The Betrayer

Lucien Novelle shuffled around, pacing back and forth. Though sworn to bring forth an ultimate, sublime silence, the man was shouting and raving, yelling like a mad dog in a tongue that would have barely been comprehensible even if it wasn't loud enough to deafen. 
"How?!" He called out to the sky, knowing well she could hear him. "Six thousand years, and he returns now?!" 
The man let out a wicked snarl, eyes narrowing at the open air above, serenely silent. His head darted back down, his glowing yellow eyes, pale and cruel, darting to the Ivory instrument that had been so callously thrown to the floor. Gently rubbing a finger across it, he shook his head, snatching it up into his grasp, sweat dripping off his head, soaking into his well-kept silver hair.
"Time… More time. I need more time!" He shouted once again, this time placing a hand onto the strings of the harp he had worked so long to acquire. Callously, he began to play, and felt the power begin to rush up through him. Raw and untamed, the purest form of Strength, given essence. The False-Archon looked down, and could see his veins glowing through his skin, even through his coat. The glow turned to burning, and into fire, scorching his sleeves as he desperately tried to pat it out. The harp clattered to the floor again, and the man, now singed and burned, looked down at it scornfully, kicking it across the rooftop. 
It would have flown off, if it hadn't been caught beneath the boot of another man, a dark lord of dread. Fidgeting his hand, and looking down to wonder if he would dare lay a finger on the instrument, a glare from his master told him such an act equated to suicide. He knocked it forward, sliding it across the stone rooftop with a swift kick, the glow of dark power staining it's path. 
"What do you want, Donny?" Scoffed Lucien Novelle, an annoyed look on his face. 
Donahues face betrayed no emotion, but confusion, and perhaps fury, filled his mind. In the time that his master had assumed control of Lucien Novelle, made him her vessel, as she had once done to him, she had… Changed. Gone was the cruel charms of the Great Betrayer, the confidence in absolute victory. Now, all Donahue could see was the young boy who never could focus on his lessons, no matter how dire the consequences.
“My… Master…” He began, in his slow, almost inhuman voice, the words coming out with reverence, and irregularity. “Not to imply you have been… Idle, but… Has progress been, made? The enemy…”
“I know full well that the enemy is at our doorstep, do not condescend me. Need I remind you that it is because of your failure that they are still alive at all?” Barked the silver-haired man, his annoyance and anger growing by the second.
“No… Of course not. And I have paid the, price. But, it has nearly been a year. The Chains of Phantasia… They are still the key, yes?”
Reaching down to pick up the harp, still casually resting on the floor, Lucien Novelle resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, it is still the key. Why would that have changed? I just need a little bit more time, not much, just a little bit more. I cannot allow myself to be destroyed before he can be called forth, and certainly not by my own hand. You understand, yes? You bloody well should, I’ve told you half a dozen times already, have I not?”
Donahue, still straight-faced, save for a slight twitch in his left eye, opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted.
“BE QUIET!”, a roar from his master, an order he obeyed without question. Yet the quaking voice continued. “I have told you, time and time again, that I do not care anymore! Live or die, I don’t care! But no, I shall not die! It is those disgusting, Light-blinded idiots who choke on their own blood! Like you did, you miserable old fool!”
Donahue was truly, genuinely confused. Had the master gone mad, indeed? As the man in front of him continued raving, attention fixed on the sky, not him, he weighed his options. A moment passed, and he simply took a few steps backwards, leaving his master to his lonesome. 
“Again, you doubt me. AGAIN! But I am the greater now, this much you know! You never believed in me, you always thought I would end in failure, oh I know it! There is no point in lying! I AM MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU EVER WERE! But you know that! I killed you! With my own two hands, I took your life! And then again! And again, and again! Until I cut your cord forever. Forever!”
The sound of vicious, cruel laughter filled the skies of Westbrooke, as Lucien Novelle raises a hand to the heavens, a black blade appearing in his palm. Pointing the tip of the sword to the skies above, the laughter continued, the only sound to be heard amongst the desolate, grim streets of a once vibrant and glorious city. Abruptly, the mans laughter ceased, as he looked towards the horizon, as a new sound began to fill the streets.
[TO BE CONTINUED]