ORIGIN

The shadow that was Vargas darted out of the path of Azrael's magic, to his mild annoyment, but the dodge had taken Vargas a moment, a longer one as he took stock of Azrael's form and the opening it caused gave Azrael time to lunge forward, not waiting on a pounce as the Master seemed to be doing.

He'd like to let out another blast of flame, but that was too predictable and, as Vargas had proven, too easily dodge. Besides, his more powerful spells had still been testy at best and this was an important battle that he didn't have any intention of losing. It wasn't fear of failure that had intense heat travelling up his claw instead of out his jaws, but a need to save his strength for when he felt ready to unleash his more devastating blows.

Vargas may be huge and covered in quills and spikes with little place to reach for a good strike, but that would not stop the beast, lunging straight for his face to deliver a strike of searing heat.

He expected claws to rend into flesh, or at the very least, to feel the skin of Vargas against his palm, heat searing away flesh, for blood to pour over the fur of his hand, but he was lurching forward. Would he go into wrestle? Two arms against four? No, a grab on the arm and step to the side and suddenly Azrael was falling forward, with no Vargas in front of him and his balance quickly slipping out of his control.

He was making an opening. He was a skilled opponent, and faster then his size let on. But two could play at that game.

Azrael had no intention of letting Vargas have the upper hand for any length of time. He would show no weakness. He let himself slip off-balance, but as he fell, his fur began to shift colors, rapidly changing until he was the color of the stones beneath him in a fraction of a second, completely invisible to the eye. Even the glow in his chest had been dampened by the spell, rendering him fully out of sight.

He stumbled forward, his wings opening just a bit to keep himself from falling over completely. Vargas would most likely hear it, if he was paying attention, but he didn't intend on staying like this for long, only intending to hold off his opponent's attack to keep him on the defensive.

His plan to distract the Master had paid off, as Vargas swung his head around, searching for his adversary, giving Azrael a moment to catch his balance and turn to face him again, ready to continue the fight. Would Vargas expect the demon to circle around? Get a different position? Or would staying in the same spot be too easy for the beast to counter? He didn't seem to know where Azrael was, checking his sides, behind him, everywhere, so obviously he thought that he'd moved. Unless he had some magical sensing that let him know his location, but Azrael couldn't rely on that. So far, he had shown little magic, so he would rely on Vargas's reliance on physical strength.

This time, the breath he sucked in was silent. It would be hard to predict something you couldn't see coming. The fire would only show itself once it left Azrael's jaws and, hopefully, by then, it would be much too late to counter or avoid.

There was no bestial roar with this flame, only the bright light streaming from his jaws and the sudden blast of flame that left his throat. It was much stronger this time, Azrael mustering as much force as possible. It wasn't that he intended on killing the other - no, but battles had their risk and he would not dishonor a skilled opponent by holding back.

Once the fire burned in the open, he dropped his invisibility. There would be no more hiding!

It hit this time, he knew it. He'd know the acrid stench of burning flesh anywhere and a small piece of him felt bad for harming his opponent in this way. Through their short fight, he'd already come to respect him, his strength, and his courage. A worthy opponent indeed and such a contest wasn't one where one should walk away grievously injured. It had never been Azrael's intent to kill Vargas, and if he thought that his was capable of killing him with the one attack, then he would not have done so.

But Azrael did not expect Vargas to kick out. In exchange for running and avoiding injury, the beast had made to strike while the fire roared from his jaws. A large foot slammed into Azrael's lower jaw, the loud clack of teeth a sharp stocatto as the fire died quickly and Azrael stumbled back, pushed away by the force of the strike. As he fell backwards, he lashed out at the retreating limb, heat searing through his paw and claws, a blind strike before he stumbled out of range. A claw reached up to his jaw, now tender and very bruised, his teeth feeling like he'd just tried to crunch down on a rock. He glanced up at Vargas, breathing heavily, and took a moment to shout out, "Very bold!", his eyes glittering with the joy and ferocity of battle. Yes, this was what he was looking for!

Never in Azrael's life had he felt such exhilaration. Adrenaline was pumping scorching hot through his veins, every sense and nerve alight with the brutality of their clashing. He knew, once things had settled down, that he would have no qualms with aligning himself with this one. Any fighter of this skill and strength deserved his friendship wholeheartedly. No matter the outcome, he would be honored to fight alongside this one.

The strike Vargas sent his way, while powerful, Azrael avoided, jumping out of the way with a sweep of his wings. As he sailed a few feet to the side, his jaws opened again, feeling bile in the back of his throat heating super-hot, and as soon as he'd landed, he sucked in a breath and spat as hard as he could, a glob of blazing saliva hurling through the air.

He wanted to unleash another blast of flame, but he wasn't sure if Vargas could take many more of those. Despite allowing himself to unleash upon the beast, he had to remind himself to reign himself in so that he didn't kill him.