Semyon had watched the young woman's scrying with only mild interest, still wondering if trying to kill a beast like Fenrir was the only option. He pain only minor attention to Tamarind's introductions for the sake of Gabriel, as it seemed she needed no assistance.

He did turn to pay greater attention, when Tamarind mentioned the Young Reaper's name, and again when she mentioned the young scrying woman.

Semyon then spun on his heel, and paid quite a bit more attention to the sudden appearance of an absurdly monstrous, towering furred form. It stood there, unmoving within a moment of absolute silence, a single thought rising in the Wight's mind.

Dead. He was about to be very, very dead.

"SEMYON!"

The cry snapped the old soldier's mind back into focus, body moving before his thoughts had the chance to catch up. He was beside Tamarind before the last word of her call had faded. One hand held out his Stetchkin and a pair of spare magazines for her to take, eyes focusing in on a target before he even realized what he was looking for.

"Here." He tensed as Tamarind took the pistol and ammo from him, offering her only a curt nod and short words to tell her his next move. "Like Alexandria."

Then he was off.

As when he had chased after the white werewolf before, Semyon surged across the ground with impressive speed. Unlike before, however, his target was stationary, and it was mere instants before his leading foot struck the front of the great wolf's paw. The Wight didn't slow, didn't pause, rushing up the beast on all fours. Gloved hands snagged upon its fur and hauled upwards, while booted feet kicked and slammed against its flesh for traction. Like a tic, Semyon scaled the wolf with almost natural ease. Yet he didn't need to search for the right place to sink his fangs, the proper target having long been clear in his mind.

God-beast or no, eyes were still vulnerable.

Fenris' sheer size proved the true obstacle, no matter how quickly or surely Semyon moved. It might only take moments, or just a minute, but that was still time. Time for the beast to take action, or for his comrades to find plans of their own.

Just moments, or a minute, either way Semyon didn't slow. The head, the face, the eyes were his target, and the wight continued to climb towards his goal.

It happened fast -- black late, blue ice, green thunder, white wolf -- a cacophony of color, a rainbow of ruin, and Daisy was frozen, stupid and useless and unwitting as the proverbial deer in the headlights of a massive fucking shit storm.

One minute, she'd been talking to Veti, not looking at Veti, quiet when she finished, because Veti needed it, though the gratitude made her stomach turn (if she received even one more undeserved thanks, she was sure she was going to burst into flame) and then Veti was gone, and everyone was freaking about the wolf that had killed Aislinn, indirectly, at least. Daisy was surprised to find the thought filled her with an acrid sort of detached rage, as if someone else had told her to feel angry, and she was complying. She was just trying to puzzle out the strangeness of it all -- it paled, somehow, in comparison to the almost painfully banal introductions going on around her. She pretended not to hear what their own werewolf had said, instead glaring at the recipient of her words. Fucking newbies. There was always one -- and then she was in the air, and on her back, feeling her inhuman lungs spasm back into life. Or something.

Artie was over her in a second, making a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl, and it took Daisy just half a second to figure out what had happened.

Of course it was Jay-Jay.

To its credit, the Wight was already in attack mode, Veti beside him, though everyone else stilled appeared somewhere in varying stages of shock.

And Daisy...Daisy was trying to wonder whether the thing had a soul.

She knew of only one way to figure out.

"Artie," she barked, without taking her eyes off the towering thing. "C'mon. Let's go introduce ourselves." She hauled herself up onto his back, his true form writhing beneath her under a mass of rotting fur and rippling (decaying) muscles. In her left hand was the glittering aura of her Scythe, seconds before it took form as a Disney-princess-esque crossbow. Hackneyed, perhaps, but effective. She just needed to test a theory.

And then Artie was galloping off while Daisy prepared to go all Hunger Games on the big wolf.

"Too many fucking dogs here," she muttered.

Shit! So much for tracking anything. Hell, it’s right there and they were no where near ready. Green flashes that did not come from Thad with a heat force that knocked them all back a few steps brought to focus the fucking biggest wolf like monster Thad had ever dreamed of. There was no question this was the fight for the world again.

With wolf beast. And as if Veti knew that she changed again. He glanced to her as she was the woman he wanted all over again. But why human now? He wasn’t gona ask but he sure was going to try to stay close enough to her to back her up. Guns. Did she ask for guns? But again a question that couldn’t be asked or answered as others began attacks. Seymon was quick. Dot followed.

Thad pulled the fur from his pocket cringing that he had to use it already before he had any good idea of what to make or how to attack. He should have listen to Henry. Well better late than never, sort of.

“Henry!” He shouted over the ringing in his ears and strange wind over his face. “What am I making? Cold iron, blessed silver and some weird guys dick?” Thad began to rub the fur together between the palms of his hands. No way this would be blessed silver or Yacker’s wood from his ice queen which Thad did not follow at all. Ok he hadn’t listened. Ok he didn’t really have a clue. But he could gather the forces of these tuffs of hair created as they were by the beast himself in the form of a servant. And he could shove it down his god damn mouth. If he could get it hard enough, like all those parts Henry tried to explain to him, well maybe it would at least make the god wolf cough or choke or eat his own hair at the least.

Ok that was Thad’s lame plan, but its what he got.

He needed help for sure. He looked to Henry. "In his mouth right? Way down there. I'll toss it in you add the chaser. You and that bad ass new guy. Gabe."

The heat between his hand was almost bruning and the fibers of the hairs Siya had managed to grab began to melt together. It stunk and it burned. Almost now red in color, the hairs twisted into a sharp spear with tuffs of piercing edges all around. It cut his palms. Thad spit on the hard iron to cool it off and mumbled into his hands, “This silver I do bless, forgive me father.” Thad kept rubbing them together, the fur turned metal mixing with the blood of his hands. He stepped closer to Seymon who was giving him the exact opening he was looking for. He kicked the ground as he moved and found a piece of a small stick. What the hell wood was wood. He picked it up quickly and moved it into his rotating magic mutt masher. Blood, fur, wood and magic.

When the flea bitten monster mutt opened his mouth to bite at Seymon or to scream in pain Thad threw the hard metal cold iron, blessed silver, yanked wood right into the god wolf’s mouth.

Ok, so it wasn’t exactly what Henry suggested but its got to stuff the fang filled mouth with something other than Seymon. Thad could hope.

The blast rolled over her, the concussion of it simply moving through her body as she stood her ground, tiny but as unmovable as a mountain. The green flashes had more effect on her and she blinked away the viridian light and tried to see what had come to pass. As was turning into a natural reason she sought out Atticus first, her lover, her boss, the font of all that was right and fulfilling. Her eyes glazed over to all black as she took in the crumbled, battered form of Atticus where he lay sprawling. Her little face twisted into a mask of rage that eased only a little when she saw him stand. The relief she felt inside was as towering as her rage. Something had threatened him, something threatened him even then. She whirled and watched, listening to the words and plans fly as she took in the moment.

The Wolf-god. She knew the myth, but as she’d learned in all her time in Bain and Hoyle, myths were just the tip of the iceberg. Just the start and not always accurate. But one thing she knew, this thing, this creature had been bound. And bound for a long time. He had only just got free. That was stupid, a mistake and one he would pay for.

