamed for the downfall. Iblîs, although he could not see the future and did not care to, knew that eventually the catalyst for its demise was not the Balkans but the paranoid obsession that comes with command.

The Devil had come to Sarajevo, and he was looking for war.

The Black Hand – a silly name for a silly group – had been all too easy to infiltrate. It was easy to cause the distrust and unrest amongst the members of the group. His attention in particular had been refocused to a sly young man who had been rejected from the Black Hand. Despite the group’s initial disinterest in the young man – a small and pale man with dark circles under his dark eyes and trembling hands - Gavrilo Princip had been one of a few approached to assassinate the Archduke.

Iblîs was one to see the large scale. The Archduke was merely a pawn. His life was expendable and worthless. His death would prove to be the catalyst for many things to come – Iblîs would make sure of that. All he had to do was feed into the negative energy the nation was feeling. It wouldn’t the first war he would be responsible, and Iblîs was certain it wouldn’t be the last. In fact, despite he knew his consequences would devastating for the entire world – information gleamed from the Vetales – he was also confident that it wouldn’t the largest war.

He stood outside of the Moritz Schiller’s café. The stench of human food caused him to scrunch his nose. He could smell the scent of someone not human – there were a lot of those, peddlers trying to sell alien technology. This was different. Iblîs tilted his head and walked through the city, following the foreign scent quietly. He wore clothes to help him blend in; a dirty white shirt with black frayed suspenders, and pants with dirt on them. At first glance, he appeared no different from any other street urchin.

There were, however, multiple signs that Iblîs was no street urchin. He held himself straight, his chin tilted up and watching the sky. His skin was much too pale to have been raised in Bosnia. The eyes were a pale and apathetic shade of blue, constantly analyzing his surroundings. Although his body was in the form of a fourteen-year-old child, Iblîs was much older. He didn’t much care for the human sentiments that one could have ‘old eyes’, but certainly there was the wary cynicism that came with age present on his features.

The Head of the Council was now close enough to identify the source of the smell. It was a Lord of Time. His lips twitched into a predatory grin, exposing sharp teeth. He had met them before, and they were always fun to mess with. Of course, a Lord of Time could keep interest longer than a human could. Not for much longer... it seemed that after three billion years he was a little… what was the human term? Jaded. He moved quietly, continuing to follow the scent languidly.

The Lord of Time was not how he had anticipated. The initial energy that Iblîs could sense was reserved – a cool and calm energy. The Head of the Council liked calm. The Lords of Time that he had met previously had been all energy and passion, leaving Iblîs bored and mentally unstimulated. He walked closer, each barefoot step on the Latin Bridge taking him closer to the target. The Lord of Time had pale white hair, reminding the small Ifrit of a dove. Elegant, graceful and cunning.

The Vetales had told him that he would meet this Lord of Time.

Iblîs casted a glance over his shoulder; this would be the site of the murder to come. He tilted his head, peering up at the taller Time Lord. His gaze moved past the Time Lord, watching the clouds while keeping the man in his peripheral vision. “I have a proposition for you,” Iblîs said quietly, moving his scrutinizing stare back to the Time Lord’s eyes. “Europe is on the edge of war. I intend to expedite it.”

[Deleted]

Armand didn’t care much for time-lines anymore. He had begun to experience that point in his life where nothing mattered much to him. He had become quite bored with his life. He was already on his seventh and by a time lord's standard, he was still quite young. Perhaps only 750 years old? He'd still be in his second life if it had not been for a certain family that have become quite the bane of his existence. But he didn’t hold a grudge. No, not at all. After all, what was the use of a grudge when when one could simply exact revenge and move on with your day?

Reaper was, for the most part, a patient man. He would wait out all of eternity and pick of Leo and Rio's precious little family one by one. After all, he had nothing but time to wait. And somehow, his life was directly intertwined with theirs. It seemed amusing at best that no matter how much they hated and despised the self proclaimed messenger of death, they always kept running into each other.

He, of course, had changed greatly since his first life. The only constant that remained with him in each life was his height. He'd been blond, he'd had black thick ringlets of hair, he'd had green eyes, he'd had blue, he'd even had dark brown eyes. There was once instance which, much to his dismay, He'd regenerated and the accent that spilled from his lips was distinctly German. He'd played the mute for a majority of that life..

But after a while, it had ceased to bother him. He still detested the language due to the memories they instilled.. But Armand had built up an immunity to the rage it instilled in him. His seventh life, he could honestly say, was perhaps his most calm and calculating incarnation. He could speak with someone, simply observing, and by the time they had concluded their conversation, Armand would be able to give you their life story. Every little twitch, the manner in which they spoke, every sigh, told a telling tale. Even the most seasoned liar was quickly riddled out. It was a simple skill he had obtained, but it had it's uses.

He could sense that something was following him, but at a great distance. It was hard to describe but it felt the equivalent of magnets being attracted to each other and fighting to pull together through churning water. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it certainly bade that ashen blond brow arch with curiosity. He continued onward. If this was a meeting meant to occur, he was curious to see how hard that magnet would struggle to find him.

The Reaper paused in his steps and turned his face to the warm sunshine with a slight smile, vivid cerulean blue eyes, closed. As the world shifted beneath his feet, the ebb and flow of a time was changing. What have been in flux, he could feel tightening and coiling in the air. A fixed point was settling into place. He smirked.. He loved fixed points. He greatly enjoyed disrupting them and twisting them to shift time lines in his favor.

As he stood on the apex of the bridge and the light steps of his 'magnet' came to a stand still and Armand exhaled slowly, a strange smile appearing. His energy was strange but not entirely unfamiliar. He casually glanced back over his shoulder until their eyes met. “I trust this meeting serves a purpose?” and Reaper, not even realizing their gaze matched, kept the child like lord in his peripheral vision.. “I have a proposition for you,”  Armand smiled at his words and turned to face the child like lord. He approached and came down to one knee before him. It didn’t quite even out their height, Armand still towered slightly, but when he spoke business with someone, he much preferred to be on even ground. That and it would seem less suspicious to passers by. “You have my undivided attention.” “Europe is on the edge of war. I intend to expedite it.”

Those cerulean pools narrowed as a smirk spread on his lips. The wars of humankind greatly amused him. Their petty wars and their petty victories or losses. Being forced to live in a single time line because of an unruly TARDIS that refused to heed him caused Reaper to become quite bored. The only time, he could say that he felt alive was when turmoil and panic were allowed to spread and run rampant through the streets. And nothing gave him greater pleasure than when it was caused by his own hands, whether directly or indirectly. “Then my sword and services are yours to wield..”

[Deleted]

“I trust this meeting serves a purpose?” the dove asked, keeping his back to him. The Head of the Council stared at him quietly, taking another step forward. The Lord of Time seemed to understand the importance of their meeting. The other Lords of Time had been unaware of fate, too wrapped up in the tedium of the mundane to take the time to understand. Iblîs had a great respect for those who observed and cognized. Those who did not live their life for a purpose did not deserve to live. There were many people, the Head of the Council figured, that deserved to die.

He tilted his head. “I have a proposition for you,” Iblîs answered softly.

