Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

strong language

vomit

His first thought was not something of comfort. Within his gem, his body had crushed into itself, and his nerves fired in one thing. Pain. It crawled through his form and shot to his brain, and enveloped behind his eyes, bringing him to scream noiselessly within his slick tanzanite coffin, realization slamming into him like a truck.

He gasped through the Oil, flailing out weakly and thumping his limbs into the side of his chrysalis. 'That BITCH!' Rolling over, Purity slammed through the wall with all his might, bursting out and falling limply to the pulsating ground of Draco. He'd gotten out- and he felt... So tired.

Wheezing, he dragged himself up, slick with Oil and stinking of rot. His stomach churned, and he pulled his hindlegs up, too, tail dragging against the ground as he coughed. Flecks of Oil sprayed from his mouth, and he shut his eyes tight as the pain wreathed his neck and curled down his lungs.

He wobbled. What happened? What did she do to him? Coughing stronger, Purity took a step and struggled to not fall, squeezing his eyes shut again as his world spun. Something stuck at the back of his throat. One paw scrabbled at the thick fur before he curled back, fur arching as he retched Oil, nothing much in his body to evacuate from it.

He coughed again, weakly, as he lifted his head. It felt like air filled his mind, and he cast his gaze about the moving room with bleary eyes. Where had he ended up..? His coughs persisted as he swung his head towards the Black Spire, looming, moving, and he shuddered.

Was the magic thrumming in this place? Why had it drained him? Was he not dutiful, did he not spend enough time in the Altar? Where was his strength? Another coughing fit racked through him, spitting up more Oil as he wheezed out his breaths.

This was not power.

What did he do to himself?

The cracking of stone was distant. The hacking coughing was far louder, more intrusive, and it drew the Sentinel's attention at once. He had been there for the cat's return to its chrysalis, and he'd watched the stone--timed it, idly--with the indifferent eye that befitted Draco's guardian (or, if one were to be a tad less poetically generous, the door guard--the bouncer).

Now he realized that it had at last spilled forth again, and his head tilted as he approached. Mirac was not with him just now; instead the halberd was held in hand as he watched Purity flail, Oil-stained and wheezing.

"It has awoken." This observation was delivered without inflection. Was it speaking aloud, or addressing the cat-?

The halberd was shifted slightly, moved to rest against the rock. "It returned here, and it fell. The Master holds interest in its form." Then the Sentinel waited, silent. If this meant something, he didn't bother to explain it--or maybe he thought that the cat would grasp his meaning.

@Purity

He'd barely noticed the approach of the Sentinel, only glancing back as his breath rattled. Purity's bright eyes- lined by black, now, teared with corruption- took in the being, and lingered on the halberd. An impressive weapon, and he stared before looking at Sentinel itself.

It? "I'm a he," he spat, stumbling up straighter. In his mind, this was a proper stance- he tried so hard to not look as weak as he felt, despite the tenseness in his chest. Outside, though, it was a frail gesture- as though he'd been reanimated from death instead of truly alive.

"I don't even know-" and he coughed twice- "where here is." He curled back, his spine arching somewhat as his wet tail's fur flared out, another shaky breath escaping him. He'd just ran, and kept running, until he couldn't run any more- was it lucky that he ended up here?

Or... Was it unlucky?

He didn't care about who this Master was. He only coughed out again and shoved his weak body forward, taking a few shambling steps closer to the Sentinel. "If you don't want me here, I'll just leave. I have some-" cough- "business to get to, anyways."

His voice croaked on every word, as though he were a smoker of thirty years. Had he always sounded this way? He was pathetic, and he spat down again at the floor, hissing lightly between clenched teeth. He'd left that wicked creature ill, and he needed to finish her off.

He needed- his leg wobbled, and it slipped under him on his own Oil, and he stumbled to catch himself. He needed to recover, first. Breath slowing, Purity shut his eyes and sat abruptly, levelling out his breathing and his mind as he stilled himself. If he was going to properly attack that Hand, he'd need to build up his strength, first.

Hopefully, he'd be allowed to rest here, if only for a few brief moments.

@The Sentinel

The Sentinel took in the spitting correction without any reaction. All things, in his mind, were "it." That included himself, naturally. To Purity's profession of ignorance, however, he tilted his head ever-so-slightly. "It is within Draco," he rasped. Skull-like face turned to regard the Black Spire sidelong. "It is the center of the creation of Chaos."

Attention shifted back to Purity. The Sentinel stared, patient, uncaring. "The Sentinel did not tell it to leave." Hand tightened around halberd-haft. "The Master," he went on, more slowly (for it was taking him time to parse the fact that Purity had not understood) "wished to see the cat once it had emerged."

He paused. And then, to his credit--despite his total lack of empathy for the choking beast and his obvious discomfort--did attempt to rephrase, a little. "Master Vargas," (the hoarse words wheezed out slowly) "wishes to see... cats. Wishes to see, you. Now that you are awake."

Maybe that would make more sense. Of course, if Purity just bolted off, there wasn't a lot he could do; but Vargas... well, Vargas liked cats. He'd told the Sentinel to inform him once the cat had woken--citing "possible use" for it--but would Purity care? The Sentinel did not know.

@Purity

Fine. He was still an 'it', and he grumbled as he listened to the Sentinel, an ear flicking back to the Spire. Mint eyes burned like acid with a glare pointed back to the Sentinel when it clarified itself, though (and he coughed, gentler, one wrist coming up to his mouth and pulling away with Oil flecks).