Limbs bound for eternities atrophied, they grew weak, muscle, ligament, bone. All weakened when not used. He should have slunk off, shrugged off his captivity and come at them when he was stronger. Just then his only real strength was catching them unawares, and the surprise was wearing off. He would learn very quickly that the members of her team, her friends were innovative and adaptive. She watched as they moved into engage and tried to find the way to best aid them without interfering with their plans.

Her all black orbs narrowed in their focus and her grin grew as she recalled some nature program she’d seen somewhere about the way wolf packs worked together. Some harrying the front while others moved to the sides to attack and hamstring.

With a burst of speed that was coming more and more naturally she surged forward, making herself into an undead bullet. She aimed for his hind left leg, hoping to hit from the side, snapping bone, tearing muscle and ligament and leaving the wolf-god-monster hobbled so that her pack could pick him off with whatever they had planned.

Receiving the greeting from the only present werewolf, Veti, was comforting. He smiled at each person as they were introduced, a respectful, knowing nod to Semyon. One moment Veti is speaking of their current predicament, the next everyone is unsettled and the world is a violent and vile tint of green. Screaming, quick movements, orders from Thad. Gabe sat on the floor for only a few moments after all the chaos began, frightened into paralysis. But to him it was an ineffable amount of time, a few seconds? Several hours? The fur on the giant canine was responsive to the muscles beneath it. The fury of the animal resonated not only through his whole body, but the whole country-side as well. And it resonated within Gabe, too. The green lightning was familiar, flashes of a blue-flame scorched wasteland and sword fighting lit by green and blue magics sounded out somewhere in the darkness of Gabe’s memory. Gabe stood, his breath heavy as he peered into the wolf-god’s eyes. He could hardly look away (perhaps both because of his fear and curiosity).

“Oh mon dieu,” the angel whispered to himself.

Gabe heard his name mentioned by the warlock, he traced Semyon’s steps every so often, praising the man’s dedication and finesse. Gabe prayed silently, nodded toward Thad. “I’m going up. At least I can distract him, then attack from above.” Gabe said.

He was already walking, getting ready to run, toward the beast. His sprint turned into bounds, at any moment someone might expect him to begin flying. In fact Gabe drew his sword, he smiled to himself with the last words of his personal prayer being lifted off from his heavenly mind. He would finally be active, rather than reactive. He received a jolt of a childish excitement as he planned his attack at a mile a minute, the great legs of the beast looming on either side. Suddenly Gabe jumped into the air, his vertical was incredible, enough to put Derrick Rose to shame. With an unnatural agility he spun end over end, like a wheel. Just before he reached the ground again he threw his sword into the wolf’s leg. It was a stiff shot as the sword wiggled into place in the wound. Gabe landed roughly, his arm and knees taking most of the damage as he rolled back into a standing position. Gabe readied himself once more, sprinted forth toward the same leg he’d just stabbed. The Angels blue eyes were fixed to the hilt of his sword, lodged in the matted fur of the wolf-god’s leg. He jumped once more, the grace of god most certainly blessing him here. He barely grasped the heavy hilt of the sword, spun himself using the sword as a lever and jumped into the air, removing the sword. He was propelled over the side of the beast and near his side, Gabe plunged his sword as best he could into the beasts neck, holding on for dear life. He gasped and moaned as the wolf reeled, trying to upset the sword. Anyone who bore witness to Gabe’s latest movements would likely be treated to an unnatural and uncanny set of actions—almost cartoony.

The wolf seemed to be distracted by one of the other players in this battlefield and was briefly offset. Gabe took this chance to right himself and run up the steep furry hill. Before he knew it he was set between the two giant ears atop the wolf’s head. Gabe grabbed hold of one to balance himself and looked toward the ground below, he hoped to receive some sort of signal. Gabe sheathed his sword, knowing he’d need to keep it close to him for later, and drew his pistols instead. They were expendable and easily retrievable. Suddenly, as Gabe stood atop the wolf-god’s head, it’s roars erupting from his position, he felt like Fenris. He looked toward his group again, the ground moving it’s position as often as Fenris moved his head. Along with a new-found fear of heights came another fear, that Gabe might have to take the plunge from here. If he was right, his best chance for hitting this thing hard would be to jump from his position and send holy lead down the beast’s throat.

The scrying spell was going well enough. She saw the wolves through the flames and they even seemed to be looking at something behind her…or at her? She stared back, a confusion in her eyes as the mental cogs began to turn. She crafted a solid circle for the sigils; all the glyphs were correct and in the right order: she’d crossed every eye and dotted every fucking t. Her spell should have been invisible! A flicker to anyone who was really good at magic.

Yet they were looking right at her, staring her down. Then, there was a crash of green from behind her. She didn’t feel the thunder crash, or the lightning’s heat, just the sickly, rancid, world ending shade of green.

Jay-Jay didn’t move much, to be fair. She was still figuring out how the hell she’d been thwarted so easily. Rationalisation had previously been a weakness of hers, but a year with the most stubborn bird in the whole of existence had made her somewhat more meticulous and a hint more logical.

She was sure she’d done everything right. In fact, she had been so intent on proving her competence that she quadruple checked all of the variables that could fuck up. Then it hit her. The variable she didn’t control was what fucked it up. It must have been Fenrir himself that made the scrying spell so visible. Things started to make more sense: the wolf and the bird came from the same shrouded corner of myth: the same shard of the veil. Maybe their magic was similar, and that meant maybe some of her magic was the same…

Concentration and confusion were replaced by another emotion as she saw the full form of Fenrir. The bestial world ender was a terrifying sight to be sure: All muscle and fur and rage and ragna-whatever. In every other situation, Jay-Jay would be scared out of her mind. This was a creature that literally ended worlds. He could probably swallow her whole if it tried hard enough and she didn’t wriggle or something.

But there was no fear; no being scared and no stifling, strangling, suffocating weakness. There was something completely opposite to that filling the Fire-child’s bosom. There was anger, there was rage and humiliation and pure, fiery hate.

“You fucked up my spell.”

Among the chaos of the battlefield, the words would mean nothing. A little girl next to a mud circle saying something small and weak. When there was a Werewolf and a demon and an angry ass vampire and some sword wielding nut job and some mad lookin’ dead guy and…Thad (Did he class as undead now? Or Jesus, but really-really late?) it would be easy to ignore the little mage girl.

At least until she set the world ablaze.

Perhaps not the world, but suddenly a heat blasted over the area. A wall of very real and very violent fire rose behind Jay-Jay, threatening to engulf the entire group, with the previous scrying flame at the epicentre. The temptation was there for Jay-Jay, to just…let it burn. Incinerating the little scrap of the world was certainly a temptation, but something tempered her: Friends and a new-found fragility and the whispers of the Ifrit in her mind. Instead, she was going to have to be more tricky.

A year ago, it was Katago̱gí’s domain to manipulate the properties of a flame. She had used it with another newbie to the group to incinerate an entire nightclub of vampires. Now, she just had a god-killing-god to incinerate.

