It seemed he still underestimated her abilities. While he did have the advantage of speed on his side, she had the help of the realm flowing through her. Wounds would heal, energy would be replenished, it would be like fighting the will of this realm. Her power was drawn from the very air they breathed, and her purpose was given to her by the god of everything around them. The imp’s fate was sealed just by stepping into his territory. It may not have been fair to be singled out just for being an anomaly, but the work of the Dirige was never deemed right or wrong. Their soul purpose was to maintain the essence of purgatory using whatever means possible. Perhaps this made their intentions a bit selfish, but neutral was a much kinder word.

The imp’s tactics were easily understandable. Addison’s form seemed to be the only safe ground to stand on while she tried to cut off the imp’s speedy advantage. She had been hit, roughly, and it sent her flying back into her own barrier which she created to keep the fight within a minimal space. However, once bitten, twice shy, and seconds after she received the full force punch from the imp creature she crafted a shield for herself, encasing her form in transparent energy, hardened to give her a bit of time. It was inevitable that the demon’s attacks would shatter her barrier, but it at least gave her a few seconds to meditate, and gather energy into herself, storing it at dangerously high levels. She was altering so much of the land around them that the air started to distort and turn, adding multicolored specks to the grayed atmosphere. This had its disadvantages too, considering now it was much easier to see exactly how she was crafting the energy around her.

Once the imp shattered her barrier she fell back slightly, massing the full brunt of his attack but still being clipped by his claws. He had managed to cut, not only her cheek, but one of the strings on her surgical mask, loosening the accessory and staining the white cloth with blood. The mask was just barely held over her lips anymore, and would not take much more before it gave way. Addison would not allow this, however.

She had gathered enough energy in the allotted time to expel it in one attack. With a yell she tensed every muscle in her body, forcing what she had taken in away from her and in all directions. The energy was thick, sharp, like a solid explosion, and it flew in all directions. If the imp managed to survive that though, he would not find himself out of the woods just yet. When the dense energy she had released made contact with the dense energy of the barrier at such a high speed, bits of chi seemed to shatter into smaller pieces, filling the arena with a whirlwind of glass-like shards of chi. Addison kept her muscles tense and kept her mind focused, if her concentration was broken the attack would slice her skin with thousands of small cuts. But while in meditation, the energy flowed through her, passing her by as if she were nothing but a ghost.

Azazal was not underestimating addison in the least. In truth he did not understand her, what he did understand was his precious life was one the line in this little game Addison had started, and that as usual it was he who was being underestimated. He kept up the pressure, and by calculating the last wave of her attacks, he figured she was having a hard time hitting him with a solid blow. She had to compensate for this weakness by using wide ranged attacks that hit the area around her. He kept up his punishment upuntill the barrier around her shattered, his mind was active in anticipation of her next move, So in reaction to it he slammed his glaws into the ground, planted the back of his head next to them and curled up into a little ball and presented the strongest layer of his thick skin to her energy explosion.

The energy smacked into him lime a hammer, but his armor like hide was better able to sustain blunt trama then a slashing blow. He felt the pain of it, but like most demons who suffered a thousand years of torment in hell, it hardly fazed him. A fraction of a second later his body exploaded into the air, just as the whirlwind started. It was a straight shot to Addison's masked face, the heel's of his feet aiming to strike her in the nose. It was enough to smash a crater into stone, and enough to break her concentraition. The glass shards pelted his body, leaving some cuts as he punched through, and landed out side of it. Blue blood flowed from the tiny cuts, but with the battle fever rushing through his blood he hardly seemed to notice as his feet touched down and pushed him back into Addison. This next heavy attack came with him moving to tackle her football style. His arms wrapping around her waist, and his claws being slammed into her back, in an attempt to bring her to the ground and yank her mask off. Though in some odd way he was almost being kind to her, if the attack connected he would knock her out of the whirlwind and save her alot of pain by causing less pain. This odd, but unselfish act sparked some of the divine law set in place by the powers in place. A large gold halo was fazing in above his head.

He was never an evil being in his life, when ever he struck something down it usually desearved it...like the court of Zalion, or the many demons in hell.

He was quick and unrelenting despite his injuries. It was impossible to keep his concentration up when constantly berated by attacks. Nevertheless she tried her hardest, putting up weaker barriers to shield her temporarily, all of which were broken through by the imp with ease. Finally, in a desperate measure, she dropped her concentration, causing the shards of glass-like Qi to fade away and fall. Though she knew in the back of her head it was useless, she threw up one last barrier between her and the imp. Unfortunately, in her haste, she had stumbled and tripped onto the ground, leaving her completely exposed to the demon once her broke through the final wall with his charge.

