Zafir walked straight into the open of a large French Cemetery merely hiding his physical presence putting absolutely no effort into disguising his aura of sorcery, "Hear me!" He shouted in his native tongue into the night air the mystical energy carrying his words across the country and straight into the ears of the man who seemed to have made him his direct enemy from Zafir's homeland, Omar Alfarsi the assassin.
Omar heard the utterances standing up from his crosslegged position merely resting, a swift flick of the hand and he'd vanished appearing directly in front of Zafir. Shorter but hardly less powerful the assassin stared at him with glowing red eyes, "Is it wise of you to reveal your presence so flippantly to me?" He asked calmly as if it were an actual question.
A twisted grin spread across Zafir's face as he took a step forwards leaning over the far older sorcerer, "You've tried to curse me." He stretched out his arms, "Care to try it for real? Do you think you're up to the task of defeating me right now? Are you truly stronger then I?" He challenged.
Omar merely turned his back and took a few steps away before stopping, "Playing on my pride Zafir?"
He could be felt twitching even though shadow hid the assassins face. Zafir however, seemed calm as ever if a little bit on adrenaline. Omars pride just kept getting the best of him as a sword began to slip into his hand and he turned around anger and confusion in his eyes.
"Should have stopped using Dark Magic Omar." Zafir mocked his own staff in hand, and his smile getting almost unnatural, "It's breaking you even faster then it is me, and I'm on the receiving end of your curses. I dare you to keep it up, I dare you to try and kill me! Do it! You know I'm doomed if you do! So what's stopping you?"
Despite having no need to do so, Omar's breathing began to become rapid. And Zafir knew exactly what thoughts were going through his head. Saying them out word for word even as they were thought out,
"How is this happening? What is this feeling? It takes so little and yet I can't seem to move." Zafir said in a mimicry, "You are broken Omar. Azzam is even worse, but he hasn't used nearly as much dark magic as you. Nor as powerful as your own. I can tell you exactly why you can't kill me Omar. Because there's no pleasure in an easy kill, because in this way, I deprave you of every honor you think you'd get by beating me or tormenting me. What's more? You're already dead. All it takes is a little push."
That was it, as little as it really was, that pushed him over the edge. A hideous screech burst forth from him as he threw off the black robes covering the semi skeletal and semi mist form that he had become to increase his power. He flew forwards and around Zafir at speeds he couldn't seem to match his sword slicing through Zafir's torso causing him to lean forwards blood seeping onto the ground as more and more wounds opened up. Every wound he had ever had reopening, every cut, every slice, every single time he'd gained a wound ripped straight back apart.
A sneer grew back on Zafir's bleeding face even as Omar tried to tear him to pieces. He slammed his staff into the ground, "Im yatabaqaa shay!"
Silence, Omar stopped, his face returning to that of a human as he dropped to the ground staring at his hands in a terror but constantly shifting in and out of feeling fear and feeling no sense of pleasure or will at all, "What have you done to me. How did you learn to do this?"
"Azzam, you, those cursed monsters of yours who use dark magic-" Zafir began leaning next to him using alchemy to heal his own wounds, "You were on the path to this long before I did anything. I merely learned to speed up that route, easy enough to do with you. You were strong once, strong, smart, and powerful. But you've come to enjoy dark magic to much."
Zafir stood back up a scowl on his face as he pushed Omar's face against the soil with the bottom of his staff. No resistance, Omar had no idea what to feel or do, it was like being completely empty. This...this was they meant he realized. When he sold his soul, it wasn't merely that when he would die Hell would be his residence. It meant that eventually...he would find no emotion from getting what he wanted.
"You could have had everything but you lost your soul in the process. I'd tell you to inform Azzam of just what I can do, but you can barely move a muscle like this. I have other plans for you." He explained to the nearly lifeless body as it began to grow cold from sheer lack of will to live. He plucked a finger from his form which seemed to tear off as loose as tissue now, "If only you weren't a Dark Magic wielder, you would have beaten me. Now you'll just lay here as a warning."
And so he left, placing a spell upon the body specifically so only sorcerers and mystics of some kind could see the semi living being that was immortal and yet always dead. A sign that even the strongest of sorcerer's could fall if only someone were to find the right way to push. He wasn't going to hide much longer. Just a few weeks, maybe a month from now, and things were going to get crazy.
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