Author's Notes: I bade you to let me know if I should continue this... Amanda is, of course, me.... but I don't practice magic. It came to me, inspired by another fanfic I read... and Soul Reaver... this happens after Soul Reaver 2. Alas, Raziel has discovered his ill-fated destiny and so now, he is sent to MY world for a little while to recuperate... *Smiles* Any ideas? Suggestions?


Beautiful sky. It beckons to those without wings to come frolic with those who do. People like you have wings. I don't... so I can't come join you... but you continue to taunt me. You rise farther above me, until I can't see you... dark angel, don't flaunt your prowess! Lend some to me, that I may reach you and embrace you, and touch what is not meant to be caressed by these fragile human hands...

Immortal flesh... untangible energy, coiling with serpentine ease about you... can you taste it, this awareness that is you but not you?

The cloaked figure bent over her magical objects, whispering and projecting as hard as she could with her psychic mind. The scrying stones were set in place amidst the scrawled signs, the perfect circle with its inner circles, like a mandala - a Hindu, Asian piece of artwork that represented harmony in the universe.

She spoke, crying out to the twinkling stars that shone through the broken canopy. The candle-light glittered upon her frosted, short hair hidden in the folds of the indescrepite fabric. Eventually, the 'mandala' began to glow. Its edges took on an unearthly gleam and her eyes sparkled with mixed terror, awe and excitement.

It's happening...!! Oh, my god, oh my god, I didn't except anything to come of this... This is too cool!!

The candles suddenly exploded, sending hot wax in every direction. The signs burned with white-hot ferocity, sending her staggering backwards with her spellbook, huddling against the crook of her oak tree with a soft whimper. There were soft gentle green sparks enfolding themselves above the mandala, giving her the sense that something was... conjoining together, becoming something whole.

She saw rigid bone, now covered with exposed, tight muscles. Tattered, mud-stained cloth, losing all sense of color. Now it was almost complete. The figure dropped to the ground with a dull thud, displacing the candle holders and objects lent to the spell's casting.

The girl closed her eyes. Then opened them again. The figure was still there. Unmoving. The vast forest about her gave no indication that he was gone. The eerie silence was undisturbed by any noise except her own thudding heart and quickened breathing. Finally she moved her leg, her worn sneaker rustling the fallen leaves and making a sound almost too loud to hear.

She scuffled forward, clutching the spellbook to her chest, the cloak covering her ordariny outfit of jeans, tee-shirt and long-sleeve button-up plaid shirt. Beneath her magical appearance, she was as normal as any teenager in this stupid town.

Upon closer inspection, she realized this man wore a cowl. This... thing anyway... appeared to be as battered as though it had pulled itself from the very depths of miserable hell. The cowl was designed with some unknown design that she couldn't decipher, as part of the ink was lost in the untold struggles he had suffered. He - whover, whatever he was - was not responsive.


He seemed dead.

She brushed her fingers over his soft, night-black hair. It was the brightest thing on him. Everything else seemed muted and dulled by time itself. But his hair seemed incredibly soft, like fine silk. Like her hair, minutes after it's dried and been washed with decent conditioner.

Her hands slipped from his hair to his cheekbones, her fingers nervously sliding underneath the cowl. It was then a three-fingered claw reached up, snatching hold of her bone-thin wrist.

The girl screamed.

The man was definately not dead. His eyes fell open, and she gasped to the unearthly blaze that emanated from the depths of his cold, empty sockets.

A voice that seemed not to come from where his mouth should have been came to her ears anyway. It was cold and blatantly aristocratic, each sylable given its own show with swift precision.

"Where... where am I? And who are you, child?

The girl's mouth worked, her hood falling away from her tousled short hair, her voice hoarse and raw from screaming and chanting. "A-Amanda! I'm 16 years old, I live with my mom and my four cats and I go to school here in town, I didn't mean to do anything wrong, I work with magic and I didn't expect anything to happen, not to mention summoning--"

"Quiet," the man spoke, and at once she felt the impression of weariness. His claws slipped from her wrist, leaving the skin red with the impressions of them. She fell back, sitting on her folded legs, sensing the unreal vertigo that came off him in gentle waves.

"Are you going to be okay...?" Amanda tucked her hands into the arms of her cloak, shivering from the cold. Some of the candles were still lit, casting a faint orange-yellow glow over everything. The creature's pupilless gaze was glazed anyway, unfocused, staring into space.

"Say your name for me," Amanda continued softly, scooting forward. "Don't go away on me. Say your name."

It took the man a moment. He closed his eyes, opened them again as he rolled onto his back and stared through the trees at the stars. She was positive that if he could, he'd probably feel nauseated. But the cavern below his ribs where his innards were supposed to be were entirely devoid of a stomach or kidneys or anything of the sort.

Finally, after an age, the man spoke.

"Raziel... I am Raziel."