The tall man turned to face him, a smile on his lips. The Lord of Time walked closer to him, and Iblîs remained, watching him silently. The dove bent, kneeling before the Head of the Council. It helped even out their height somewhat, but Iblîs still had to tilt his head up to meet the blue. “You have my undivided attention,” the dove answered. A feral, predatory smile twitched on Iblîs’ lips again, the pupils dilating as he thought of war and of death, and his fingernails sharpened.

Good. He would need the dove’s attentions. His features returned to the blank slate of emotion, and Iblîs looked back to the blue eyes. “Europe is on the edge of war. I intend to expedite it,” he finished.

The man’s eyes narrowed and the smile twisted into a smirk. Iblîs quite liked the expression on the dove. It reminded him of the days before morals and ethics. He could sense the pleasure from the man’s thoughts, although they were faint and he couldn’t read the expression on the man’s expression. He didn’t care to read the emotions on faces. Iblîs moved his gaze to the river, watching as the water moved underneath them. “Then my sword and services are yours to wield,”  the man told him.

The Head of the Council nodded once and walked past the dove. “Come,” he said flatly, watching the sky as he continued his way down the bridge.

A young man pushed his way past the Ifrit, and Iblîs tilted his head. He stumbled slightly for the effect, staring up at Vaso ?ubrilovi?. “Watch it,” the future would-be assassin snapped, full of self-importance. Iblîs watched him silently, the aggressive energy feeding him. He grabbed ?ubrilovi?’s arm. ?ubrilovi? flinched and tried to tug his arm away. A bomb and a pistol, and tuberculosis. Weak. “Let go of me!” ?ubrilovi? demanded.

A flux of energy entered the man. ?ubrilovi? trembled and his knees hit the ground. The arm remained tight in Iblîs’ grip, the Ifrit’s eyes bright as he sifted through the man’s memories. Gavrilo Princip was in the city, staying with Ilic’s mother. And Grabež was with his family in Pale. There was nothing useful here – he’d only been told what he needed to know. The human was pathetically dimwitted – just another pawn in the game, off to his death.

“Weak,” Iblîs murmured. He let go of the man’s arm. ?ubrilovi? stumbled away from the small boy, the dark visions that Iblîs planted running rapidly through his mind. ?ubrilovi? was weak. He wouldn’t be able to withstand the pressure of seeing the Archduke. None of the ones he’d met was prepared to go through with it, and he certainly doubted their level of intelligence pertaining to assassinations. No, he would need to find someone he could twist.

He looked at the dove. A Lord of Time would be able to sense the course of history changing just as well as the Ifrit would. “They’re planning to assassinate the Archduke,” Iblîs told him, grabbing the man’s hand. With a slight breeze, the two were in one of Iblîs’ pocket universes.

It was a damp and unfriendly place, to say the least. There was a decayed corpse on the ground. The hair was stringy and dirty, eyes gouged out by Iblîs. The body had belong to a Jew, and he wouldn’t have Hebrew eyes staring at him. “That’s hardly important, but what is important is the motive for his murder. Misplaced nationalism. Austria-Hungary will demand compensation from Serbia. Austria-Hungary will get Germany’s help,” Iblîs explained, letting go of the dove’s hand and wiping his hand on his pants with a slight twitch of his nose.

“The Black Hand is a pathetic group, but just well-known enough to get blamed. Serbia will get Russia’s help. Bluffs on both side will be called, and the dominoes fall into place. Simple,” Iblîs said, looking up at the dove. “And far too easy to spur into action. There are six assassins led by Danilo Ili?. Each of them are cowards and weak of mind,” Iblîs said. “I’ll ensure that they kill the Archduke. Hebrew are very easily manipulated.”

The corpse stirred. “Head of the Council…” the Vetala said, stirring. The Head of the Council knelt next to the corpse. “You have no idea what you are starting. You cannot fathom the blood… the blood…” the corpse shuddered. “So much death…”

“Your services are no longer required,” Iblîs said quietly, standing. The corpse was covered with bright green energy and with a small shriek emitting from the corpse it disappeared. He looked back to the dove. “I require only your mind, though from your willingness to aide I know you’re quite eager to use the sword. The violence and bloodshed come later. For now, we observe and play the game.”

[Deleted]

His ashen blond brow arched as he came back to a stand and observed the child like lord. “Come,” he said flatly. He walked behind at a short distance, forcibly slowing his gait. With his height and long legs, he could easily outpace him in three easy strides. “I trust you are well versed in the art of sparking war...” Armand smirked as they came to a brief halt. The scene that played out before him did not seem to expedite any other reaction but an arched brow. And perhaps the faintest smirk. Alright, yes, Armand found the situation most amusing.

The 'would be assassin' went to his knees and Armand stifled a chuckle at his sudden vulnerable position. Humans were pathetic. It was not to say that the child like lord was only able to subdue the man because of his weakness. Not at all. He could feel the immense power radiating off of him like standing before a roaring furnace. It was not an uncomfortable sensation. It was akin to standing beside that furnace, a sense of comfort, but that radiance demanded caution on his part. But Armand could not help but be drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. And the child like lord was quite a flame to behold. Dark smoldering blue eyes and hair like a starless night sky, Black and beautiful. Like a Raven. How fitting. Ravens were cunning and fierce birds. And the ferocity that he had witnessed in his eyes was most alluring.

“Weak,” Iblîs murmured. He let go of the man’s arm. Armand smirked as the fool scrambled away much like a beaten dog. Armand remained ever silent simply content to observe the Raven and his mannerisms. Despite his visage, he was no child. And that made a smile creep onto his lips once more. His fingers slowly flexed outward and coiled tightly around the hilt of his cane, encasing a blade he was most fond of. Since his first incarnation it had been his favored weapon. He glanced down at it with a sentimental gleam in his eyes. He had slain Leo with this blade, and marred the face of a green eyed child with it. Oh this blade was a treasure to him. The blood of his enemies laced it's cold steel.

He closed his eyes with a wistful sigh, turning his face skyward as he could feel the bends of time coil tighter and tighter. To Armand was was an exhilarating sensation Like the nails of a lover digging into his spine and curling into the flesh. It also left a tight sensation in his chest and head. He shuddered a delighted sigh and returned those piercing bright blue eyes to the raven before him. “They’re planning to assassinate the Archduke,” Iblîs told him, grabbing the man’s hand. It was then that Armand understood the nature of the Raven. Part of that coiling sensation that gripped him so pleasurably was from the powers he wielded so effortlessly. A Djinn.. and if his demeanor was any indication, an Ifrit. Beautiful creatures, Ifrits. Although he never imagined one to take the shape of such a young child. The deceptive visage intrigued him

The pungent stench that emanated from their new location sent a shudder through him. Not on of fear or disgust but of fascination. It was the scent of death and decay. A scent he was quite familiar with. He had spent many of his long centuries on earth dwelling in a TARDIS who had taken up residence in the center of an aged cemetery. It's still functioning chameleon circuit had disguised the TARDIS as an old crumbling mausoleum. The obstinate thing had refused to head him since slaying the previous owner. The temperamental TARDIS had obviously been quite infatuated with Whisper and that amused Armand to no end. It made him smirk thinking of how his blade had slid into the cheerful man's belly with such ease.  “That’s hardly important, but what is important is the motive for his murder. Misplaced nationalism. Austria-Hungary will demand compensation from Serbia. Austria-Hungary will get Germany’s help,” Iblîs explained, dropping the grim from his hand. Armand lifted his gloved hand to eye level and adjusted the snug fit of the black glove, slipping it snugly onto his fingers and clenched his fist, greatly enjoying the strained creak of the fabric. “Misplaced Nationalism” he repeated quietly with a scoff. “Humans are mere sheep. They serve only one useful purpose. Like worms that toil to fertilize the ground with their filth only to end up as dinner for the crows.” he remarked with a feral gleam in his eyes.