Thankfully, the wolf made an easy target. No one else in the group was even close to a god-killing-god wolf. The closest they had was a werewolf after all.

So instead of being subtle, Jay-Jay let the fire fall forward. It washed past her like an ocean of fire and slammed towards the rest of the group. None of the Bain and Hoyle group would feel any burning sensation: maybe the light heat of Jay-Jay’s magic, like a clingy hug or something, but nothing to cause damage.

Fenrir, on the other hand. That douchebag was getting none of Jay-Jay’s protection. The fire would cling to his fur like liquid napalm. There was no mercy for him: he’d fucked up her spell after all. Her chance to prove her training as purposeful and well-placed and something that made her as useful as the bad ass Veti or the easy goin’ Thad or the sexy Henry. Instead, he made her look like a screw-up!

The world ender could go burn, Fenrir just pissed off the American with a lot the firepower.

Given even a moment to reflect, Veti would have groaned with frustration, knowing all too well that of course not a one of her beloved pack were going to take even the slightest chance to escape. No, of course not. Heroes - or would-be-heroes - each and every one. Superheroes maybe, in many senses, but this was a god. The woman was not paralyzed with fear, not like her wolf, cowering and whining in terror in a dark corner of her mind. But it was nothing but the bald, stark truth: she really was damn sure afraid.

That didn't stop her from taking the pistol and magazines Semyon gave her with steady hands, noting with approval she had a magazine of hollow points, incendiary... And silver. Veti didn't really believe any of these would have a real, lasting effect, but it was a damn sight better than standing around looking helpless.

Well, even if that was exactly how she felt.

Thad had, apparently, been listening very closely to Henry, crafting a spear of magic and alchemy, hurling it at the Fenrir. Daisy had made a cavalry charger of Artie, the ephemeral scythe a... Crossbow? Siya was, as always, not much more than a blur even to her preternatural eyes as she streaked for the Fenrir's legs. The new guy Gabe was completing a set of acrobatics all about the demigod with sword and pistols, while Jay-Jay seemed ready to light yet another thing on fire - no shocker there really. Atticus was... Well, she honestly couldn't see Atticus at the moment, and her heart leapt for a moment for the boss guy -

With a snarl twisted on her crimson lips, the werewolf tucked the magazines of silver and hollow points into her bra strap for lack of anything else like a belt, and slammed the magazine of incendiaries home. This was no guardian from the Library of Alexandria, though Semyon was climbing up his hide as easily as the werewolf had scaled the onyx anubis. Positions perfectly reversed with the wight this time, she raised the Stetchkin and shot for the eyeball closest to Semyon. The whole time she prayed - just under her breath, to the God she thought her parents' Catholicism hadn't quite made stick - that the flaming, searing ammunition would at least distract the wolf-god from crushing, eating or otherwise annihilating one of the people she loved.

To their defence, the company knew how to dela with chaos. Oh they thrived in it. Some of them, like Henry, would never admit it. Others like Jay-Jay seemed to personify it. As the god wold had a descended upon them in fury, wanting them to cover and die. Atticus lay hurt, crumpled and uncharasticicly wounded looking. And Henry saw the fury of Siya dash into fray, a unatural blur of motion that no mortal could ever hope to achieve. He heard thad question him on the spear, but the warlock was smart enough to figure out a way to bypass alot of it when he used fur and what Henry assumed was the sheer magic of his own talent to somehow conjure a spear. The god-wolf had clearly been wanting to crush them in his jaws byt he found not a easy fight but a furius bombardment in response. There was fire, there was anger and ther was hells own fury. There was so many emotions and Henry felt his faustian violin soak it in, the damn thing was laughing in delight. Well, it would be a darn shame to let it all go to waste now wouldn't it? Henry lifted it to his neck and shoulder and played the first tone.

A sensation he had not felt in over a year swept over him. His glamor lost, his white haired flowed with invisible winds as he seemed to grow in size and muscle again. He had no close surface source of water here, but this was still far more north then he had been in ages and he drew upon the rivers that ran underneath the earth. His eyes, icy cold and filled with unatural calm seemed to flare into bright beacons of power as the violin in his hand bite down onto his wrist. Red teeth of twisted wood sank into his skin like some twisted mockery of vampirsism and he felt the blood flow. It was sucked into the creature that masqueraded as violinist wet dream and when the siren touched its neck with what might aswell be a blade, the music sang out loud.

It wasn't his usual pleasant tones, the sound was a furies wrath, the valkeries scream, a harpys song and the rivers own fury. Fire and brimstone met a child of natures gifts and the unholy alliance of powers wrapped and mated in a cacophony of pure rage. Black and red snakes were shaped out of blood and the airs very humidity and the infernal, unholy serpants crashed against the fenrir, Gripping at it s jaws and prying them open for that spear to propely flow down the beasts gullet. And more and more were materializing from all around the Siren, who drew more life from the ground underneath his feet, funneling it into his unholy symbiote of a instrument. The tones changed and the snakes vibrated and exploded into shard of ice that dug in best they could in the god-wolfs skin and eyes. Ever shifting, the Siren refused to let up. More power, more anger, more sorrow, more vile hatred. Every ounce he had, everything this wolf stood for, everything it meant to the Ice bitchs plans, all of it thrown back at the Fenrir with interest.

”GABRIEL” He called out to the angel as the rest of the brilliant godkilling squad were unleashing hell on the wolf. ”Ride the wave!” Henry hoped gabriel would understand once Henry did his thing. let himself get carried up by the unatural winds and raging powers that this holy circle could lend him as he allowed himself a moment of absolute serenity. He closed his eyes and called forth every single debt he had ever been owed. His mind reached to the realms of fae, touched every river he ever helped free from pollution and vile spirits. He called in everything he had ever had, waiting for thad to throw the spear. And it was a mighty toss from Thad, Henry would have to commend the man on it should they survive. The snakes unlodged themselves from the wolf and entvined around the spear, like a rocket boosting its spead tenfold and warping the air around it to create a wave of magic nature. Every single emotion the infernal tool had soaked up, interwoven to a macabre tapestry of energy and ancient magic...

Vánagandr.

Hróðvitnir.

Fenrisúlfr.

Fenrir.

Fenris.

Many names to call one being, and all synonymous with devastation. Though he had spent millennia bound by the tortured cord known as Gleipnir, the Æsir in all their mighty arrogance had failed. He was of the Rökkr gods; primordial and ethereal. His time in captivity had left him no more depleted than if it had been only the blink of an eye. Freedom was Fenris’, and his wrath would be the instrument of his revenge against all the world.

As he appeared upon the realm of Midgard, surrounded by the fury of unholy green lightning, Fenris let out a mighty roar. The stone circle of Ardgroom was destroyed beneath his massive paws, and the emerald tendrils of magical energy that were woven there shattered like pane-glass.

With eyes shining like obsidian pearls, Fenris swung his head about to gaze down at those blest to first meet his fury. The creatures were small and insignificant against his deific prowess, yet even as he looked to them, Fenris was stunned to see them hold their ground, and even turn against him. It had taken all the will and combined might of the Æsir to restrain and bind him before, what did this band of scurrilous vermin hope to gain from their display of misplaced bravery?

