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No matter how hard she’d swung her blade, how loud the various flying projectiles whizzing by her ear had been, nor how infuriating many of her allies were today, none of those external noises worked in to muffle the loudness rattling in Illyana’s skull. Pounding, thrashing at the seams, picking at the wrinkles in her brain as claws pierced through. They clambered, clawed, and pierced out of the organ in an attempt to pick away at her very skull and escape in any means necessary. Over and over, she’d shake her head and close her eyes, shuddering away the nagging annoyance these voices were posing as the hours ticked on agonizingly slow. Every few minutes she’d feel a clawed hand piercing her brain, only to recede when she was made aware of its presence.
The voices hadn’t been this detrimental to her performance in quite some time; she’d claimed she’d finally regained control of the demons within her some time ago when first thrust before many of the allies around her. They’d seen what she was capable of, heard of her and her feats, and had seen the scroll detailing the destruction she could bring. She’d scoffed in the past, defensively asserting her hierarchy again, waving her hands in a manner to dispel the concerns of that damned billionaire. What an annoyance he was, whenever she had to fight with him; never did he cease his belittling of his allies nor enemies, unless he listened to one of the four people he seemed to tolerate.
No, she’d gained control of her powers, of who she was, of everything within her that bubbled and boiled like a witches poison in her cauldron. She’d gained that sort of control over her connections to the physical demons, able to pull them from their hellish home through her pockets with ease. She’d gained that sort of control, where every step she took was made with purpose, no longer blindly swinging and slashing as she had when she was younger, foolish, and inexperienced with such power. She’d gained that sort of control over the being within her that festered and clawed to get out, the great demon and power she kept safely sealed away inside; the demon who whenever let out in a fight came out in a burst of flames, saliva trickling down the edges of its lips as it leapt forward with gleaming claws and a hoarse, echoing laugh with every slash.
She’d gained control, she told everyone, and she knew she had. Today was… not her day, though. That’s what Illyana convinced herself of, at least.
When she had been nearing the end of the battle Illyana was currently captivated in, she could feel the beast itch and scratch and laugh, despite not even being plausible to let out at the moment – she wasn’t amped up enough, not powerful enough, to give the demon within her control if only for a minute. Despite that, it seemed to have a consciousness of its own, and that consciousness was angry.
Illyana had held her head in one hand as she’d staggered backwards, her back hitting a wall, the warmth of sweat beading down her forehead and the back of her neck into her top only served to have made her increasingly more uncomfortable; why did every place she had to scramble off to to fight with these hooligans have to be sweltering hot? Why couldn’t it be springtime in any place she had to run to today? The only place that would’ve had lovely weather involved her being tormented by fire almost the entire fight, rather than the lovely sights of clean marble and actual open air!
She had pushed herself off the wall a few seconds later, met with a sudden gust of chilly air as frost descended upon her, spiraling above her hair and floating down a second or two later. She’d looked at the one responsible for the sudden burst of chilly air, and the usual, albeit gruff “thank you” didn’t leave her lips this time. Instead, she’d kept a hand to her forehead with a grimace plastered on her face, and had walked back to the rest of her annoying allies, the singer puzzled at the treatment. Even though Illyana kept herself sheltered, especially from those she didn’t recognize as friends from her past, she’d begun to open up to the singer, and the mumbled gratitudes were the new norm.
After the chaos had concluded, Illyana had taken her leave without so much as a mumble to the rest of her allies, returning to her home in silence externally, and fighting internally. The demon within had begun to hush when Illyana chastised it, serving more to chastise herself in the process, but still attempted to poke and prod its way out despite the reservations she had. Repeatedly she said “no” aloud to no other living soul but herself in her room, pacing back and forth as the demon seemed to grow less angry, but sadder that it wasn’t being permitted to breathe through her lungs, feel through her limbs, and see through her eyes.