“The Black Hand is a pathetic group, but just well-known enough to get blamed. Serbia will get Russia’s help. Bluffs on both side will be called, and the dominoes fall into place. Simple,” Iblîs said, looking up at the dove. “And far too easy to spur into action. There are six assassins led by Danilo Ilić. Each of them are cowards and weak of mind,” Iblîs said. “I’ll ensure that they kill the Archduke. Hebrew are very easily manipulated.” The corpse stirred. “Head of the Council…” it muttered. The Raven knelt beside the corpse. “You have no idea what you are starting. You cannot fathom the blood… the blood…” the corpse shuddered. “So much death…” “Your services are no longer required,” The Raven calmly but coldly replied as he stood.

His head tilted with idle curiosity as the decaying mass of flesh began to whither at an exponential rate and he smirked as it shrieked in agony. “I require only your mind, though from your willingness to aide I know you’re quite eager to use the sword. The violence and bloodshed come later. For now, we observe and play the game.” “I am a patient man. But yes, I'll quite happily lend aid to the slaughter of these sheep. In exchange.. I have an item I believe may be of use to you. It certainly holds no use or value to me as it seemed to serve only one pilot. Since his.. untimely demise, it has been a thorn in my side.” The smile that spread upon his lips was chilling. The idea of that infernal TARDIS which had trapped him along this slowly progressing and cloying time line coming into the hands of The Rave.. He was most anxious to see what The Raven would do. He had no psychic link to the TARDIS and would be unaffected if it were to be tortured. The Whisper, however. Where ever he was would surely feel the anguish and only caused Armand to close his eyes in a delighted chuckle.

[Deleted]

“I trust you are well versed in the art of sparking war…” the Lord of Time said. Iblîs’ lips quirked into a small smile. This Lord of Time seemed to trust quite easily – whether it be trusting that their meeting served a purpose or Iblîs’ qualifications concerning war. He was billions of years old, and he had started quite a few wars in his lifetime. This was a young creature; as beautiful and calm as the dove appeared, he couldn’t be older than a millennium. The Ifrit thought quietly back to the enslavement of the Jinn. He had been the one who had sparked the Jinn into violence by ripping the jaw from one of the men.

Iblîs looked to the tall Lord of Time pensively. The man was smirking at him, walking slowly to keep passing the Ifrit. “Yes, I am,” he said finally. He wouldn’t mention the countless other wars and acts of violence he’d begun. “Perhaps, though, you shouldn’t use the word ‘trust’ so lightly. I don’t care for your faith.” Faith was for God to work with. He was the Devil to many cultures, and Iblîs didn’t care to argue the point. He continued off the bridge, the pavement underneath his feet burning him.

The would-be-assassin didn’t offer any invaluable information. Iblîs could feel the Lord of Time’s eyes upon him, studying each of his movements. His fingers gripped ?ubrilovi?, pressing into his flesh cheerfully. He didn’t have to be a Vetala to catch glimpses of the what-would-be and what-could-be. He sifted the two apart with a feral grin, his teeth sharpening into dagger. ?ubrilovi? whined and gasped as the Devil delved into his life, the pale-blue eyes staring into his with savage intensity. Billions of years of bloodlust poured out, filling his head with nightmares and horrors.

He pulled away, snarling silently at ?ubrilovi?. His face distorted for just a moment, sending a ripple of his energy throughout them. It was laced with paranoia and hatred. He returned to appearing as a normal boy. He brushed his clothes off. Weak. He turned back to the dove once the boy ran off down the bridge. The dove’s penetrating blue eyes were still on him. Iblîs’ mouth twitched up into another smile. He hated when people were trying to analyze him – there were simply too many billions of years adding too many quirks to be observed casually.

The dove shut his eyes, his breath leaving him in a small sigh. Iblîs walked closer, his head tilted. He could smell the Lord of Time’s pheromone levels beginning to rise. He had never had someone react so pleasurably to the mere thought of bringing pain upon a people. His people were neutral – the humans, for the most part, did not know they existed. They were the stuff of legends and cheap movies. The Jinn, for the most part, did not go on massive killing sprees. The Ifrit stepped forward, explaining the plan with the Archduke as he took him to the pocket universe.

The Lord of Time lifted his glove and adjusted it, clenching his fist. Iblîs watched, fascinated by the dove’s hand. If there were ever a part of the body to tell someone’s life story, it would be the hands. They were sensual and cunning, caressing and callous. The Ifrit watched the Lord of Time, explaining the situation half-heartedly. He was examining the tall man who had followed him so willingly. He seemed fascinated by the stench of the rotting corpse the Vetala had taken refuge in. “Misplaced Nationalism,” the Lord of Time scoffed. Iblîs narrowed his eyes, examining the man carefully. He’d died before. Iblîs could smell it on him. “Humans are mere sheep. They serve only one useful purpose. Like worms that toil to fertilize the ground with their filth only to end up as dinner for the crows.”

“Birds are remarkable creatures. I prefer doves.” Iblîs found comfort in the wild gleam in the Lord of Time’s eyes. A dove flapped its wings and cooed, flying from a faint mist of green. The eyes were not the normal reddish-orange of a dove, but rather a shade of sapphire resembling the Lord of Time’s own. The dove landed on Iblîs’ arm, its claws digging into the skin. “Doves fight to the death to establish dominance and power. They’ve been known to fell falcons,” Iblîs told the man, running his fingers gently across the dove, feeling the fragile and quick heartbeat beneath his fingers. “Despite their strength and violence, they’re patient and calm. When they fight, they don’t lose. They’re as beautiful as they are dangerous.”

Iblîs turned his eyes from the dove on his arm to the dove standing in front of him. His fingers continued running across the dove’s neck, his eyes locked on the Lord of Time’s throat. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet the man’s, continuing to give him information about the Black Hand and Danilo. The plans were simple, and he merely had to infest the governments with more paranoia than he had already been doling out. He raised his arm and the dove flew, disappearing in a slight dusting of green energy. He stared at the dove in front of him, fascinated.

His attention was caught by the Vetala when it called his name. Iblîs’ expression softened slightly as he knelt next to his sister in the corpse’s body. “Your services are no longer required,” Iblîs said, standing as he sent the Vetala rather violently to the Jinn’s dimension. He returned gaze to the man. The Lord of Time had his head tilted as though he were curious, and Iblîs mimicked the pose.