It mattered not.

Even as Fenris was met by the combined onslaught of his newfound enemies, he let out a guttural and primal laugh. It echoed not through the air, but reverberated instead into the minds of all around him. It was a sound, a thought, of total spite, and utter hatred.

The god-wolf felt the vermin strike at his limbs, impaling him with weapons no more harmful than the prick of a needle. He felt great winds tug at his black fur, and unnatural fire ripple across his body. Amidst the maelstrom that rose up to meet him, Fenris heard and felt magic of the North rise up like a tide of snakes to envelope his head and muzzle. In front of his inky-black gaze a pair of the vermin danced, each striking at the broad orbs of his eyes with small weapons that spout fire and hot iron. Distantly, he also perceived that his legs were being assailed by something moving at preternatural speed, shaking at his joints and trying to force him off balance.

For several long minutes Fenris merely stood there. With his mighty back brushing the bottoms of the low clouds, he allowed the vermin their shining moment of hope. Even as he was enveloped with ancient magic and demonic fire, he simply stood.

Though his eyes were wholly black, and no pupils could be seen to denote the direction of his scrutiny, in an instantaneous moment all those that surrounded Fenris would perceive that the god-wolf’s obsidian stare had found them, and somehow only them.

The earth shook violently then, as if the ground itself was quaking with fear. Ripples coursed outward from Fenris’ paws like earthen waves, and for miles around god-wolf, the world shattered and crumbled, and the seas churned. Then, with a crack like thunder, the ripples flashed upward across Fenris’ body. His very flesh shuddered in a grotesque movement of fur and muscle.

Instantly the magical tendrils that encased his head and jaws shattered and recoiled. The spear that had lodged itself into his mouth dissolved into hopeless splinters as he swallowed them. The tongues of flame that coursed across his fur were snuffed out, and Fenris once again stood in all his glory, resplendent in horrific wholeness and terrible, uninjured splendor.

Now it was the god-wolf’s turn.

With speed that defied his size, Fenris’ long tail lashed out, striking the swift creature that had been attacking his legs, and flinging it away like chaff from wheat. At the same time his head bucked the pair of vermin from his eyes, launching them high into the roiling night sky.

With his body now clear of vermin, Fenris’ full attention fell to the spirit of the North, the one that had attempted to entwine and pierce him with the embryonic magic of the elements. The river eel, so confidently braying his perceived power like some harpy coupled with an unearthly donkey, would feel all the brunt of the god-wolf’s retribution.

Fenris opened his maw, and from it spewed a hiss that split the air with palpable force. Though only pain would meet the ears of most, when the hiss found the Siren, it amplified into a great deal more. With every pulse of the sound, the Siren was subjected to his own force of magic, his very nature turned against him in a terrible, singular moment.

Every deadly call, every dreadful iteration of the Siren’s violin, every note of discord, coercion, dismay, fear, and dread that the Nack had ever forced upon the ears of others now pulled with wrenching force against the creature’s mind.

The Siren may have called down his own classification of hell upon the god-wolf’s head, but in answer Fenris was returning unto him all the versions of hell, of every being that had ever felt the twisting magic of the Nack’s influence, and all of it funneled through the thin plane of the river spirit’s soul.

Veti clutched her head , the pistol still in hand but silenced now. The werewolf grimaced in pain beneath the baleful glare of the god-wolf as he turned his ebony gaze to her. She shut her eyes tight, trying to block out the sight only to discover, to her horror, that the Fenrir was actually in her head, tossing her thoughts like a maelstrom of hate and malice. Veti moaned, shaking her head with a stubborn, defiant cry.

It was all she had left. It was she could do.

She forced her eyes open in an instant, nothing but pure rebellious orneriness the fuel that kept her on her feet. The Fenrir still spanned the skies above them, a thing she could feel more than see with her mortal eyes, a dark and terrible new night illuminated by the fae green lightning. Jay-Jay's fire and Thad's enchanted spear; Hellis' magicks; Gabe's fantastical aerobatics and Siya's and Daisy's initial assaults were rendered utterly futile. She'd never really had much of a hope for her and Gabe's gunfire, but it had seemed a better option to distract than to stand there dumbfounded.

Even the ancient standing stones were no more, crushed beneath the primeval claws of the Fenrir. What chance would her beloved pack ever have?

There was no plan in her head beyond the very next moment. Veti's eyes turned immediately, always, to Thad who, thank God, still seemed whole. Not necessarily hale - but hell, who among them was right now? At least his feet were on the ground -

- which was more than anyone could say for Semyon and Gabe.

"A little help up, babe?" she quipped as turned on her bare foot. Veti throttled the wolf inside her, dragged its raggedy cringing ass out from beneath the bed it wanted to hide under in the presence of Fenrir, gave it a solid shake and a hard slap upside the head, to snap the fuck out of it all goddamned ready! Veti the woman was certainly strong without a doubt. But Veti the wolf could perform feats of physical prowess a mortal human could only dream of.

One more step, two and the werewolf got her proverbial shit together. Powerful, crimson furred haunches coiled and then sprung, clods of thick black dirt and soft green grasses kicking up into the air behind her as the crimson wolf launched herself on a trajectory to intercept Semyon's free fall at the very least. The decision had been made in a split-second and, after Gabe's acrobatics getting up to the Fenrir's maw in the first place, she could only pray his fall would be broken a hell of a lot easier than a wight's likely would be.

In an instant, the fire was snuffed out, ignored by the wolf-god as if it were nothing but a slight alteration to the office aircon. The flame was far too weak and the fire far too tame. How could she burn when she spent half her time holding it back from friends? She wasn’t that strong; nowhere near.

The feel of Fenrir in her mind, clawing in with a laugh: mocking and fearsome and all the other scary words that described him, was disconcerting to her: but surprisingly ineffective. Perhaps it was her near-comical ignorance of the gravity of the situation or, perhaps more likely, the fact she spent her every moment sharing her mind with a demon. Either way, the effect of Fenrir’s mental assault were dispelled when the guest in Jay-Jay’s head spoke out.

’It’s kind of poetic, really.’ Jay-Jay paused, left confused by the quizzical nature Katago̱gí’s words. It was a good thing that the End-bringer was focused on Henry, because the Fire-demon would have made a soft target.

“What are you even talking about Kata?” Jay-Jay spoke out loud, genuinely annoyed by the words of her demon: so out of place and so out of mind.

’We face our opposite…Or I do, at least. We are Fire, he is Ice; I am the Origin, he is the end.’

“How is that useful in anyway right now?” Jay-Jay again ignored the sanctity of inner-thought for spoken tongue. She was practically seething in anger at the demon. How could she ignore the brevity of the situation? This wasn’t the time for philosophy or something: their friends could get hurt or worse if they dawdle. “You aren’t even from the same time period. He’s Norse, you are Greek.”

’His purpose is the end of all things: Greek, Norse, American or otherwise. I have no doubt he would take great pleasure in snuffing us out, were he aware of just what I was: So much so that he might disregard your friends, for a while.’