Azazal would find himself in the exact position he wanted, sitting on top of the Dirige, her mask in his claws. Addison struggled below his grip, grunting and gasping and trying to wriggle her way free. She could not call her spikes from the ground, or else she would impale herself. Though, in her current position, suicide wouldn’t have been so bad. In fact, it was a viable option. Anything she might have done to earn favor in her god’s eyes was an option, even if it meant sacrificing her own existence.

The girl’s face was fully exposed to the demon now. It was actually very pretty, for a human girl, and untouched by blemishes. However, resting directly under her lower lip was a straight, black line that stretched from the inside of her mouth to the tip of her chin. It looked like a tattoo of some sort, and was probably the reason she wore the mask in the first place, as it wasn’t very flattering. However, those lips were what Azazal had to control in order to win their game, and to any human man the opportunity to do so would have been overwhelmingly tempting. Especially since her body was being squeezed together by the beast, and her chest felt especially tight under his grip.

“D-damnit!” She coughed, trying to regain her concentration in order to send a spike directly through them both. “I’ll kill you.”

Azazal was breathing heavily. She did not make this easy, he was sore, acing, and his hands hurt from smashing all those barriers.

He sat on top of addison his tiny face planted firmly inbetween her breasts a muffled laugh escaped from inbetween her cleavage "Kekekekekeeeee.". He was way smaller then she was but his strength was over whelming. "You make one more more and I will kill you faster then you can think call more of your spikes to stab me!" he said in a muffled threatning voice. "Either that I will make you wish I had killed you!" He growled again picking his head up.

His claws were buryed in her back, and his left arm was locked around her right arm, claws in her ribs. Azazal jerked them hard, and jossled her around to prevent her from trying to concentrait on another attack. His feet touched down on her body, and pushed him forward, but his right claw held the mask.

His face was inches from her own. "You can't kill me." He said in a straight voice. "Im already dead." The Halo above his head glowing brightly now. With that he leaned forward to plant a kiss on her lips. Then it dawned on him.

Azazal pulled his claws back out of her body no blood no nothing. Gentally he put the mask down, and planted a kiss on his index finger on his right hand. He then placed the finger on her lips, and would make a soft smooching sound.

Azazal made no insult, not like he normally would have. He would merely look her face, and then pick up the mask. "Why do you wear this? You have to be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen."

Hey Addy . . . is this guy giving you a hard time?

The imp's hand was stuck, finger caught upon Addison Draugr's lips--frozen still, though her lips were as soft as could be, constantly hidden behind a mask and shielded from the elements. And yet, the imp would be unable to pull away; his finger was caught, stuck to the woman's lower lip, but in a paralytic manner: it would creep through his arm, leaving him, despite his speed, no time to pull away. No opportunity was given to rear back his arm, and soon he would be frozen still atop the Reaper, left to take in shallow breaths and feel his small heart beating rapidly, a lie for him to behold, existing only as a familiarity manifest.

Weakness would then strike; the imp would feel his body want to fall, desire nothing more than to lay flat upon the ground and rest, yet he would be unable--he was essentially caught in her obsidian trap, kept in place by force, with only a distant voice crawling up his paralyzed spine. It was a male voice, though young, likely no older than his late teens; he had the tone of a sadist, haughty and disturbed. It was a voice only the Reaper should have heard, but with the imp creature touching her black mark, he heard it, too.

You should take your mask off more often. It's a lot lighter out here than Death's room.

Blood, for him, was in his mind. Where he expected to bleed, he bled; where he expected to hurt, he hurt. It was an unavoidable trick of the mind. A soul had no nerves, only experience, leading into the value of expectations; what the imp believed should happen to him, when his arm snapped at the shoulder and broke away from him, was what he saw. And though he may see blood, Addison would see none of it, only the weakened piece of a soul breaking away and fading into nothing, becoming one with the gray world around them.

Azazal's arm, connected to the finger stuck upon Addison's lip, had dislodged and broke off from his body, destroying the link between their bodies. Only then would he feel the weakness of his body; he would be incapable of moving, paralyzed again, though painfully so this time-- he would expect his dissipated arm to be agonizing. Energy was gone from him, sapped and absorbed, taken into the body of Addison Draugr herself.

Aw . . . I broke him too early. Why don't you kiss him, Addy? He is-- or was, rather --quite energetic. Energy like this could keep you satiated for weeks . . .