Her room eventually got to feeling too small and cramped, Illyana growing as restless as the demon once had even when surrounded by what she’d catered to be comforting to her. She’d thrown open her closet door, her hand outstretching mindlessly before it hit the wall – last thing she needed was a pep talk from someone else in the house, if anyone else was home, about damaging things that weren’t meant to be damaged. “That’s what the training quarters are meant for! Go beat up things in there then!”, that was surely what someone would say if Illyana put another hole in the wall. She threw on a coat, slinging her arms through it and straightening it up where the fabric didn’t itch uncomfortably at her neck, and didn’t hit that spot on her wrist that felt wrong in every way she couldn’t explain, and left.
Now, she was tucked away in a small alley that was just hidden enough from the bright billboards and excitable yells and laughs of every other living being in the square that she felt at least a semblance of okay. She glared whenever a shadow came too close, only to immediately duck her head back down to her hands, where she held her blade between deft fingers as she cleaned it absentmindedly. The shadows were almost always just delivery robots, scuttling past to make it to one of the many individuals not only occupying the square currently, but to those who lived in such a chaotic place, if there was any living being who’d ever want to tolerate such nightly disturbances.
The gleaming golden sword below her seemed to flicker whenever she got too deep in thought, and she was forced to take deep breaths, even when every single breath made her want to claw out her hair, or bash the wall, or any of the above. From the voices, to the fights, to the damned smile of that singer who gave her too much patience, she’d had enough.
“Illyana?”
She’d never have enough.
The voice broke through the distance noises of the square as a silhouette cast its shadow down the alley, the warrior raising her head slowly, hair draped down in silky strands that hid her furrowed brows and scowl with one tooth poking out. She watched with an icy blue stare as the singer approached with gentle footsteps, her black and white furred coat draped over her shoulders, one hand gently reaching up to tuck it tighter around her neck. She’d changed her hair with the flick of a wrist to match her desired outfit for the night, evidently, as it too was now black and white, split perfectly down the middle. She’d been extra flashy during the fights today, her outfit having been mixes of purples and blues — returning to her normal hair instantaneously after, she guessed. Her outfit was well put together, that purple bow on her belt swaying with every step as she approached Illyana, standing on the other side of the alley from her.
Illyana glanced up from cleaning her blade, cocking a brow at the singer with the scowl still plastered across her scarred and flecked skin, blue eyes meeting her own mismatched gaze of brown and blue. They did not glimmer as they usually did, a dim quality evident about them. “What is it, Seol?”
The singer sagged as she crossed her arms, huffing a piece of stray hair out of her face. Despite appearing so put together, there was evidently an issue with herself as well, one that she had tried desperately to hide. No one was perfect, even popstars. “You’re sulking in a corner, I wanted to come check on you.”
A scoff externally, and a pathetic cry internally from the demon within. “I am not sulking.”
“You are sulking, I have very good eyes, you know.”
“Well you might want to get them checked, because I am not sulking,” Illyana defended herself haughtily, puffing up as her hand glided along the edge of the golden sword, the cloth cleaning the pristine metal and soul imbedded fire smoothly making its way down the length. She looked at Seol with that cold stare, despite even herself inside wincing at how she was acting. Stop acting like a child, Illyana! What are you doing, acting so foolish and full of yourself? Don’t you know how to behave? “I’m just doing weapon care.”
“In a dark alleyway,” Seol lifted a finger, the silver ring adorning her digit shimmering slightly, as did the rest of her jewelry. It was expensive, oftentimes gifts from brands trying to please the singer for some sort of promotional deal. “Away from everyone who is having a grand old time on a Friday evening in the club, or just sitting atop the staircase in the square and speaking with one another. Not to mention you’re wearing almost all black in an already dark space.”
“I always wear black!”
“Yes, but it’s always accented with something bright.”
“Oh, yes, thanks for reminding me of my own wardrobe, I’d totally forgotten Seol.”
“You wear pink to come to the club with me. You’ve worn that lovely heart shaped top that sparkles under just the right lighting when you’re drinking and laughing,” she took a step forward towards Illyana, the icy, deadly stare unbecoming upon itself, and deteriorating to be soft. The furrowed brows creased her forehead less, the scar that followed the skin smoothing out. “You love showing off those furred boots of yours, and you always wave your left hand whenever you say you couldn’t decide between leaving your hair down, a ponytail, or the double braids.”
“You’re lying… Is it always my left hand?”
