Azrael walked far out of earshot, then shadow blinked to a remote island he had been to before. It was off to the west of Odin’s birthplace: between its harsh savannahs and the tropical forests in Ya’ab where Sklaver still resided. The air here was humid, and it was night, a welcome change for the man. The shadow blink was one of the abilities that he’d gained after being resurrected. The skill entailed him sinking into his own shadow, and then appearing through the darkness someplace else entirely. It was impossibility for a necromancer, but little was impossible for Azrael these days.
The necromancer breathed in the smells of palm trees and ocean, but they brought him no respite. He was furious, mostly with himself. The boy had laid himself bare, and Azrael still hadn’t told him anything about his own past. The warrior’s final words nagged at him, tearing down at his walls. “No hidden agenda indeed,” he whispered bitterly, letting the breeze steal the words away. He stood upon a rocky cliff overlooking the beach, and he could see a huge sea monster in the distance: a hydra, one of Sklaver’s creations, but one that was powerful enough that the Second left it to protect itself. He probably wouldn’t mind if it was destroyed.
Azrael spread his arms to his side and sprang headfirst off the cliff, allowing the wind to whip his worries away, and kicking down a couple of pebbles with him. About halfway to the rocky floor he shadow blinked to the hydra. He needed a fight to let his frustrations out.