“I am a patient man,” the man said, and Iblîs nodded. He would not have approached an impatient Time Lord. Impatience was an ugly flaw. “But yes, I’ll quite happily lend aid to the slaughter of these sheep.” Iblîs wondered if perhaps his word choice had been unclear, as he had not intended on giving the dove any option, but he said nothing. The Vetales had made mention of their fates being intertwined, and Iblîs knew that any creature responded better when they believed they had choices. “In exchange…” Ah, yes. And now down to business. Most people required money or other such petty material possessions to do what Iblîs asked.

“I have an item I believe may be of use to you. It certainly holds no use or value to me as it seemed to serve only one pilot. Since his…untimely demise, it has been a thorn in my side.”

Iblîs narrowed his eyes critically, his head still tilted to the side to copy the man’s previous confused pose. Then his lips twitched into a smile and he laughed. “Oh, but you do delight me, Lord of Time. Nobody has ever bestowed upon me a token of their appreciation for involving them in a plot to cause the death of millions,” Iblîs smiled. The smile flickered, and he stood on the tips of his toes, gripping the Lord of Time’s lapels as he brought the dove down to eye level. “Tell me true,” he murmured, his eyes glowing with a predatory glint as soft fingers trailed against the man’s neck, feeling the steady double heartsbeat. “Are you caged? I will take personal pleasure in stripping the ship of free will. I can free you.” He let go of the man’s lapels and stared up at him with pale blue eyes.

[Deleted]

“I trust you are well versed in the art of sparking war…”  and he watched The Raven's expression. It was just a tad annoyed, he noted. His brow arched, wondering if he had struck a nerve with him. Armand narrowed his eyes, showing no other change in demeanor, trying to expedite an answer and move on from the subject of his war mongering talents.

“Yes, I am,” he said finally. “Perhaps, though, you shouldn't use the word ‘trust’ so lightly. I don’t care for your faith.” At that, Armand stopped and could not help the short laugh that escaped his lips. Faith? He only had faith in one thing. The cold steel he carried so lovingly in his hands.

“Duly noted” he finally replied when the amusement of the Raven's words had finally left him. As far as he was concerned, there was no God or Devil. It was just all the life forms in creation swirling around each other in an eternal cesspool of mediocrity. There were no high powers coordinating their fates. And if there was, then Armand certainly owed the “almighty” nothing but contempt. Where was his merciful benevolence when his parents were slaughtered in their sleep when he was only a child? Yes, even by human standards he would have been considered only a child. He was eight then.

Where was this 'God' bastard when then the woman he loved, his wife, fled Gallifrey only to end up in the arms of some human filth and return years later, carrying a hybrid mongrel child. A child that by every right in Gallifreyan law, should have been his. But he would have nothing to do with either of them when his wife tried to return to his arms. He still loved Goddess to this day but he held nothing but animosity for the bastard hybrid child she'd been infected with.

The two of them carried on in silence, The Reaper, quietly seething. While on the outside, he was calm and quite placid, at a glance once could never tell that inside his hearts and mind, he was seconds away from drawing that blade and cutting the nearest human down and ripping the still beating heart from his chest and forcing it down their throat. But to the Ifrit, was was rippling off of him in waves, like a furnace roaring out of control and threatening to erupt and spread like a wildfire in a forest in the midst of a drought.

This anger was only slaked by the sensation of a Fixed Point firmly settling into place and the tightening sensation put his nerves teetering on the delicate edge of pleasure and pain. They always say that the ebb and flow of time and it's infinite complexities affected each Gallifreyan differently. For most, it was simply a light tickle in the back of the skull. With others it was an overwhelming and painful sensation, like an immense weight resting on their chest. To a rare few, it was dizzying and pleasurable sensation that coiled at the base of his spine like a lavished kiss to the most delicate erogenous zone.

Armand always found that he was at odds with himself in the manner. But by some small measure of self control, he could maintain that cool and placid exterior. It was unnerving at times, even for himself. He had regenerated not too long ago. If memory served, if it did quite well, He'd been meandering around in this God Forsaken dismal country for three days in this new body. The smell of death still clung closely to him for anyone that was capable of detecting it. He flexed his fingers into the glove he wore and forced his hand into a tight fist, the glove straining and creaking under the sheer power of his grip.

They exchanged their thoughts on the matter at hand for a moment before the matter of the TARDIS arose. The Raven's lips twitched into a smile and he laughed. “Oh, but you do delight me, Lord of Time. Nobody has ever bestowed upon me a token of their appreciation for involving them in a plot to cause the death of millions,” Iblîs smiled. Reaper found himself being tugged down, with a measure of strength he had not anticipated. It only further confirmed his suspicious of the Raven’s species. He knelt down to a single knee, the feral grin matching the Ifrits. “Tell me true,” he murmured, and Reaper tensed as hot fingertips trailed against the flesh of his neck. He was usually so guarded against such an intimate caress that he had forgotten the sensation and the pleasure it instilled in him. “Are you caged? I will take personal pleasure in stripping the ship of free will. I can free you.” The raven released him and Reaper found himself staring into those blue pools of ice.. He was torn. The Raven had effortlessly stripped him of his armor.

“Caged.” he murmured softly as he held the Raven’s gaze. “You could say that” he replied with a dark but soft tone. He'd returned to earth when his life on Gallifrey had nothing left to offer him. Six hundred years had he been forced to drift along this linear existence. “Let us fan the flames of war, and she will be yours” he promised as he finally rose to a stand looking down at the Raven. “I am Armand. But many know me simply as... The Reaper”

[Deleted]

Religion was a point of contention for the Lord of Time. Iblîs smiled as he felt the tendrils of the dove’s rage wrap around him, entering his mouth languidly. The fury was delicious, but Iblîs didn’t have time to dwell on the taste. They had too many matters to discuss for him to be distracted by such frivolities. They were on the brink of starting a war – he needed the entirety of the dove’s attention on him, not silly qualms over religion.

Although, he made sure to note that religion was a topic to bring up when he needed to feed.

Iblîs took the dove by the lapels and brought him down. The man knelt down on a knee and returned the grin. “Tell me true,” Iblîs said, running his fingers across the man’s neck. He felt the Time Lord tense underneath his fingertips. He looked at the Time Lord, breathing in the apparent emotions. Uncomfortable, pleasured, and a hint of confusion. Iblîs focused on the pulse, comforted by the double pulse. Jinn did not have hearts, and Iblîs found himself fascinated by the pulse. “Are you caged? I will take person pleasure in stripping the ship of free will.” His smile widened as he focused on feeling the pulse. “I can free you.”

He let go of the man and studied his reaction. The Time Lord seemed a little shell-shocked, and Iblîs met his gaze coldly. There were very few that could hold his eyes – there were millennia of suffering and agony and rage smoldering in the pale eyes. “Caged,” the Time Lord murmured finally, still holding his stare. The eyes were intensely lonely and frustrated, but perhaps only the Ifrit could notice those emotions because he was the same. “You could say that.” Being trapped was the worst feeling – Iblîs knew that from experience. He had only been a prisoner of Solomon’s for a hundred years, but the pain and suffering he’d endured had twisted and gnarled the Ifrit’s mind.

“Let us fan the flames of war, and she will be yours,” the man promised, standing to his full height.

Iblîs lifted a hand idly, the pocket universe changing around them. The city of Sarajevo was displayed in panorama. On the floors, there were seven large rectangles with different viewpoints. Iblîs looked back up at the Time Lord. “And I’ll free you. Caged birds don’t sing.” He looked around at the panorama, watching as Sarajevo moved lazily around them.