Said hand was gingerly taken into Seol’s own grasp, her smooth palms running over the deep scar across her own palm, seared in from the flames of her sword. The painted, multicolored nails clashed with Illyana’s black, her ring finger being yellow on both hands. “It’s never not been your left hand. I have yet to be proven wrong.”
Illyana gave up on cleaning her weapon, picking up the heavy blade and thrusting it into its own subspace, tucking her jacket closer with her right hand once the hilt had vanished. Seol was close, looking into her eyes with creased brows, and the faintest trace of eyebags that desperately had been caked in makeup. She was always so perfect to Illyana. She held her tongue, looking down at Seol’s hand as it held her own left so gingerly that the touch felt as though she was going to burst into flames and possibly die from it alone. It had been a while since Seol was able to hold her gingerly, even with just hand contact.
“Talk to me, Illyana,” Seol pleaded, her right hand lifting to the demon queen cautiously, watching her every microexpression as her fingers planted themselves on her cheek. Illyana’s eyes noticeably widened, flickering to her digits before they made contact. The smallest wrinkle of her nose had made her pause for a moment, until she saw Illyana’s pupils dilate just the right amount that she’d memorized. She gently caressed her cheek in the dark alley, using her pointer finger to brush a long blonde strand away from those icy eyes she adored so much. She squeezed Illyana’s left hand softly as they stood together in the alley, smiling at her. There was no malice in her eyes for how she’d been brushed off during the final fight of the day, no anger, no distrust. Seol didn’t have the bones in her body to feel such a way, Illyana hypothesized.
Finally, she conceded, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she recollected what had occurred, the air that had felt deadly and threatening for the two of them turning soft, encasing them in safety so they could speak. “I’m sorry for being… angry at you, today. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, I wasn’t upset at you for that. I want to know what you’re feeling, not you apologizing for feeling it.”
Be an adult, Illyana. You always act so childish, you’re just a little kid. “I wasn’t feeling myself today. I am usually so in tune with my demons, with Darkchylde.” She took pause, swallowing as the beast within her, now meek and quiet rather than loud and angry as it had been throughout almost the entirety of the day, perking up at the mention of its name. Its ears flickered within, eyes staring up at Illyana from inside, as if seeking approval like a dog who’d chewed up a pair of shoes. “Today everything felt wrong; everything was too much, and everything inside was especially loud.”
Seol took a pause, rubbing her thumb over Illyana’s cheek before removing it to hold both of her hands within her own, looking down at how they’d been connected to one another through such contact. “What happened with the voices?”
“They just wouldn’t shut up. Usually I can command silence within, to muffle the overwhelming power that tries to climb out and keep control of myself. Today? It was like my worst nightmare, not being able to control everything inside of me – it just kept building and building like little rats in my body eating me from the inside out. My stomach hurt all day, but I didn’t get sick. My head felt like I’d had an anvil dropped on me like that loudmouthed asshole mercenary had just the other week, except he was hardly bothered by such a thing.” Illyana exclaimed with annoyance laced in her tone at her circumstances, none of it directed towards the popstar standing with her. She got a small laugh again out of Seol at her exaggerated insult, making her own grimace slowly transition into a placated neutral expression as she continued to explain her predicament to the singer.
“I just couldn’t get any of it to stop, and only when I got here did it finally admit defeat and crawl away to where it resides inside of me. I kept on saying no, no, no, having to talk to myself outloud. Steven does it enough, I don’t think I need to fill that niche.”
“I thought it was Marc during our fight together today…”
“I don’t think I even looked Marc’s way today in our last fight,” Illyana shrugged, sighing deeply as she seemed embarrassed to have not known who she was particularly fighting with today. It was a rough one, she was sure that Steven and Marc together would both cut her some slack if she’d happened to mix it up when around them those fifteen agonizing minutes. “But that’s about it today. It was a mess.”
“Sounds like it,” Seol stated softly as if it was the revelation of the century and not an astute fact even a child could come to the conclusion of. She squeezed Illyana’s hands and looked back into her eyes, a smile crinkling at the edges of her lips. She always did have one of the best smiles, Illyana had whispered such compliments to her in the dark before. “Why don’t you let it out? You always suppress it unless in battle, perhaps allowing Darkchylde to have some fresh air outside of the fights might do you some good, Yana.”