Jay-Jay paused, then felt her smile widen. Katago̱gí had always been subtle when it came to stuff like this: teasing out information as a way of making the Host work a bit harder and try a little more. Always attempting to spark the thoughts and ignite the potential.

She needed to work some more magic. Weirder magic, though: not just fire and fury and stuff, but actually difficult, intricate magic: The sort of magic that could cause you to explode if you got it wrong. Jay-Jay got up, taking a few steps back from the Wolf-god, who had his back turned to her and seemed to be focused on somewhere else…or someone el…

The roar of the Wolf-god was drum-bursting-ly loud. The sound was so…hateful and so painful to hear, that she couldn’t help but crumple onto her knees, clutching at her ringing ears. She looked up and saw the full recipient of Fenrir’s rage.

Henry.

The Mage took about half a second to figure out what she was doing was a bad idea; but she didn’t care. Good plans weren’t exactly her forte.

She flung herself into Henry’s mind, creating a telepathic link between the two. Instantly, it felt like a sea washed over her like an ocean of sludge-like thoughts, crushing her under overwhelming weight. She cut the link instantly and almost gave in completely, in more ways than one. To feel such raw, unaltered emotion was painful: even for only a moment.

Her resolve was shaken, but then she saw Henry seemingly shrink under the weight of the Fenrir. To suffer that alone was…

Jay-Jay gritted her teeth, before re-opening the link with Henry. The floodgates opened again: washing her with every negative image of: death, fear, pain, suffering, chaos, betrayal and every other piece of pain that the wolf-god delightfully inflicted on the Nack. At first it was overwhelming, but the feel of something else was there: something altogether more familiar.

Perhaps this was a twisted version of Henry’s own magic, but it was Henry’s magic none-the-less. The Wolf and the nack were immune to it, for sure: but to a human, the touch of a Siren was still intoxicating in its own way; a strange, sickening, unhealthy intoxication, but an intoxication none-the-less.

Hard to believe that it was the Siren’s irresistibility that made the torment of Fenris bearable, but suddenly Jay-Jay felt a conviction forming: A dim, lonely spark in the murk, if you will. She felt herself pushing at the murk, trying to spark something that Henry might see, a hint of something other than terror and pain and doom.

Jay-Jay felt something strange, the absence of Katago̱gí was obvious and in truth, a little daunting. To think she was alone in helping her friend through this was frightful and the tiny fragment of something dimmed.

Self-doubt crept in: Was she in over her head? Had the demon abandoned Jay-Jay on the hopeless task? Would she be able to save Henry?

Then she exhaled, thinking about what her watchers in the wings would say. Oro-Mai would chastise her self-doubt as unfounded or illogical or some other long word. Katago̱gí would just hint at the truth of it all. She wasn’t here because she didn’t need to be, or something like that.

The flicker burnt again, brighter now as that sliver of self-doubt was evaporated by the thoughts of those precious to her. She couldn’t burn much brighter in the over-bearing murk. Just a mere candle light in the dark, dark night: but she burned none-the-less, it was just a faint little glimmer of potential; a tiny spark of something other than Fenrir’s despair.

She hoped Henry could see it; or feel it; or whatever: Jay-Jay’s little gift. She hoped the wick of it could light Henry’s way, because losing him would make everyone sad. They would keep their friends: their little, dysfunctional family.

That was all Jay-Jay could Hope for, anyway. She hoped Henry would see it, and she hoped he’d beat back Fenrir, with or without her help.

She hoped so, with all of her everything.

A little help? He heard that through the awful screams of the hounds calls. That was what his love asked, which of course would be funny if she thought about it because she knew he would give her everything. Yet when compared to the power in front of them a little might be the best way to describe it. A little might be everything he had. Thad’s mind was racing to think of something useful to do. Well, at least he could give his love a little.

He was by her quick, no other place he should be, and if she was attacking, and it was easy to see she was, he could help. He should stop her. He knew if he was the regular sort of guy and she was the storybook gal of his dreams he would protest her attempt to put herself in harms way. But, fuck, she was Veti. This was who she was.

There wasn’t much of a question of how he could help. She was going to spring off and he could see those woman eye’s become the wolf's and glare at Seymon. She would catch him if he would push her off. It wasn’t as if his arms were stronger than those amazing legs that wrapped around him, not enough, not near enough. But Thad rubbed his bloodied hand together again and graded a bit of that green light that was filling the place. Green for go, you know. He took that force, took hold of Veti’s hunched ready to pounce hind legs from behind, trying not to think too much about the human view of this, and he pushed her off with a force even greater than her own powers. Greater than his.

But he couldn’t just let her go off on her own without, without, without him. He had to do something. So the spear didn’t work. So the place was falling apart. Ok, fuck the old tales then and come up with something new. New. Yes. Thad reached around and grabbed handfuls of that impressive green light that crackled with basic god like energy. Good stuff. Don’t let your shit around monster mutt.

And speaking of shit if Thad couldn’t get in through the mouth then he would blow the other end of the asshole. Must be his view of Veti got him thinking rear ends. So he managed to roll the balls and move around to the backside of the beast. Nothing like Veti’s.

As he moved he shouted, or thought he did, it was hard to hear anything over the strange roars. “Atticus, you better catch Siya or when I am done it’s your ass I’ll be after.”

Thad fought to move more than he thought he should, like against a wind or some force that was pushing him away. But hell, if Veti could spring in, then he could find some fucking away to move around. The beast was distracted at least with the others as Thad found his spot behind and began to form those green balls of leftover god wolf droppings tighter and tighter.

He waited for his chance to shove one up its goddamn asshole.

A fly, that’s what she was. Just a fly that irritated the beast and dealt with summarily. That’s all the effort she warranted too. A flick of the tail and off she spun. No more, no less. A problem no more. As she flew ass over teakettle through the air, out of control of her body, with no way to control her trajectory she felt the beast’s thoughts wash over her. Thoughts wasn’t quite right, what she felt pushed into her head was something more primal, more raw than mere thoughts. It was too angry for that. It was akin to the hunger she fought to stave off but focused differently. It reminded her of something she’d allowed herself to overlook in the year of worry for Veti, the deep mourning for Max and the brief interlude of slaked lusts with Atticus.

She was a monster.

Not by choice, not a very good one, but she was a monster. Her hunger matched this beast’s rage for all that it had done her no good. She hadn’t been a good enough dancer for her mother, she hadn’t been a good enough student for her teacher’s and she hadn’t been a good enough friend for Veti and now she wasn’t being a very good monster.

But then what was stopping her? Her reluctance to be good at the one thing she’d never wanted? She failed at everything else because she hadn’t really tried she supposed. She’d let so many people’s needs and wants steer her through her life. She hadn’t taken anything she wanted. Anything but Atticus. Oh how she wanted him, her mouth flooded at the thought of him, her hunger pushing at the rage that still forced itself into her mind, stretching her questionable sanity.