“I am Armand,” the man told him. Iblîs moved his gaze to the tall Time Lord. Armand… That was the name of the man whose fate was intricately intertwined with his own? Armand…

“Armand,” Iblîs echoed, trying the name on his tongue tentatively.

Armand continued speaking. “But many know me simple as… The Reaper.”

Iblîs tilted his head curiously, a smile exposing sharp teeth. The Reaper. “We are well met,” Iblîs told him. “I have acquired many names.” Lucifer, Azazel, the Devil, Iblîs, the Head of the Council, Satan, the Chief of Demons, Enemy of Righteousness, the Great Dragon, Prince of Devils, the Son of Morning and so many more. He had been explicitly mentioned in religious texts. He had done nothing evil, but inspired curiosity. It was, in fact, his own hunger for knowledge that had led to the claims of his demonic nature.

“I am known as the Head of the Council,” Iblîs said. “The Drevnemi named me Iblîs. He who is despaired,” he told him. He had so many other names, but the Reaper did not need to worry himself with those trivial matters and Iblîs did not need to list the names. Now that they had the introductions out of the way, they could focus on the more important matters at hand.

The Archduke would be murdered in twenty-two days. He walked over to one of the rectangles on the ground and tapped it with his bare foot. “This is Danilo Ilic. The organizer.” He moved to another rectangle, and, with each name he listed, moved to the next one. “Mehmed Mehmedbašic. Vaso ?ubrilovi?. Cvjetko Popovic. Trifko Grabež. Nedeljko Cabrinovic.” He came to the last rectangle and looked up at the Reaper with a small smile.

“And this is Gavrilo Princip. He’s just as cowardly as the rest of them,” Iblîs said, crossing back over to the Time Lord. He sat on the floor cross-legged, and the dark carpet underneath them vanished, replaced with an overhead view of Sarajevo. “But he is easily influenced. He wants fame. His goal will be accomplished – he will free his country at the cost of millions of lives.”

Iblîs stared down at the humans below them. “The Reaper…” Iblîs said quietly. “How fitting a name. Tell me, Armand, do you believe these assassins would go through with their plans if they knew the destruction it would cause? Their plans are petty and small. The Archduke is an unlikable man,” Iblîs told him, smiling a little up at the Reaper. “His wife is visiting. Perhaps his children. Maybe they will die, too…”

[Deleted]

“We are well met,” The Raven told him. “I have acquired many names.”  The Time Lord seemed to smirk with a hint of darkness being those icy cold blue eyes. When the Raven finally said his name, he bowed his head, only slightly. It was a simple enough gesture to convey his acknowledgment. “Well met, indeed.” The Reaper listened intently as Iblis conveyed his plot. It seemed simple enough. Give the right sheep a nudge towards their fate and watch the world fall apart and revel in the bloodbath that was to follow.

Iblis rattled off the names of the Archduke's possible assassins, but as Armand observed the shadowy representations of them, none of them seemed to have the courage to do the task. Cowards. Worthless sheep. But then, what human wasn’t? Petty creatures hell bent on their own destruction. They were so eager to obtain fame, wealth, and glory and the would willingly steal, lie, and murder their own kind to get it. But he did have to admire their passion. Even if it was misguided, Passion for something was at least a reason to live. Armand had lost that passion a long time ago.

“And this is Gavrilo Princip. He’s just as cowardly as the rest of them,” Iblîs said, as he crossed over and sat. The view within the room changed and though his feet were on what felt like solid ground, he could clearly see the city below, the people scurrying like ants, going on with their lives, woefully ignorant of the chaos they so eagerly planned to unleash. At this, Armand allowed his pale lips to part into a hint of a smile.. The man that The Raven presented did not look particularly noteworthy.  “But he is easily influenced” The Reaper calmly and politely interjected “Most sheep are”.. “He wants fame. His goal will be accomplished – he will free his country at the cost of millions of lives.”

Armand's light smile turned into a cruel sneer. “The Reaper…” Armand's eyes lifted at the soft mention of his name and found himself dropping down to one knee to meet this Raven. “How fitting a name.” and Armand nodded with a smile. He was rather fond of the Title he'd been bestowed. After all. What else would you call yourself if had become aware that lives would be lost at your own hands? “Tell me, Armand, do you believe these assassins would go through with their plans if they knew the destruction it would cause?” Armand arched a thick ashen brow at The Raven, “As you said. They are cowards. I believe they lack the conviction to follow through on anything if they felt their were repercussions that would directly affect them.” “Their plans are petty and small. The Archduke is an unlikable man,” Iblîs told him, smiling a little up at the Reaper. “His wife is visiting. Perhaps his children. Maybe they will die, too…”

“This plot of yours. You do me a great honor.” Upon saying as much, it was usualy Armand's custom to seal their contract with a kiss. However, The Ifrit's child like appearance put him off to that notion. Instead, he took the Raven's pale hand in his own and turned it to face the wrist upwards and he trailed a kiss to the cool flesh before unleashing the Raven's hand. The tightening coil of the Fixed Point was not helping. And only two things would happen to The Reaper when that point was firmly set into place. Either his passions would consume him, or he would become a bloodletting terror. Sometimes both. Given the circumstances, he was tempted to see which version of himself played out..

“As a show of good faith.. “ He plucked an ornate black finish fob watch, the Gallifreyan text engraved in a high polish silver inlay, from the folds of that leather jacket and placed it in The Raven's hands. “This.. is everything that I am.. My mind, my very being. It is the center of my life.” He closed The Raven's fingers onto it. “I entrust it to you until my services are no longer required”

[Deleted]

Iblîs thought over the dove’s words. Repercussions were, of course, a necessary hazard. Sacrifices were necessary, and Iblîs was more than willing to take sacrifices. He knew if his eventual plan to eradicate Solomon would succeed, his very life as he knew it would unravel. He would no longer be the Head of the Council because there would be no need of a Council. They would not have Lamps – instead, the Jinn would enter their contracts through free will and exit them just as freely. He certainly would not be on Earth during this time period – he wouldn’t care enough to start a war.

Still, the prospect worried him. The Vetales knew everything about both time and space – their minds were full of everwhens and neverwas. They had known of the enslavement the humans would bring to their people, so they escaped, leaving the rest of the Jinn to suffer. The Vetales had tried to warn the Drevnemi, but it was hard to respect something that couldn’t manifest a body of its own. Iblîs glanced towards the corner that the Vetala had once been. She had told the Head of the Council that Armand was his fate – his destiny – and that their meeting was bound by time.

That wasn’t worrying to the Ifrit. However, if their meeting was truly one of the universe’s fixed events… no matter how hard he tried or how desperate he was, he could not undo it. He would not be able to end the oppression of his family by killing Solomon’s mother. They would not have had a reason to encounter without Iblîs’ bitter intervention of human history. Iblîs looked up from where he was sitting as he spoke to the Lord of Time. The Reaper… He was familiar with the reapers who tried to eradicate broken points in time. He enjoyed sucking the energy from them, leaving them broken and withered until they crumbled.

