The Demon Wars [Job, Aven]

Oversights. It was a constant stream of them, Aviel's finger tapping repeatedly on the rafters of the Arena. That duel should have posed no issue for Aven, being given all the time needed to set up his Circles, and secure multiple avenues for escape from any particularly nasty spells Leona threw at him, not to mention a solid control of the playing field. An area of that size and shape was, quite literally, the perfect setup for Circle magic, and yet he'd lost concentration halfway through. An oversight, yes, but not only on Aven's part; with the colossal blow to the boy's confidence, it was uncertain whether he'd ever be the same wizard again. There were a few distinct possibilities, but they both seemed equally extreme: either, Aven would persevere and become an even stronger magic user because of the loss, or the fear of losing control would consume him, and he'd gradually lose the ability to employ magic at all. It'd happened to several mages in Aviel's memory, for various reasons, but the angel had faith in his young charge. There was much for him to learn, and if he was anything like his namesake, such a small setback wouldn't keep him down for long. With any luck, Nessa would be there to soften the blow; in fact, he was counting on it.

Now that Aviel had a physical form once more, he wasn't as bound to his descendant's movements, and besides that, the monstrous magical presence in the judges booth assured Aven's safety. The angel shook his head lightly, marveling at the raw power emanating from the wizard's direction: Samira Nassar... He'd met hundreds of mages that boasted of transcendental power, but he could count on one hand the number that spoke the truth. He found that the strongest of wizards did not brag of their power, as those who have surpassed their limits simply stopped counting a long time ago. Aviel, himself, never shared the luxury, of course, having lost his mortality to Dark Matter long before he would have been considered any measure of a mage.

The Seraph's attention flickered over to the stands, where his quarry was suddenly on the move. He'd been keen to watch Aven's debut, but his primary objective was, as usual, furthering preparations to eliminate Castor. Without a whisper, the angel was gone, melded into the light of the day, as his eyes kept careful track of Markus. He danced between rays of light, as he trailed the Chaos wizard, suppressing his magical presence out of instinct. Were he in physical form, a nostalgic grin would have passed his face. Aviel hadn't partaken in covert operations since... well, likely since their time in the plane of Revaliir, long before he became a Seraph. Back then, of course, he used a vastly different method of trailing, perhaps as different as it could be. They were good times, most of them, and provided they recovered Hakon without major loss, those times could continue.

It was a short while before Markus entered a secluded location; though, coincidentally, it happened to be the same spot where the young man and Aven had fought for the first time, and where he'd decided to join Fairy Tail. Fitting, he supposed, for this to be where the two of them had their first chat. The most striking detail, however, was how much Markus had changed since Aviel had first seen him in that desert cave. Once upon a time, the lad was little past a vagabond, unruly eyes and an iron will bent on survival. He grown considerably since then, and the aura of void he emitted spoke volumes on the subject. That would certainly be a topic of discussion in their little chat, but there was no need to rush it. Admonishing the youth would do little good... especially when Aviel was no better, himself.

Aviel's form materialized in a tree nearby, one leg hanging down as he leaned against the thick trunk. "Brings back memories, does it? No doubt, you expected a reprise of that fateful fight in today's match." In an instant, he was no longer in the tree, seeming to walk out of a ray of light breaking through the sparse canopy, making his way on foot into the clearing. "Aven's magic is brutally effective, perhaps, but he lacks the experience to utilize it properly. In time, he'll find what he lacks, I'm sure." The light of the setting sun dawned over Aviel's attire as he broke into the clearing, a white silken robe than flowed with the wind. "So, what about you, Markus Eldridge? Have you found what you lack?"

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[Word Count: 778.]
[Word Count Total: 778/7000.]

Aviel's lips pursed. His absence from guarding Aven had nearly cost the both of them dearly, his plans would have been set back a good deal if Zane had actually gotten his hands on the Aven's memory stone. Albeit brief, the encounter could have soured considerably if Castor hadn't been foolish enough to send Zane instead of his other, less empathetic servants. It pained Aviel to imagine the kind of torture the young man was enduring at the moment for his failure, but the boy was an Alveron, tried and true: he'd weather the storm just fine.

Regardless, Zane was not his concern at the moment. With the recent development of his return, Markus was far more pressing of a matter. Almost second nature at this point, Aviel could sense void from miles around, a very distinct energy. There were different apertures of void, of course, and he'd been relieved that Aven's rival hadn't been sporting Castor's particular flavor. Likely, he'd been in contact with one of many other Void entities, a powerful one, at that. The energy was muddled by Markus's own magical signature, of course, but if the Seraph had to venture a guess, he would have placed his bet on one of the Void Gods; it was a bit too strong to be a simple boon from a denizen, and far too complex to be naturally absorbed. Markus had stared into the abyss, and met it's gaze, there was no doubt.

The question remained, of course, what Aviel's plan to convince the youth would be: throughout his life, he'd more or less winged recruitment, no pun intended, whether it be for a rescue mission or a government coup d'etat. He'd a silver tongue, which hadn't exactly changed when he added a dash of gold to his color scheme, but such talents never fared well against others with similar attributes. More often than not, those attempts ended in a verbal dance with neither party leading, and, while interesting, were never productive. No, if he wanted to win Markus over before Castor had a shot, he was going to need to dig past the surface.

Aviel's expression lightened once more, and he waved the question away. "There are several Wizard Saints, not to mention a few God's of Ishgar mozying about Magnolia, any threat to Aven is few and far between. Besides," His wings beat lightly against the shadows behind him, and the darkness writhed unnaturally for a moment, before subsiding, "Aven is not my only concern: I noticed you've been dancing with shadows lately, and not the normal kind. It would be difficult for such an event to escape my gaze, you're probably aware, and as of now, I'd like to hear your thoughts on your newfound associates." Aviel's smile was remarkably different from Aven's, even setting family resemblance aside: it was an odd combination of both gentleness and understanding, and a fierce contempt, an unfortunate side effect of the angel's contradictory nature.

Aviel paused for an answer. His inquiry had notes of a threat, that much he couldn't hide: he wasn't a fan of lies, and knowing what little he did from observing Markus, the Shadow wizard would likely appreciate his candor from the start. Treading on eggshells wasn't on his to-do list, and his to-do list was remarkably long at the time.

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[Word Count: 557.]
[Word Count Total: 1335/7000.]