Anima. The god that was trapped by Death’s side as a weapon. His essence had stained Addison’s soul many years ago, giving her the ability to call upon him by releasing the seal placed on her lips: Basium Mei Anima. She only utilized this power in desperate times, because having the weight of a god on your soul was heavy and his voice echoed throughout her head with migraine-inducing force. Not to mention he was dangerous. A single kiss while he was released assured the absorption of all spirit into her body, a perfect reason to wear a mask as well. One the imp touched her lips the connection was made and she consumed the energy Anima began to siphon out for her. It was true, the imp was vivacious, but it was also true that he was dead, made up of the essence which Addison fed upon. Once his arm was destroyed, however, their connection was severed, leaving Azazal to writhe in weakened pain as the girl stood to look over him.

“You saved yourself, actually, by deciding not to use your lips.”

She began casually, putting her hands in her pockets. She seemed to be ignoring Anima’s voice for the time being, and instead continued to speak with the imp.

“This mark here allows me to steal your energy, your Qi, your soul. Here in purgatory, we’re all souls, so in a way, I’ve just eaten your arm. Had you kissed me properly, it would have been your head. Why, little imp? Did you know about my trick? What stopped you from taking me under your grasp?”

Azazal remained calm. He did not panic, nor did he freak out. Fear did not take over his senses as his arm vanished, nor did he react to the high level of pain. Eons of torment in hell made you much more tolirant of loosing a limb. He had lost limbs several times in his past, he never let it slow him down

He stood up, and but did not back away. His eyes locked onto Addison's own. "It was not right." He said in a monotoned voice. "I do not beleive in forcing my will on to others....and I did not wish to take something that you did not want to give." He said calmly. It was not that he knew her trick, he was completly unaware, she said a kiss, and he could go back to where he wished.

He was tough, physically tough. The arm would grow back, his high metabolism would see to that. He was breathing heavy....what he was breathing...made no sense. Maybe it was time for him to let go. Dead. He was dead.

His head turned away from Addison. The Dirige did not think like him though, she thought like a machine. Azazal sat down, still gripping where his arm used to be and spoke. "I guess you plan to eat me....go ahead."

Vitality or not, this arm was not going to grow back. No matter his physique, it was gone--and the imp would feel a sickening lightness within his body. Metabolism meant nothing to a soul in Purgatory; what they possessed were expectations and only that. It was when they lost their expectations and their general will to be that they faded, becoming the ghostly figures that tormented the living, haunting and manifesting at random.

Though the imp acted contradictory to the reality of his situation, it would soon catch up to him: he barely existed. In fact, were he to look at himself, he would come to realize that he was veraciously translucent. Where he sat, he would be able to see through his leg. Breathing, as he expected it was a necessity, took all the energy that he had left. There would be no more standing, and it did not appear that he was going to return to his normal state. His arm was gone and his soul barely clung to existence--he was close to becoming a permanent unconscious resident of Purgatory; a memory so to speak.

He would would feel choked if her refrained from breathing, actually; no matter his conclusions of being dead, he would even feel the pain of losing his arm. It was simple to say it and draw the conclusions, but his unconscious and subconscious mind would not believe it. What he expected was different than what would occur otherwise; consequently, breathing would leave him to suffocate into non-existence, and the pain would pierce throughout his body.

The only reason he's still existing is because of his arm. Anima noted idly, His soul is too weak right now to keep a completely solid form; a toss of a stone would probably break him to pieces. You really fed a lot, Addy. You're not going to go for seconds, though? It's unlike you . . .

What Anima spoke within Addison's mind was the absolute truth. Azazal was not going to be moving around anymore, nor was he in fighting condition. Period. A flick from Addison would down him, possibly even shatter part of his body into pieces. Anima had absorbed so much that it left his soul barely tangible. It was up to Addison as to what to do with Azazal; Anima, the god of Identity and the familiar of the god of Death, had no say in Addison's life. He could certainly nag her for hours and days on end, but that could possibly result in receiving the same--if not worse--treatment later.

“The way he is now, would he survive in any other realm?”

Addison commented nonchalantly as she looked down at the demon. She seemed to be thinking something over in her mind. Whether it was because the imp had gotten to her or something of her own volition was up in the air. Her cold eyes looked at the little spirit she had battled.

“Well, we did have a deal…”

The dirige bent down to be close to the creature, to speak with him face to face. She had tricked him, pushed him well past his soul’s limit, and now he was ready to break. But something in her just wouldn’t shake this nagging feeling. Any other time she would have taken her fill without a second thought, why not now?