He had expected for the Lord of Time to stand once he’d answered the Ifrit’s question. However, he remained on one knee before him, watching Iblîs. Iblîs tilted his head curiously. He’d been examined before, but only by his family and those who feared and hated him. Armand did neither, nor was he disgusted with Iblîs. He lifted his small hands and put them on the dove’s slim torso, feeling the dual heartbeats under the muscled chest. There was no beating heart within the Ifrit’s body, only a fire burning at his core. The hearts felt foreign and mysteriously delightful to him.

“This plot of yours. You do me a great honor.”

A great honor? The Reaper took one of Iblîs’ hands as the Ifrit pulled them away from the Lord of Time’s chest. Normally if someone touched him without his permission, they would find themselves severely lacking in life a moment later. But he let his hand be manipulated, watching the Reaper inquisitively. The Reaper raised his wrist as he leaned down, and for a quick moment Iblîs wondered if perhaps the Reaper planned on eating him. He was unfamiliar with Time Lords and their views on eating sentient beings. He opened his mouth to remind the Reaper that his flesh was merely a manifestation and did not, in fact, hold any nutritious substance.

“Armand,” Iblîs said softly, putting his other hand on the man’s shoulder, where the neck began to rise. However, instead of ripping apart Iblîs and attempting to devour him, the Reaper placed a trail of gentle kisses along his wrist. Iblîs’ hand tightened, his fingernails digging into the Lord of Time’s neck and shoulder. No creature – no Jinn, no Lord of Time, no human, none – had ever kissed him kindly. He stared at his wrist as it dropped limply when the Lord of Time released it. He moved his hand from the man’s neck. “Armand…” he repeated, numbly. He looked up from his wrist to the man’s eyes.

When he had been a slave of Solomon’s, he’d been raped nightly. It was hostile, cruel and savage. They had wanted to see Iblîs cry, to howl in agony as he heard the same treatment be done to his family. They had ripped his clothes off, singing spells of enchantment to force Iblîs from changing forms and escaping. They had twisted and gnarled him as they kissed him roughly, slimy and disgusting tongues slithering against his as dirty fingernails clutched his hips. He felt his chest tighten as he thought about the torture he’d felt those years. The pain never diminished, and there were rumors that a person could still hear the Jinn’s shrieks echo through the Middle East.

But the Reaper’s gentle touch was nothing like that. He could smell the bloodlust on him, could feel it in his energy, but none of that had bled through the simple caress. His mind was racing to puzzle together the why, before it dawned on him the words before the kisses. “And you do me a great honor,” Iblîs said, his voice steady and calm despite his confusion, “by serving beside me. You’re an interesting man to meet.”

“As a show of good faith…”

Iblîs watched the man’s hands curiously as they brought out a decorative black fob watch. It was a splendid sight – with the arches and smooth flow of an elaborate text. He looked up at the Reaper as their hands met. “This… is everything that I am…” Iblîs looked down at the watch in his hands, then back up to the Reaper, rapt by the solemn nature of the ‘gift’. “My mind, my very being. It is the center of my life.” The Reaper closed his fingers around it, and Iblîs ran his thumb along it tenderly. “I entrust it to you until my services are no longer required.”

He looked down at the watch thoughtfully, tracing his finger along the text. “Armand… do you give this to everyone who enlists your services?” he asked. He could feel the power that it held over Armand, he felt a sudden fierce protectiveness over the watch. “I’m not familiar with the ways of your people,” Iblîs said softly. “Is this watch akin to my Lamp? An object that your soul is bound to?” he questioned. If it were anything like his Lamp, then it would require a deep level of trust to give it freely. Could it be that the Lord of Time knew of their tied destiny? Even still, Iblîs wasn’t sure if he could return the gesture. Not yet.

“And… if I decide your services are always required?” Iblîs asked, looking at the beautiful caged bird with a tilt of his head.

[Deleted]

“Armand,” Iblîs said softly, and those steely blue eyes lifted to meet his gaze., lips still caressing the pale and cool flesh. His lips drew away, gently trailing his thumb where the lips had trailed. Cold and savage as he was, beneath the layers of dementia and twisted cruelty, at his truest core was a gentle and loving soul. Armand had all but forgotten it even existed, though.  “Armand…” Iblis said again and The Reaper stood, fingers trailing away from his smaller counterpart.

He could see the confusion and slight discomfort in his eyes, and he let the ifrit's hand drop. He canted his head slightly as he observed him. This ifrit's mannerisms were so innocent. A pure form of naivety that he had not encountered in a long time, if ever. Oh, yes, he knew of strategy, devastation, chaos, and war. But his delicate caress had unseated the ifrit from his cool and composed stance to one of a blushing child. It was a purity he did not think he could bring himself to ever taint.

He stood to his full height, towering over the ifrit, confident and yet, unimposing before him. “And you do me a great honor,” Iblîs said, “by serving beside me. You’re an interesting man to meet.” He smirked at this and let those pale blue eyes slide closed. Oh there were certainly a good few who would argue that point with the ifrit. But they hardly mattered, didn’t they?

Most who had crossed paths with him were either dead or so mentally distraught by his actions against them that they often pleaded for death once he was done. No one was ever granted that satisfaction. Armand loved that he held such power over people. If death was the worst threat he could bestow, it was gladly done. But if living with the twisted scars left on their body and mind was a torment worse than death, he left them to live, wallowing in their own inner turmoil.

“As a show of good faith…” he calmly replied giving the ifrit his fob watch. Armand was amazed in himself that he did this without hesitation. He'd never allowed anyone to even lay eyes upon it, much less touch it. Not even his own wife. But then. She'd never trusted him with hers either. Ah the complications of an arranged marriage. “This… is everything that I am… My mind, my very being. It is the center of my life.” The Reaper closed his fingers around it, and Iblîs ran his thumb along it tenderly. “I entrust it to you until my services are no longer required.”

He noted the perplexed expression across the youthful face of the ifrit and, once again, found himself kneeling before him. He could not reason it out to himself. Putting himself on even ground with him. No one was ever granted such humility. “Armand… do you give this to everyone who enlists your services?” he asked, and the Time Lord shook his head lightly. “You are the first to even see it, much less touch it.”

 “I’m not familiar with the ways of your people,” the raven inquired and Armand smiled. “Is this watch akin to my Lamp? An object that your soul is bound to?” There came a pause. Ah. How to explain a Time Lord and the connection to his arc. “Surely, I am already damned and have no soul to speak of. But if that helps to make sense of things. In a manner of speaking yes. A time Lord and his arc are as one. That fob watch is me. It contains my every memory, my inner most thoughts, and can even protect me. Make me as a human, should I need to hide. And should I be killed, it can stave off my regenerating into a new body. I will remain as I am”

“And… if I decide your services are always required?” Iblîs asked, tilting his head curiously to the side. Armand smiled at this and bowed his head, nearly pressing his forehead to The Raven's chest, but did not quite connect. “Then my services will always be yours to wield.” Armand realized that this was rather out of character for him. That coiling sensation that gripped his spine told him, something more than a simple spark of war lay before them. He lifted his cold blue eyes to meet The Raven's. It was that magnetic pull. Something was drawing them together. Call it fate, call it destiny, or what ever sentimental notion you liked to put a name to it. This... was meant to be. They.. were meant to be.