"Chaos." Wrongness. His breath shuddered. "Like the Altar?" If it didn't want him to leave, then he'd stay- but he wanted to know more.

Shaking himself out with another soft exhale, Purity curled his claws into his pelt before licking it down, hissing quietly at the taste. "Where is this Master Vargas, then? And why does he want cats?" Sure, he was special, but why the specifics?

As he tugged his tongue down one arm, he coughed again, his fur flaring again. "And I thought chrysalizing was suppose to help you recover," he grumbled under his breath, pulling his head back to look at his Oil-stained fur. It was darker than normal... Had the Altar finally touched him?

@The Sentinel

The Altar.
His head tilted slightly. He'd heard the word--first as a description of a "big rock" and later in only slightly more detail. "It is a stone that whispers. It is a stone of the Creator. Yes, it is as the Black Spire," he surmised, more a guess than an assurance. He assumed this was what Purity was referencing, at least--the rock that told others things, that whispered instructions into their ears.

It was one of the last things, he'd been told, that his stone-giver had done--fallen into his chrysalis beside it, and emerged... changed. Half-absently, his free hand lifted claws to delicately brush the oily Onyx where it lay embedded in his chest. The soft click of it drew his mind back to Purity, and he looked at the cat.

The next question puzzled him--not the where, but the why. Vargas had never fully explained his fascination with cats--not to the Sentinel. When he had reported this stone, dutifully and with acknowledgment of the shape, the Master had not bothered elaborating. "...The Sentinel does not know," he began, "It knows where the Master is, but not why cats are preferred. It is... their shape. Perhaps. It is useful." There was no reassurance that the Master meant no harm; it didn't occur to him that he might need to offer it. His was an existence of obedience, and he could not imagine Purity not simply obeying Vargas's orders--despite being a total stranger to Draco and the Forge.

The mutter went unanswered, the Sentinel simply staring, waiting. Nothing else was offered, though admittedly there was a little information now given--if... puzzlingly-phrased.

@Purity

The Altar- a center of Chaos. That is what he had been chasing all this time. This is what he was looking for. He'd breath out a sigh of relief, but it came out more as a cough, and he covered his mouth with his wrist again.

His ears folded back when he learned that the Sentinel didn't know why Vargas was so fascinated with his kind. "Well, why don't we find out?" He rasped, shoving himself back up and rocking on unsteady feet. He'd have to walk, even if he was weak- he wouldn't be caught dead unable to move.

Pulling himself together, Purity drew in a sharp breath as he stepped forward, ready to get himself going with momentum to wherever Master Vargas was. (What a title.) He wasn't sure if he even wanted to meet this Vargas, but he was curious- and there was his ego, coming to a head. Why did Vargas like cats? And he'd had someone wait for him, him!, specifically- and that realization was like fine wine to the addled patient's head.

Oh, that was perfect. Maybe he will like this Master Vargas.

@The Sentinel

For a moment, the Sentinel felt almost foolish: he did not have the answers, and this stranger was essentially being asked to be taken to his Master to get them, stepping blithely over his head. But it was his duty, and so he didn't comment, or complain, or feel any resentment whatsoever.

Instead he bit down the faint embarrassment and turned. He kept to a slow pace, a stride that while businesslike would nonetheless allow for the just-awoken cat to keep up; and if Purity fell behind, he would slow. "It is this way," he began, leading. And then, as they walked, he posed a rather mundane conversational question. "The Sentinel would ask: what damaged it? It came wounded, and returned to the stone. The cause was not seen." He glanced down, sidelong, at Purity.

He'd seen no indication whatsoever of whatever it was that had driven the feline into his chrysalis, but any threat near Draco--anything attacking others, particularly those of Oil--was something he wanted to be aware of.

@Purity

Purity angled himself to follow, slowly making his way behind the Sentinel at his own pace. How very special was this? Even through the pain, this was going to his head- he was being led, him, to someone who was interested!

His ears flicked up at the question. "I was wounded in the... Palace cave. Burned, actually." He cleared his throat, trying to put the words together for how to even describe what injured him. "Some... Tall, blue Greater. She was wearing gold- grabbed me, with my hands, as the Altar's influence took hold. Perhaps I have her to thank-" cough "-I don't know if I would have survived without chrysalizing soon."

He shook himself out before holding his tail high like a flag, looking out for whoever this Master Vargas was. "Enough about me. What is this Master like?" What should he look out for, hm? What did he look like? And what made him have the title of Master?

He supposed the questions would be answered soon enough.

@The Sentinel

Tall, blue? Clothed in gold? He'd been introduced to one like that.

"Taken by Chaos, harmed by the Hand," the Sentinel mused aloud. A bit of an assumption, but there weren't many "clothed" in anything, in these caves. It didn't occur to him to worry that Aethril's authority might supercede Vargas's own: the Sentinel answered to the Master, not the Hand. Had Vargas ordered him to attack Aethril, he would have. Regardless of his chances.

"Master Vargas is large." Purity wanted a description. That was the first thing that came to mind. But the Sentinel didn't fall silent, instead merely pausing to consider as his clawed feet rasped and clicked along the stone. "One of the first. There is strength, but thought. What bears brutality bears consideration." He did not explain this, instead coming to a halt somewhat nearer the Black Spire.

"Master Vargas," he called, "the cat has awakened."