“Are you ready to die? Do you want to stay in Purgatory and become a permanent part of this world? Or would you like to be sent somewhere else. Though, I have to say, you won’t do well in any of the realms in the condition you’re in. You’ll probably still die. What will it be, little imp?”

Anything was possible. He could die in where ever he would be sent to. But he could possibly live. The options were endless. Too bad he was not an infernal demon, for the energy Addison had sapped from him would probley have ended her. But Azazal was not an evil entity like the infernals...he simply was what he was.

He was silent for several seconds. He was not thinking or even paying attention to Addison's question when she had asked it. But he did muster the strength to speak, and it may have sounded like the response to her question...it was more of a statement.

"I want.....to...go home."

"I doubt it," replied Anima, "He'd just be bait for a predator in Heaven or Hell. He doesn't have enough energy to defend himself--probably won't for awhile, either."

He didn't know what Addison was doing, but he wasn't going to call her on it. He already had, after all; there was no need to repeat himself. Instead, he focused thoughts on what she was doing altogether: it was peculiar; Addison usually didn't spare someone like this if she didn't have to.

Though, there was something a bit off with the Imp's train of thought. Even if he were an "infernal," Addison would have received only energy, further power to amplify her spirit. Any soul did that for her, no matter how tainted. She was different than most, though, and Anima could be held to blame. Without him, she'd not possess that ability, and would have to be especially picky with who she targeted with it if she somehow managed to obtain it on her own. With him, she had a filter. At the sacrifice of a portion, taken by Anima specifically, ingested spirit was entirely pure for her.

"Guess it's up to you. You could eat what's left or send him "home," so another predator can feed on him."

“Haha…Annie.” The woman spoke to the god in her head. “Killing him here…would be mercy…”

Her tone had gained something of a psychotic quality. Her breathing became heavy, and she looked to be showing a bit of fatigue, but the wild look in her eyes remained the same. The beads of sweat that formed on her brow were a physical sign of just how much power was pushing on her with Anima released. True, she had technically released him earlier by chanting the words that broke his seal, but keeping him released for so long only served to weigh down on her. They way Addison figured it, only gods were fit to wield other gods, and she was no deity. Those with power like this had to train years upon years in order to synch with their weapons, while Addison’s power was accidental at best. Still, Anima was always her ace in the hole when in a jam, and a part of her actually liked having him continuously pressed against her lips.

“To hell with you, little demon. Let Sentinel see what’s fit for you.”

Addison reached out to touch the tips of her fingers against the forehead of the imp, utilizing her skill of Seele Übertritt to nudge his dying spirit back into the underworld.

Azazal sat and offered not resistance to Addison’s fingers reaching out and touching his head. It was more then likely a good thing that Azazal was getting sent to hell rather then heaven. In this state he would need time to heal. It would be fast for him, a few days at the very most, if he ate correctly and rested. But in his mind he was not thinking, or even paying attention to what was being said about him.

As what ever power of the undead Addison was using course over his spirit, he began to feel his mind fade into blackness. He was entering the void in between worlds, and heading back to hell. He simply faded away. Then he was gone.

Azazal would then awake in the out skirts of hell. It was cold and barren, little predators with the exception of the other abyssal demons who resided their.

Imp's lost arm would be problematic for him, though. So long as he existed solely as a spirit, he was going to be lacking that arm. It had broken down and fallen off of his body, the idea of the limb was no longer a part of him. It would be until he claimed a mortal coil again that he would be able to claim his lost arm, or if someone capable of manipulating the soul were to help him. But given the company in the Underworld, that was an unlikely scenario. Because of this, Anima was very aware of the chances of Imp being devoured by an Underworld spiritual predator. That was one thing that happened to damned souls, after all; it was perhaps the only reason some of them tried to escape into the Plains or Barcelia, just to end their eternal souls and thereby set a conclusion to their potentially eternal torments.

"I'd call you cold, but . . ." Anima's voice in Addison's head became coy, "You're probably better on the little guy to survive, aren't you? Heh . . ."

Being connected with the young woman had its benefits. For one, he had someone to possibly converse with whenever Death was in a particularly foul mood . . . though, that had the drawback of requiring Addison to release the mini-seal. She couldn't call on all of Anima's powers, only a single part of it. What was also nice was the ability to synchronize with her to an extent, even if it wasn't a mutual, collaborative effort. He could safely assume her thoughts and feelings on certain occasions. Sort of like this one. Addison could have had energy for a month had she absorbed the Imp, and Anima had witnessed her do much worse things to Ame Voleur in the past.

"Don't worry, Addy. Death won't hear about that part."