“I let it out in the training room at home,” Illyana started, until she was silently cut off by an eyeroll from Seol. She huffed, defeatedly, upon realizing her lapse in judgement far later than the popstar, “I suppose allowing Darkchylde to… breathe outside of peril may be fair.” As if on queue, a small voice inside of her seemed to excitedly grumble, the noise bubbling in her throat before she caught it, whittling it down to keep it within. Rather than grow angry at Illyana’s continued suppression, the demonic force inside accepted her, muffling the growl, taking it back into its own throat and purring. She wasn’t happy with the force within in the slightest, not at all, and letting it out wasn’t going to change her discontent towards that side of her for a good while due to the day she’d had because of such treatment. Perhaps her companion was right, though.
“I’ll be there to supervise,” Seol broke one of her hands away to brush her own hair out of her face, pushing the black strands back behind her ears, huffing as she tried to fix her presentation.
“Supervise?”
“Yeah!”
“Why would you need to supervise?”
“Not need, want,” Seol tisked, waggling that finger at Illyana’s face, making the blonde jolt back with wide eyes, looking at her in confusion. “If it’s made your life hard enough as is, having an extra set of eyes to supervise whatever Darkchylde influences you to do might be best.”
“You know I’m still conscious of myself when that happens, right?” Illyana cracked a small smile of her own, confusion laced in her tone, but the confusion was overrun by appreciation, even if not voiced aloud. Seol took Illyana’s hands back into both of her own, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against the others, their hair mingling. It was a quick collapse, that wall of Illyana’s that she’d always had up as long as she could remember. It tumbled down, bricks scattering on the floor at their feet, eaten up by the darkness as she was held so close. The wall dissipated, and Illyana was left bare before Seol, her palms touching Seol’s own palms truthfully now with no space between. Her soul was bare before the popstar, her ribs willingly crackling and malforming themselves as if to encompass everything the singer was within her.
Seol sighed against Illyana’s nose, the breath making the latter sniffle and nearly sneeze, the act dying in her throat as if the demon inside reached up, grabbed it, and yanked it back down as if to apologize for ruining her day, but not this moment.
“It was loud for me today, too, if that brings you any comfort.”
“Why would you being disturbed bring me comfort, Seol?”
“Illyana, I didn’t mean it literally,” she chuckled lightly, her voice encompassing all that Illyana was and ever will be in one simple gesture. “I mean that in a ‘we both had overwhelming days’ way.”
“What was loud for you?”
“Some of our allies. You are right Illyana, some of them can be so very annoying at times,” she pulled her head back slightly to look over her shoulder, as if worried someone would appear behind her at just the wrong moment when she indulged truly how she felt. “They got on my last nerve, especially because a few were barking orders at me. Go here! Go there! Noooo, not over there Luna, over there! And then they’d point a finger as if I could magically line up to see exactly where they’d be motioning me to go as I’m dealing with every attack under the sun,” she gruffly voiced her grievances to Illyana, mocking the voices of who’d been annoying her in a tone that could only make the blonde snort. She held one of Illyana’s hands, her right now, as her left was now free to wave in the air as she explained what had her so annoyed and overwhelmed today, too. “Some of them are so… dumb!”
“You can be meaner than that.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to be mean right now,” she shook her head, fixing her furred coat again, as it had sagged awkwardly on one of her shoulders when leaning with Illyana on the alley wall. “I want to have a fun night with you, not think about annoying guys. I think I deal with that enough when performing,” she took both of her hands away from Illyana now, fluffing up her hair and brushing her clothing down to straighten out any wrinkles or awkward edges that might've bunched up. She furrowed her brow as she did so, mumbling under her breath as Illyana shrugged off her thick coat that she’d used to hide herself in the alley away from any eyes, tossing it into a portal she summoned beside her, which vanished as soon as the coat fluttered through it. Underneath, her gold speckled belt now got to sparkle, the bangle she adorned on her right wrist glittering under Seol’s gaze, as the blackened armored arm, spikes galore, got to breathe.