If she did not figure out a way to stop this thing who threatened everything she loved then she would never get the one thing she truly wanted again, a taste of him, the feel of him, goading him into all the delicious and monstrous things they could and should do to each other, in the dark, in the silence.

She landed, hard. A high-pitched gasp of pain shot out of her as she felt things in her rib cage snap and give way. Her cry was cut off as something sharp took away her air and she felt fluid, blood in places there shouldn’t be any. Her pale lips turned red as blood bubbled up from her punctured lung. It was a good thing she didn’t need to breathe she reflected as she staggered to her feet. Pain flooded her but she ignored, focusing on collecting herself, her all black eyes focused on the mountain of dark beast that threatened her everything. She was not a fly, but a mosquito, a tick.

She would take from him, use what was his against him. Didn’t like affect like? That seemed like some sort of stupid Magical rule that she didn’t have time to ask Thad about. She needed to act and more than that she needed to heal and that furry mother-fucker was going to be the source for both.

How bad could he taste? She wondered. Certainly better than geriatric werewolf. He was a god after all. She licked her blood-flecked lips and with a burst of speed launched herself at the beast again. This time her landing was soft, not meant to jar or to damage. She gripped the thinner fur on his underbelly near one of his forelegs as he focused on one of her teammates. Not Veti, not Thad, not Atticus…. She mentally chanted as she shifted her grip, taking hold and bracing herself in a spot she hoped her wouldn’t be able to reach easily. She’d spent plenty of time around canines and for all that this wasn’t a canine in truth he was built like one and they had spots that were harder to reach than others. She found one and with as much care as she had ever done anything she pressed her soft cupid’s bow of a mouth to his flesh and sank her tiny fangs into the flesh of a god.

Did god’s bleed?

When something dark and rich, unwholesome and filled with fury hit her tongue she got her answer. Blood or Ichor, it didn’t matter, it rushed into her, just a trickle for him but for her an ocean of sensation. Not since she’d taken in the piece of eight, the legacy of her line had she felt such a rush. She could feel the edges of herself begin to fray under the onslaught but still she clung and still she drank filling up like a tick.

You are what you eat. She thought as she swallowed and swallowed.

Gabe had begun his meaningless assault on the god-wolf’s head via his semiautomatic holy pistols. Their Brrraaatt, Brrraattaa war cries echoed over Fenrir’s head in the damp sea-breeze above Ardgroom. Gabe’s short, thin hair was tousled in the sudden shockwave of power which emanated from the wolf-god. Gabe stopped shooting momentarily when he was caught in the wolf-god’s gaze. He didn’t necessarily get to peer into the gaze, as much as he felt it upon him. The reason for this was that, suddenly and aggressively, the Arch angel was pushed from Fenrir’s flesh. The force from this push was such that Gabe was propelled several miles into the air, and several miles away, from the epicenter of this not-so-terrestrial shock. Gabe spun in the air for a few moments after the he was thrown, hopping that the whistling of the air would just put him to sleep.

Gabe then managed to catch a glimpse of his position when at the height of his freefall. He was going end-over-end toward a set of hedgerows along a farm land, some 3 and a half miles from the site of the stones of Ardgroom. There were no trees, just open farmland and plenty of air to fall through. There was no hope of breaking his fall in the least, he’d need to prepare himself to fall in the least painful way, however. Gabe managed to twist his body with the wind and against his momentum in order to straighten out and slow his fall ever so slightly. Gabe only had enough time after that to holster his pistols, in one quick motion, then curl into a ball. The very next moment the Arch angel crashed through the wooden rooftop of a farm house. The initial impact did hurt, a great deal in fact, and he could feel the echoed pain in his muscles ever second thereafter.

Gabe awoke to the frightened face of a red-haird middle age woman, petite but thick-skinned. Her face was upside down, or, he saw her face upside down. A ripping sound then came from… below? Above? Gabe managed to work his neck to look at his legs. His pants were mostly ripped, as was his shirt, but the left pant-leg was caught on something. Gabe made a slight motion to release himself but just received a sharp pain to his chest and stomach, he screamed and the woman next to him moaned with discomfort. A moment later the pant-leg ripped again and Gabe was released, falling on his back to the kitchen table below him. He looked up at the gaping hole in the the ceiling from whence he came. Gabriel turned on his side and coughed some blood. He rolled off the table and knelt next to it, his hands grasping it’s edges.

The small redhead put her hand on Gabe’s back, “Are… are you alright?” she asked in a cautious Irish accent.

Gabe was noticing that he was breathing normally again, his blood seemed to be flowing, the pain he felt was minimizing every moment. He actually was alright. “Yeah, surprisingly,” he said.

“Were you in a plane or something? Skydiving?” The woman was grasping for answers.

“Not exactly.” Gabe stood, noticed his pistols were still in their holsters, went to grab his sword. It was not there. There was a sudden feeling of embarrassment mixed with anger in the angel then.

“Oh, hell, why have you got guns?” The lady asked.

“Private business” was all the response Gabe could muster. He headed toward the door, ready to rejoin the fight.

“And what of my bloody ceiling?” The woman asked, she was a little perturbed when Gabe ignored her.

And Gabriel, ignorant of her annoyance, continued to ignore her, “I’m sure someone will come by to fix it.” Gabe crossed the threshold of the house and looked at the surroundings. He was facing a dirt road flanked on the other side by a hedgerow, to his left was a pickup truck. If there wasn’t a small glimmer atop it, Gabe would have hardly noticed his sword protruding from the top of it. The youthful agent jumped on the hood of the car and released the sword from the tin hood as if it were Excalibur, raising the holy steel into the air afterward. He noticed the redheaded woman staring from her doorway, a little annoyed but mostly awed.

“Does what you’re doing have to do with that big screaming thing over by the stones?” She asked politely.

“Yes,” Gabe said holstering his sword, still atop the truck. He glanced over to the figures over the valley and atop the hill.

“Well, goodluck.” The woman said, seemingly unimpressed.

Gabe looked at the distance between himself and the fight, he knew he would not be able to reach it in time if anything drastic occurred, especially considering he was not in top notch shape. He looked at the hunk of metal below his feet. “May I use this?” He asked, more casually than he maybe should have. The redhead crossed her arms, looked at the angel incredulously. “Please!” he begged, his palms clasped together as if in a prayer. His smile was bright in the darkness and his baby blue’s pierced into her Christian soul.

She must have seen his true form because she smiled. She tossed the keys to the angel, “God-bless,” she said finally, returning back into her crumbling home. That probably wasn’t a good idea since the ceiling was not very stable but Gabe didn’t really have much time to say anything and the woman seemed intent on closing the door and ignoring the outside world.

In moments Gabe was firing down the road in the old, blue pickup. The jalopy was surprisingly fast as Gabe put his foot to the ground. He was getting every little bit of horsepower out of this Hack. Dirt and pebbles kicked up around the aged wheels as Gabe raced up the hill that led to the most fearsome sight of a giant, monstrous wolf swatting away flies.

