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(In the evil wizard's lair library)

"In all my years of mastering the dark arts, I would have thought I could manage something slightly more competant than... than... that."

Owle surged to her feet before she could stop herself, the reaction instantaneous, her hand freezing mere inches from his throat, black liquid boiling to break free of her palm...

She forced herself to calm, withdrawing the hand, letting him continue his story, staring at him with ever-mounting disgust and anger on her features. She knew, more and more what she would have to do as he spoke. She knew she wasn't going to like it, but she also knew it had to be done, it was her duty.

"Once I'm free, I can be free to possess the body of the next of kin. My precious granddaughter."

Black anger boiled within Owle, and she felt her face turning white. Rain's baby...as though the memory she had merely glimpsed had been hers, she felt a fierce protective instinct rise up in her at the mere mention of the girl. A girl who was, doubtless, as old as if not older than Owle.

Owle merely shifted her stance as she heard the door lock behind her, legs shoulder length apart, more balanced and ready to fight. She was not perturbed by the lock; one of her snakes remained outside the door, and more remained within her body. This man...could not leave the room, but the connection between Owle and her snakes still held.

"I'd say the evil wizard underestimated the power of the nosey girl."

She wasn't trapped in here with him; he was trapped in here with her.

Gray, metallic wings bursts from Owle's back, folding over her, enclosing her in their protection. Had she the snakes with her, she'd have countered his hands with the serpents...but it was the safer, wiser course to leave them with her body for now.

The hands met the wings, grasping the dull feathers, and Owle felt a chill seep through the spiritual appendages. Let them hold her, let them rip and tear at her wings, she had more important things to do.

It had been so long since she had fought in an astral battle, that Owle was having a difficult time deciding, remembering her many options. It was perhaps not surprising, then, that suddenly all the bookshelves shook at once, and the red-spined books came tumbling down as an unseen force - Owle's force - propelled them in a rush towards the old man, to bludgeon and to bury him.

This was all assuming there was nothing preventing her from manipulating her surroundings.

But Owle wasn't taking any chances. Was that a fireplace over there?

Edging towards it gingerly, she focused with her senses. Warmth, light...yes, it was fire. And the best thing about books and wood and bodies when they came in contact with fire was...

They burned.

For a moment, it seemed a demoness was standing within the fireplace, a shadow version of herself, extending her hands, palms outward, towards the pile of books. And the flame slowly, slowly, extended across the room, until its tongue licked the edges of the papers. And Owle watched, knowing better than to leave before her task was done.

If the fire tried to spread to the walls, to the boundaries, Owle stopped it, interposing those gray wings or black, viscous liquid she seemed to summon from within herself. She would not let the barriers be destroyed. Just in case, just in case some seed of that old man remained...she would make sure the library remained intact.

Well, at least the walls of it.

"Dammit!" Owle shouted, and waved her arms around, trying desperately to think of something else to do. She reached out, and-

"Idiot. Do I have to do everything for you?"

Heard her sister's voice, inaudible to anyone but her.

"Think!"

A psychic battle is all about rules. It's your mind, force them to play by your rules. If you can do that, you've won.

Thus far, she'd been playing by his rules, accepting the framework he gave her.

A few curtains, a few throwpillows...

The bookshelves exploded outwards, sending splintered wood in a shower over both herself and the old man, likely burned away by the flaming books. Behind them, bright draperies appeared on the walls, pink with floral patterns, even if there were no windows.

And all of a sudden, cute little throw pillows popped into existence, mostly round and shaped like little critters. There was a bear, a kitten, and...

One, shaped like a huge, white floppy bunny, leapt in front of Owle, its beady red eyes glaring down the burning books heading ever closer towards it.

"No I'm not."

With the bunny still floating watchfully between her and the maelstrom of burning volumes, their light eerily dancing around the room, Owle whirled to face the prophet. Her wings ripped and tore at the base, blood pouring out of the wounds. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that she would sacrifice a part of herself for her freedom.

Before he could react, before he could let go, she had stooped low, slamming a knife between the severed wings, into his stomach. The knife had appeared from nowhere, as knives usually do around Owle. And if her attack had succeeded, if her aim had been true, she did not stop there, but twisted the blade before yanking it upward and out.

Her body extended, the muscles tensed, there was no way for Owle herself to evade him without losing her grip on the knife, something she was not prepared to do.

But as he moved, a thick round blur would arc around Owle, launching itself at his face, buffeting him head on.

It was the bunny-shaped throwpillow, free from guarding Owle against the flames, come to save her now in her hour of need. It clung tightly to the prophet's face, covering it completely, smothering him slowly as pillows sometimes do.

All of which would not stop the prophet from grabbing her if he still was of a mind to seize his tormentor.

For some reason, Owle decided this was the cue for the other two throwpillows to clamp onto the sides of his head, even though she couldn't see what good it would do.

One of his hands got knife, as should have been expected, the runic silver knife jutting up out of the armored shoulder he had grabbed, into his palm.

Owle ignored the other, gritting her teeth against the pain as he yanked on a fistful of her hair. With her right hand, she once more aimed to plunge the mythril knife into the old man, this time aiming for his heart...

Owle stared up at him, and for a moment was overcome.

She guffawed. "You turned into a snake"? she shouted up at him. "Don't you know that's on the list of evil overlord things not to do?"

Behind her, another pair of wings unfurled, these seeming to be a set of gray bones, the mere outline of wings. But beneath the bones, where the wings should be, there was a faint disturbance in the air...

And then Owle did something stupid. She flew, up and up until she was eye to mouth with the serpent.