Petrichor had lived for so long that heâd come to forget just how long it had been, thousands of years the phoenix had spent in dedication to the cause. In so doing heâd witnessed countless atrocities: massacres, cataclysmic events, and all variety of sickening horrors. There were few things that the phoenix feared, even fewer that managed to get under his skin. But Orion managed to be one of them, the reaper was one in a long line of supernaturals that had challenged the worthiness of his cause. But so long as creatures preyed upon humanity Petrichor would have all the justification he needed to act accordingly. In his heart of hearts the phoenix was no killer, he was a pious and righteous man whoâd spent the enormity of his immortal life in service to a cause he believed to be greater than himself.Â
Orion challenged him somehow, while truthfully Petrichor had never stopped to get to know one, it still came as a surprise to know their perception towards the event was so attuned. Yet the reaper did nothing to stop it, though Petrichor supposed thatâs why Atropos had chosen him.Â
Petrichor put his hand to the door, he wasnât about to take the bait, heâd lived long enough with truths to know when someone was trying to use them to manipulate him. âWe both know thatâs not true. Until they take their own life their soul might still be healed.â The phoenix breathed, though he could tell that what was left felt like little more than a husk.
There was a small burst of white hot flames as the lock to the door went flying into the home, the frame was scorched in a perfect circle where the lock had been. Petrichor pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness within, certain the reaper wouldnât be far behind. There was a scuffle from upstairs, Peteâs eyes traced the sound along the upstairs of frantic footsteps before they shifted back towards Orion, the phoenixâs face contorted into something reminiscent of anger. Though there was pain behind the stoicâs eyes. He felt the weight of the coin still heavy in his pocket. âI am not a murderer.âÂ
âYou would be unnervingly hopeful,â and shockingly enough, Orion wasnât certain heâd thought to expect anything different from the man. Questionable enough as it were, the reaper didnât seek to further pry into where such a readying notion might have come from. Having any expectation at all of the other man, seemed almost.. -- unnerving. Shifting slightly, his shoulder pressed tightly into the door frame as the other turned the handle, the warmth that emit the flame barely noticeable beyond that of the man himself. âNow youâre just showing off, Pete,â heâd note quietly as he too, stepped over the threshold of the home, the scuffle upstairs notable and yet, a venture he was not concerned over just yet. The energy emanating the home in itself was dissipating and that was more than enough for him, it was after all, why he was here.
The look in Petrichorâs eyes was scathing, perhaps almost enough to make him reconsider for a fleeting moment of false transcendence. However, anger was a penchant that he knew as deeply as death itself, and one that he was no sooner ready to let go of. Anger he could channel, and his intention was just that. Iâm not a murderer. It struck him, right through the chest - that something heâd said had stuck, that anything had stuck at all something he might never question despite the turning in his stomach as he moved to stand before the phoenix. âPerhaps not intentionally, but youâre no better.â A conflicting notion, he knew. Petrichor was rebirth, the rekindling of a life in ruin but for all those he sought to repair, two had to suffer to repair the balance. His form flickered slightly, intentional at best, before the place he stood, emptied. The blink of a human eye pulling Orion from his corporeal form until he reappeared some ways up the staircase, âPicking and choosing who you save, who you let die... Itâs all the same.â The rough timbre of his voice shifted, allowing for the signature smirk that so often pressed his lips, âIn the end it does nothing but prolong the inevitable.â Spoken as he ascended the last few stairs and disappeared into the second floor.