[Deleted]

The Dove leaned down again, crouching before him. Iblîs watched him inquisitively. He could sense the bloodshed and hatred on his – the – Dove’s energy. And yet... the actions were gentle. Iblîs could easily imagine the Reaper taking lives and destroying people – he had agreed very readily to causing war. If the Vetales were to be believed, it would be a devastating war that would kill millions. Despite this, Iblîs couldn’t imagine the Reaper trying to harm him. Not that the Lord of Time could do any lasting damage, but Iblîs wasn’t on edge around the Lord of Time. He frowned.

“You are the first to even see it, much less touch it.”

Iblîs looked down at the watch in his hand, tracing the lines across it tenderly. He could tell that it was more than elaborate scribbles. It was a text, a language. He drew a breath to ask what it meant, but let go of the question. It did not concern him, and despite the extraordinary amount of trust that both parties were displaying, it was not the time to get personal. If the Reaper felt it pertinent that Iblîs understand the text, he would tell him. He studied the watch for a moment further before offering a small smile to the Reaper.

“The first to touch it?” he asked. “That’s quite an honor you’ve bestowed upon me,” Iblîs said. The Reaper was still knelt in front of him, and Iblîs took that as an opportunity to ask about the Lords of Times. Perhaps the Jinn were not the only creatures whose souls were bound to an item?

“Surely, I am already damned and have no soul to speak of.”

The Ifrit’s gaze sharpened, and he looked away again, bitter. “Then you are surely to be envied,” Iblîs said quietly. Being without a soul had been a free existence without the threat of the humans ripping them out and binding them to objects using awful spells and enchantments. Iblîs placed a hand on the center of the Reaper’s chest. He didn’t know how a soul felt inside a body, but he knew this was where the humans had ripped him open. He tucked away the watch.

“But, if that helps to make sense of things. In a manner of speaking yes.” Iblîs listened closely to the explanation, his hands drifting back to the Lord of Time’s pulse, a hand over each heart as he felt the dual pulse within. “A Time Lord and his arc are as one.” So the watch’s technical term was an arc? Iblîs nodded gently. “That fob watch is me. It contains my every memory, my inner most thoughts, and can even protect me. Make me as a human, should I need to hide.”

Need to hide? Iblîs quirked an eyebrow. “Make you human?” Iblîs repeated, his hands drifting up to the Reaper’s neck. His fingers caressed the Lord of Time’s neck as tenderly as they had the arc. “That must be a dreadful experience. Humans are frightful company,” he murmured, counting the beats beneath his fingers under his breath.

“And should I be killed—” Iblîs stopped counting “—it can stave off my regenerating into a new body. I will remain as I am.”

His fingers moved from the Reaper’s neck to his chin, running his thumb along the chin and the lower lip. “No one will kill you,” Iblîs said solemnly. “Never again, my dove,” he promised. Perhaps it would be a hard promise to keep for anyone else, but Iblîs had gone through hell to ensure his family’s survival. If he and the Dove were truly linked – and Reaper's trust and the Vetales left little doubt in the Ifrit’s mind – he would sooner die himself. And Iblîs didn’t have a death wish. His fingers faltered their stroking of Armand’s skin as he rethought his statement.

Dove. He frowned at his slip of tongue, and he swallowed and looked at Armand’s neck in an attempt not to think of his embarrassment. He wouldn’t apologize or correct himself. He let his hands slide off the Reaper as he watched him. “And… if I decide your services are always required?” he asked, looking back and tilting his head to one side.

The Reaper smiled at the question, and bowed his head. Iblîs tentatively raised his hand, brushing his fingers through the blond hair. “Then my services will always be yours to wield,” Armand answered. Iblîs’ fingers tightened slightly in the man’s hair as he raised his eyes to meet Iblîs’.

Why was it that this Lord of Time trusted him so explicitly? Iblîs removed his hands and stepped back, peering curiously inside Armand’s eyes, their foreheads nearly touching. “What’s to stop me from abusing this? From taking your arc and destroying it?” he asked. “How can you be so confident in me? I do not trust anyone with my Lamp.”

He sighed, feeling agitated and confused. He hated not understanding, and he couldn’t understand the Reaper. Humans were mundane and easy to guess, and he was able to discern the other Lords of Time with relative ease. But not this dove... and, rather than be very annoyed with the fact, he found himself entertained and enthralled. His frown flickered and his lips twitched into a smile. He chuckled and shook his head. “We have much to prepare for, Armand. The Archduke arrives in twenty-two days, and we must be ready.”

[Deleted]

“No one will kill you,” Armand smirked at this. “Never again, my dove,” And there it was, the sentiment. Whether he had intended it or not, there it was. His tilted his head to the side almost as if he were analyzing Iblis. Cold pale blue eyes softened as he looked down on the raven haired 'child'. Oh but now was certainly not the time to shatter the Raven's perception of him. He would allow him to believe that The Reaper was a ruthless and calculating killing machine. He let his own sentimentality for The Raven flit away with that vague hint of a smile, letting his features return to that cold stoic glance.

“And… if I decide your services are always required?” Those pale blue eyes stared evenly into The Raven's as he trailed his small fingers into the short blond hair. Even though Iblis was not yet aware, the bond between them was already apparent. 


“Then my services will always be yours to wield,” Iblis tugged his hair until their foreheads were nearly flush 


“What’s to stop me from abusing this? From taking your arc and destroying it?” 

“I know you won't.” He replied rather casually as if Reaper had simply entrusted his raven with a scrap of paper. He ungloved his right hand. The skin was pale and smooth, and he reached to trail his fingers into Iblis' hair offering the same tight clench that Iblis was holding in his own hair before trailing those fingers down the side of the 'boy's pulseless throat and he mused for a moment as he observed his reaction.

“How can you be so confident in me? I do not trust anyone with my Lamp.” There was suddenly a warm and knowing smile, while absent on his pale lips, was quite obvious in his eyes.

“I never said I trusted you, Fair Raven. Call it. 'a Time Lord's Intuition'. Or perhaps that I simply know something that you don't. Not yet at least” His hand trailed from his throat to cradle his chin and pass a thumb across his cheek. He leaned in, the closest proximity they had ever shared, his breath softly caressing the Raven's lips, skin nearly touching. But it was there that The Reaper's affections died. 

His hand dropped away and he rose to a full stand, towering over the Raven at his side, his hip even with The Raven's shoulder. He would let the ifrit muse over the mystery surrounding the time lord for time being while he, himself, pondered the mysteries of his Raven.  

“We have much to prepare for, Armand. The Archduke arrives in twenty-two days, and we must be ready.” 

“Then there is not a moment to waste, is there.” He swept his hand in a rather graceful motion for Iblis to take the lead. He was the puppeteer, after all.

[Deleted]

“I know you won’t.”

Iblîs stared at the man, his gaze wide and guarded. The man ungloved his hand and the corners of the Ifrit’s mouth tugged, trying to smile. There was a wonderful strangeness about the gesture that had him delightfully puzzled. His body tensed as Reaper ran his fingers through Iblîs’ black hair. The fingers tightened, and Iblîs gasped in a surprised delight. His cheeks flushed, confused but not entirely ashamed of his reaction. “Armand?” he asked inquisitively, unsure why the Reaper was touching him in such a manner. He stared unblinkingly at the Lord of Time as the man’s fingers went down his nonexistent pulse.