Hope is the first thing to spring up in a humans heart. It is not supposed to leave them before their life does. And so they fought, brilliant defiance in the name of humanity, yet none of them were really human. The veiled worlds most notorious company, the people who was able to pry your car keys from the jaws of a helldhound for the right price. The people who had taken down a Vampiric Demi-Godess trough wits and power both. The very group who quite literally had spat into the river styx and ripped the long gone out from it's etheral waters. If you wanted a group that shone brighter the morning sun, whos rage were more blinding then the light of a dying star, you turned to Bain And Hoyles motley Boston Branch. Henry would die to save any of them, even the ones he disagreed with. And that was becouse they fought despite the odds and each of them was like nothing else he had ever seen. They always fought with the power that was given, they spit in the face of advesary and gave everything that came running at them the finger and a big fat boot to the ass. They would stare down Gods if they had to, and now they did. Fenrir stood its ground, it waited, and just like that, hope was turned into terrible dread for the Siren. He was not human, hope left him easily enough.

Earth shattering noise and chaos, that was the calling of the World Eating Wolf. The Siren could see the roar, not just hear it. He saw it before he felt it, he saw it before the others heard it and he wish he hadn't. It was magic brutal then the natural rage of the elements. More malicious then anything he seen in his life. It rippled and suddenly, time stood still for the Siren. He could not brace for impact, he couldn't even move. Like a wave of death, he saw the very fiber of reality scream from the rage of the God wolf. He saw as that massive wall of sound shook and convulsed like a pair of jaws snapping at the world it wanted to destroy. He saw the grass flatten against the ground in slow motion, as if the very nature around them bowed to the Fenrir. The Siren saw as the stone became fragments that became gravel that in turn became pebble and smaller still. Ancient stone that had stood untouched for decades upon decades, all reduced to nothing. He saw the wave come towards him, and he knew that the Wolf had him as it's prime target in Henry, the curse of the North. Here he was, defiant and in direct violation of his nature. Trying to appear human, trying to act as a good guy when in truth he was a monster. No not even a monster. He was just a extension of his river, a fickle and evil being.

As two spirits of the North, Henry felt that there could only be one way this ended. He smiled weakly and lowered the violin slowly. His grip loosened as the inferneal tool in his hand slowly fell towards the ground. His eyes closed and he called upon every meager ability of magic he had left, meager in comparison with the God that stood before him. Wrapped around him, a gently weave, the form of a ethereal seals pelt. He didn't have time to appreciate the memory that brought it up before the wave hit him, and his very life suddenly seemed pointless.

The pain that hit him first was physical, his eardrums shattered like overripe tomatoes. If he had been human, his brain might have boiled from the subsonic frequencies that could only come from gods. It was said that if a god spoke, then no mortal could survive the sound. Well god-wolf seemed to have gotten the memo, and despite the Sirens best defenses, he felt his entire body cave. The first hit was physical, pure pain and the sirens eye flew open as he clutched his ears. He was someone who had been impaled, beaten and tossed trough god knows how many terrible things. But some pain was especially hard to take for a being who lived for music, a composer turned painfully deaf if only for a moment. He went down to his knees, tear streaming down his face as he screamed, a hearth wrenching, terrified sound. Why was he crying? Why couldn't he stop crying. Why was this happening? Around him, his friends and allies fought, and he could not hear them and it scared him. He could not here the brash confidence of Thad, the angry snarl and sassy tone of the brilliant Veti. He could not hear the shouts and commands and he found he could not comprehend a world without sound. As blood poured down from both sides of his face, from the ears down to his chin, he started to convulse. Yes, it had been physical at first, but that was never the intention of the attack. The magic ripped trough what defenses he had left, like the jaws of the great wolf before them. It sunk into and crushed his very soul, or what Sirens had instead of a soul. It was a pain like he had never experienced, and his screams louder still. His composure all gone, his luster broken, he seemed less like a brilliant white foam of the natural rivers of the cold north and his color became muted and green , like the stale waters of a puddle or a drying river. He heard the wolfs snarl overpowering everything he was, mocking his innept power, his vain attempts to be something he wasn't.

The First attack was Physical, to isolate and distract and overwhelm the Siren. The Second was magical and spiritual, to crush and tear and sunder Henry. The last, the Last was mental, to kill, to ruin, to destroy the Näck from the inside out. It rippled within him like a explosion, like his heart was a nuclear device set to blow and the very own magic of Henry exploded inside him with a violent blue light. The screams of pain turned to equally ear shattering noises like that of wich had shattered Henrys own eardrums. Henry buckled, gasping like a fish on dry land as he was

”GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I DIDN'T KNOW! FORGIVE ME! I DIDN'T KNOW!”

Merciless was the river that borne him, cold was the waters that caressed him as he first drowned his first victim, a blue haired girl who's crime was only that she looked like the one that killed his predecessor. A toll was taken, the young and the nubile, the innocent and the virgin. A terrible seductive trickster, who sat on the stone in the river, who braved the water and invited you over to swim and sing with him , to dance and drown in the foam of a small but frightening river. Öre älv claimed many lives at the hands of its Näck. Because that was his purpose. And now, the Wolf drew upon the very victims energy and their last gasps of air, their curses and feelings. It seemed to pull it's presence from back before Henry was Henry, before the became self aware. It was a tidal wave anew, far more painful then that of what hit him before. Worse then the shattering of eardrums or the magic pressure of a god. He gasped, and then he felt as if the earth had swallowed him up whole. He went blind as there was only darkness around him as he felt the ancient hatred of every woman, man and child who was ever swallowed by his kinds trickery come rushing at him. It whirled around him, and it drowned him. He felt their anguish, their pain. Pale sickly fingers wrapped around his neck, nails dug into a sickly bloated skin as if he had been a mortal drowning man. To everyone on the outside, Henry was shaking, his body contorted weirdly as he kept begging the voices to stop.

But it wasn't done. The faces dancing in front of his vision began scream at him and very body of the siren began to bulge in places as if those very faces were trying to burst him from the inside. Every ounce of life he had ever stolen, trying to escape their killer. And not just humans, every being he ever fought and used his magic to kill, even those he killed to protect others. Henry was a water being, and with the water failing and his very being slowly being devoured by the hell that was sent his way buy the God-WOlf, his body was starting to return to nature. The Siren was dying, drowning in his own sins. A poetic end if nothing else.

But suddenly, the flooding was lessened, the voices was distracted. A Intruder, raw despair ran her off but she came back. And in a ocean of pure hate, Henry found the unlikely presence of Jay Jay. And a faint warm glowed grew in her presence, a defiant brilliant fire. He reached out towards it and to his terror the very hell he was in raced towards it as well, eager to snuff it out.

"Don't touch her!"

//Jay Jay//

As the little flicker of hope, warm and genuine, seemed to emanate from Jay-Jay, she felt the ocean-like force of hatred shrink back from her like a scared animal. Whereas when she entered, the storm was raging and she was knee-deep on the combination of Henry and Fenrir's magic, now she was on a tiny island, staring over the horizon and desperately looking for Henry. 