Seol’s smile grew as she extended a hand for Illyana to take, her fingers flexing as the singer looked to the mutant with such a caring gaze that it threatened to crack the very bones within her body. Such a gaze that could placate her in an instant was deadly, yet rather than distance herself from such danger, she welcomed it. She cascaded towards it like a wave to the shore, lathering itself upon the sand so lovingly.
She stepped forward and took Seol’s smooth palm in her gloved one, reaching a claw-tipped finger from her left hand to the singer's hair and brushing that same annoying strand of hair out of her face for the third time that evening. The metal brushed carefully over her skin, not wishing to cause even a prick upon her appearance – she’d wish for death before the wish to harm the singer who had captured everything she was and more.
Leaning in, a gentle kiss was placed upon Seol’s nose, the skin beneath crinkling at the gesture under her lips, which made Illyana crack a smile. She pulled away and looked at her with such softness that rivaled the earlier hostility that it might’ve frightened the average person, but not Seol. Never Seol. The singer smiled back at her with that same softness as they interlocked their fingers, tighter now, and began to walk towards the bright billboard lights. The light trickled upon them, pawing at their boots and gradually working up to their legs, smoothing over Seol’s exposed skin, and running its hands over the leggings that Illyana adorned. It continued to work its way up until it reached their faces, the two of them now fully out of the alley that Illyana had sought solace and silence in. Illyana kept hold of Seol’s hand as the singer led her on a path predetermined by the singer, excitedly bouncing in her own shoes as the two passed many a faces; some familiar, some strangers, and some so close to being correct, but obviously not the people she knew personally.
The huffing of horses and the sound of rolling wheels filled the air as they walked hand in hand on the sidewalk, passing by two four-legged, delivery robots, each carrying something in their clawed hands as they scuttled along past the two fighters. Illyana’s eyes looked across the street through the gaps of the few carriages that ran to see a red stage set up, music fluttering in the air and grasping at any available space to make itself heard through the hubbub. She noted a few people sitting around the stage, some standing and showing off crafts, placing them upon their heads and laughing with one another. The sound of laughter didn’t cut through, though. Illyana could only tell they were laughing by how their eyes squeezed shut and bodies rippled.
They crossed the street in front of spinning doors, passing a few faces who didn’t look their way – not out of discontent nor disdain, but rather preoccupation. A woman stood before two others on the sidewalk, showing off something with her dress, laughing as one of them showed off the bag they carried, the two others snickering and cooing at the adornment whilst showing off their own trinkets they’d nabbed for themselves. They held all three small plush objects up together, haughtily snickering. There was a man by the doors too, looking at something on his companions phone with his tongue between his teeth, glasses obscuring his true facial expression as the device was practically close enough for him to bite. Seol paid them no mind and paused before the side door, not the revolving one, and looked back at Illyana.
She’d never forgotten about all of her troubles so fast when she looked at Seol, proper and polished, standing in front of the door as if it was going to burn her if she touched it.
Illyana stepped forward and pulled it open for her, smiling almost in shock as Seol walked in, waiting for her once again. Quickly, her feet moved without her even being aware of such a thing, carrying her through the door to the primary upper venue, the two interlocking hands once again. “Making me do all the work?”
“Is it work to hang out with me?”
“Never,” Illyana whispered the word, only meant for Seol. She’d say never whenever an ally asked her to do something she couldn’t. Whenever she was told to back down and quit her rampage. Whenever she was told she was too much, too violent. Whenever Darkchylde was berated. But she would never say never to hanging out with Seol, never push that glamorous singer who had enchanted her with such siren songs she once rejected away. The two squeezed hands as they waited to take the elevator down to the venue, smiles only meant for one another.
The day had been atrocious for the two of them; Illyana tormented by the loud yelling, clawing, and internal rampage and tantrum of the demon inside of her, and Seol having to deal with agonizing requests from allies. Within each other's company, though? Within the touch of hands as they exited the elevator and walked into the club of bright lights and thundering music? Within the shared drinks and stolen glances? It seemed to melt away and become obsolete, as if it never happened in the first place.