He felt almost tempted to give himself a heartbeat, just to mimic a normal human. Iblîs put his hand over the Reaper’s, his grip tightening, almost pulling the hand off. Instead, Iblîs dropped his hand. The infuriating Lord of Time had pulled his curiosity, and Iblîs had a wicked feeling the dove knew it. “I never said I trusted you, Fair Raven,” the man told him. Fair Raven? Iblîs stared up at his dove with wide eyes. “Call it... ‘A Time Lord’s Intuition.’ Or perhaps that I simply know something that you don’t. Not yet at least,” Armand said, teasing Iblîs with knowledge like a cat toying with a mouse.

“How curious,” Iblîs said, his tongue flicking out to lick his own lips as the dove trailed his fingers from Iblîs’ throat to his chin. Armand leaned in closely, so very close to giving him a gentle kiss. Iblîs’ gaze never faltered from the Reaper, staring up at him. “You’ve met me before?” he asked, his hand trailing back up and hooking around the Reaper’s ear. “That would certainly explain how you knew our meeting would serve a purpose…” he said pensively, his eyes lowering from the man’s eyes to his lips. It was the sort of thing the Vetales would ‘accidentally’ forget to mention.

The man’s hand dropped and the Reaper stood. Iblîs blinked, staring at the Lord of Time’s abdomen. Well, none of that mattered now. “No, there isn’t,” Iblîs said pensively, looking down at the panorama of the city.

---

28 June 1914.

Iblîs tugged the cap on his head, sitting on the sidewalk in Appel Quay. He could see the Cumburja Bridge and the beginning of Franz Joseph Street from where he was sitting. He had been sitting there for quite a while, watching as the six assassins took to their spots. His dove – the Reaper – was meant to meet him in Appel Quay after listening and comprehending Ilic’s plans. Iblîs did not, in fact, care for the plans. The Archduke was dying, whether he had to possess Gavrilo or not.

The past weeks had been… interesting, mostly. Iblîs wouldn’t give the Reaper the satisfaction of letting him now that his curiosity was plaguing him. The Reaper was needed for this plan, and yet… most things that caught Iblîs’ curiosity he dissected and pulled apart until he understood. The Vetales had made it obvious that somehow their destinies had been intertwined. Iblîs didn’t know what that meant or how it would affect him, but the Vetales were never wrong. They held the entire universe in their heads, neither existent nor nonexistent.

“Tch,” the Ifrit muttered, picking himself off the sidewalk and crossing to the Cumburja Bridge.

[Deleted]

Armand had taken the time to follow the would-be assassins and listen to their plots. As the days rolled by, it became evident that the whole lot of them were nothing more than cowards, Children trying to play revolutionaries and losing their nerves at the last moment. He rolled those pale blue eyes in annoyance he came to realize these stubborn little dominoes needed a not so gentle flick.

Armand's temper was short the past few days. He had denied himself sleep in order to stay up and aid in the plot with Iblis. And with that short temper, mingling with the fact that a fix point was now firmly set in place, the well composed Master of Death was having trouble concentrating. It was like a vice squeezing the base of his spine with enough force to shatter it. It wasn't pain in the same sense others would consider it. It was a pain he rather enjoyed, perhaps a bit too much. His fingers gently trailed over what others often mistook for a brand scar on his chest. A rather devious smile spreading over pale lips as he approached the Ifrit.

“It appears we shall have to take matters into our own hands. Cowards, the lot of them.” he casually rolled his eyes as he came to stand beside Iblis. “Gavrio is the only one willing to see this through.” The Reaper sighed, hesitating to glance down at his diminutive counterpart., hand still resting over his chest, thumb gently rolling over the ridge that could be felt beneath the shirt.

“The hour draws near, Iblis.” finally looking down at the bright eyed Ifrit.. “Shall we?” he inquired, motioning his hand in a graceful sweeping motion towards the city.

[Deleted]

There was a crowd beginning to line the Appel Quay, prepared to greet the regal couple. Iblîs sighed from his position on the bridge, looking at the flags and flowers decorating the route. Iblîs crossed his arms, his eyes scanning crowd in search of the seven assassins. He could pick out Mehmedbasic and Cabrinovic from his place on the Cumurja Bridge. They were to the west. He could pick up the other energies as far as the Kaiser Bridge.

He felt the familiar magnetic stirring, causing him to look away and look towards the pulling. The Reaper stood beside him, a familiar cold smile on his lips as he looked down at the Ifrit. Iblîs frowned, his eyes moving to the Reaper’s chest. Why on Earth was he so drawn to the man? It wasn’t natural – and, while he had never had an intertwined destiny with someone, he greatly suspected that there was something wrong. He would have to consult the Vetales.

“They’re humans,” Iblîs said, tearing his eyes away from the Reaper’s chest and looking to the shallow river. “Of course they’re cowards. It’s to be expected.” He looked back to where Mehmedbasic and Cabrinovic were. “Gavrilo… he shall be easy to manipulate. He will be the one to murder the Archduke,” Iblîs said, keeping his eyes trained on the water. He would like nothing more than to look back towards the tall Lord of Time, but he would not grant the man the satisfaction of knowing that the Ifrit was curious about him. Too curious, in Iblîs’ opinion.

In response to the Reaper’s question, he nodded once and came off the bridge, immersing himself in the thick crowd. He wasn’t such a huge fan of crowds – too many bustling and sweaty humans, all towering over his childlike body. He scowled and covered his ears as the crowd cheered the oncoming motorcade. He sighed and watched Mehmedbasic carefully, especially as the man did nothing as the Archduke’s car passed. He exchanged a glance with the Reaper.

“Honestly,” Iblîs said, his fist clenching. The crowd silenced, though their mouths were still moving and they remained clapping. “Must the humans be so loud?” he asked irritably, glaring at Reaper. “Mehmedbasic missed his mark,” he said, weaving his way quickly to Cabrinovic’s station. He gritted his teeth and unclenched his fist, the noise returning both the Ifrit and the Lord of Time almost violently.

Cabrinovic was gripping his bomb nervously, and Iblîs sighed, glaring at the human’s hand. Cabrinovic stared down at his own hand as it lifted and struck against the lamppost, the bomb making a loud crack as the percussion cap popped. The driver of one of the cars in the motorcade accelerated, giving them a direct path to Franz and Sophie Ferdinand. Cabrinovic, over the shock of having his arm possessed, quickly took the cyanide Ilic had given him and pushed his way through the crowd.

It was then that several things happened. Franz heard the bomb approaching and raised his arm to keep it from hitting Sophie. Iblîs narrowed his eyes as the Archduke smacked the bomb away, stepping backward to avoid being hit by the shrapnel. The bomb bounced off the car top and into the street, finally exploding. Cabrinovic, who had jumped into the shallow river to drown himself, was dragged out of the water and arrested.

Iblîs huffed, turning to look at Reaper. “They won’t act now, with one of their own arrested,” he muttered, picking glass and gravel out of his skin. “He’s on his way to the courthouse now.”