This chapter was written in collaboration with Scylla.
Scylla’s arm shot out before she even had a chance to think, fingers pulling down and grasping around the choker.
“Don’t you dare threaten me, Amon!” She shook it around, feeling a tingle as the aether flowed into her fingers. “I try to help you, and all you do is start your blustering and threatening!”
Scylla was breathing hard, as her fingers loosed away from the pendant, backing off with a low voice.
“You’re helpless, just like the rest of us who have to walk this world. Without any more power than any other common Eorzean!” Scylla’s cheeks grew red. “And it’s not coming back, just like my family, the rest of Allag or your glorious Tower!”
“No matter what you believe of me, I advise you to not grab me like that again,” Amon looked at her sharply from over his glasses, straightening his collar. “I’ll remind you that this choker was made for a reason. All I need to do is put the pieces together… and I shall. I will not rest until I see Allag’s restoration… for the glory of our nation and the betterment of Eorzea.”
He turned away from her, glaring out over the ocean.
His plans were in a state of delay, true. But that didn’t mean he’d given up earning access to the Tower.
There was a way. There was always a way.
“I’d think you’d want the same. Or do you want to remain just a tool constantly under law and observation of the Gridanian Conjury guild? What when you and I could both be so much more.”
It was just too much for Scylla. Amon’s arrogance and command, just brought back memories of how he looked at her tortured, imprisoned form in the tower. If her father was there, he would have stood between them. He knew that look when her temper would overtake her. He would always be there to stand between them and break them apart.
But now he wasn’t there.
Unlike thousands of years past, there was no parent or guide to stop her from flying at Amon, hands outreached as she tackled him down from the side, pulling him down into the sand. She became more and more frantic as the memories of being trapped in the hideous wolf-demon form flooded into her soul.
Scylla didn’t say a word, nor respond to his questions. Shock coursed through Amon as she full on lunged at him, tackling him backwards.
He fell hard in the sand, the air rushing out of his lungs painfully, the enraged Allagan Princess following him down, all fists and bared teeth. His poor glasses were knocked from his face, skittering metal over the wooden deck.
They’d had plenty of scuffles in their younger years – even some that had gotten a bit physical – but that had been different than this. Back then, he knew he always had the upper hand… or could gain it somehow.
Here and now, with his sad cloned form that had troubles so much as holding a fork straight on some days, the Elezen knew he was not going to outdo Scylla. Not physically or magically.
His arrogant mouth had just nudged him across a dangerous line. Only, he didn’t know exactly what was to happen when the once-Archmagus finally snapped and had her fill of his prideful blathering.
“Ah! Scylla! I apologize!” His words sounded pitiful, even to his ears, as his gold eyes stared at her with genuine horror. “Wait! Please don’t!”