Soon though, the ocean stared back. She was not alone in the tempest of Henry's mind and the waves looked to swallow her up. A tidal wave seemed to surge at her: faces in the storm were full of rage and vile intentions and a deep, profound sadness. The waves threatened to swallow her but she stood her ground. Waves seemed to break a few feet from her, either rejected by her strength of will, or simply lacking the murderous conviction they reserved for Henry.

One wave though, bearing a particular victim with blue, cold hair did not suffer from such compassion, It crashed towards Jay-Jay with a malice and seemed to inspire the same feelings in each of the nack's other victims. Water seemed to wash up to her ankles: trying to snuff out the spark of defiance. She saw flashes of memory: the sensation of being drowned rushed over her as the water touched the bare 'skin' of her ankles. Memories of betrayal, none of which were her own, filled her mind. The flicker of self-doubt returned, combined with the feelings of the dead. All wanting to drag her down with them.

Then she heard Henry's voice.

Doubt was eradicated by the man's words as her conviction reignited, fiercer than ever. The ocean seemed to shrink back from the glowing Jay-Jay: who was radiant with the golden glow of conviction and hope. The world inside Henry's mind was still dark, she couldn't see him in the murk and the chaos.

"Where are you? Come to me, I ain't getting moved by a bunch of dead spirits."

//Henry//

A fleeting moment of hope.

In the darkest hour, of any man or woman, there is always a fleeting moment of hope. Evil use this moment to break you, to drown your little fire with despair beyond belief, snuffing you out. But not this time. The woman in blue was beaten back by the girl of firey red. And Henry could hardly focus on anything else. He was like a moth drawn towards that light. Part of him wanted to laugh, who but that girl would think of something so absurd as lighting a flame when surrounded by all this water.

But that fire grew, and it shook Henry to the core. He heaved, and something formed inside his heart, or what was left of it in his state. The pulse of fire grew, and Henry heard her voice. He dove into the sea, let it tear at him as he swam towards the girl who light that stood like a light house, a beacon within his mind. As he dragged himself out of it, he shook off the hands still grabbing at his ankles, kicked a face or two in the mess of dead souls. He was now on the same 'island' as Jay. He stood, quite a bit taller then her, even in this twisted realm of his own breaking mind. He was slowly forming back to his self, less that of a drowned man and more of the Siren he was. Outside his mind, where another kind of battle was raging, and to observers, the terrifying visage of faces breaking out of his very skin began to die out and his color slowly returned to normal. As all around him, his brave allies went to war, he began to slowly regain his luster, his hair began to flow with a invisible wind.

”Thank you.” The mind version of Henry smiled brightly down at his unlikely savior. "But I am afraid it time for you to return to your body. What comes next is better that you do not take part of. But I won't ever forget your light. Or the rest of you." He winked at her, as mental aspects rarely had need for, well, clothing.

//Jay-Jay//

"Anytime, handsome." Jay-Jay looked up at the Siren with an wide grin and an unabashed confidence, positively glowing with confidence: literally and metaphorically. Her crimson hair seemed more radiant for it, and her tan skin more bronze. "Next time a world-ending god-thingy wants to fuck with your mind, you know who to call. Better yet, a drink. We'll need a few of those after we kick Fenrir's ass." There wasn't a flicker of doubt in her voice now. Victory changed a person, and none more so than Jay-Jay. To be so useful reinforced her self-worth immensely, and for the first time in a long time, she felt justifiably proud of her efforts. 

She took a last little look back at the Siren, thinking less about the naked man, although she totally planned to make Daisy jealous with the details later, and more about the relationship she'd formed with the Siren. It was warm and friendly and, best of all: mutual. She started to cut off the telepathic link: broad smile still on her face. Kata had probably finished speaking with Atticus by now, so she'd have to play her part in kicking Fenrir' lupine butt.

//Henry//

Henry turned around and took in the still storming sea. "I'm afraid, you will all wait a few more decades before I let you eat me." He said as the pale, blue haired women stepped out from the watery depth of his inner being. She looked defeated, as if the hatred had been merely a impulse. He grabbed her by the throat and the woman only shuddered at his harsh touch. Slowly, she morphed into violin before the eyes of the Siren Henry marveled at the pure white violin, with details of blue shimmering in unatural colors all over it's surface. It held terrifying power. For the first time since he left his river, he had a direct connection to his home. He couldn't help but to grin at it.

"Your name is Islinda. The Ice Cradle. Your sing your sorrows for me now, and one day you shall return to the river with me. And all you will be laid to rest. But for that to happen, you will help me kill the thing that summoned you." He said to the gorgeous new violin in his hand. Naturally, as it many times were with magic, the violin formed in Henrys hands in reality just as it had in his minds. As he rose to his feet amiss the chaos around him, his body became solid and opaque again. H He was still weak, but with the spell broken, he started to collect himself.

”God-Wolf.” He coughed. Everything hurt. The magic had torn him what was likely permanent damage on his very being, greatly shortening his lifespan. His earthly body was bleeding all over. But the white violin was already at his finger tips, and the Siren was back to being radiant. ”You pityful, sniveling cretin. I won't die that easily” He played the first tune. And the magic sang out with all the sorrow of the dead, but also with a force Henry had never experienced before.

Semyon found himself flying.

No, that wasn't quite accurate. He found himself launched skywards, momentum slowly but steadily reversing, threatening to soon send him plummeting back to earth. Shook off like the flea he had been, Semyon hadn't been able to so much as distract the monolithic god-wolf below. He'd merely been an annoyance, one to be brushed off without even bothering to check what it was. And now he was skywards, slowly speeding up as the wind began to whip him by, and not even his undead strength and toughness would be enough to avoid serious injury.

Although... was there a... was Tamarind looking to catch him?

The wight blinked at the sight, unsure if he was correctly making out the small, moving dot off the side of Fenris' massive flank. It was only a moment, then his arms snapped to the sides of his coat, forcing them open and steady to catch what wind they could. It wouldn't slow him down much -not enough to really matter- but it gave him some control. Shifting his arms, shifting his body as much as he could, Semyon managed to sort of aim himself towards the more-and-more-Tamarind-shaped blur below him.

Then he lost sight of her completely, an instant of confusion and surprise forcing him to lose what composure had let him aim himself so far.

Then a large, furred form struck him at the side, just as he was preparing to meet the ground rushing up ahead. His vision blurred through a screen of fur, momentum suddenly launched sideways as he and Tamarind struck the ground in a tumbling, almost intentional-looking roll.

"Spasibo- Thank you..." Eventually they stopped, Semyon managing to stand more-or-less undamaged by the unwelcome fall. The slightest hints of a smile tugging on pale lips, he offered Tamarind a hand up, gaze shifting back to Fenris as he did so.

"Deadly..." He shook his head, looking back to Tamarind. "We should fall back a-"

Something gripped him from within, cold hands clasping around his very essence and pulling tight. There was a rush, a sudden, intense chill the likes of which he didn't even know he could feel, and Tamarind was gone.

Fenris, his comrades, then entire hilltop was gone.

Eyes snapped wide, one hand darting under his coat to snap out a wicked-looking knife, glinting silver along it's keen edge. He spun, seeing nothing but shifting, amorphous shapes, darkness, mist and water. He wasn't with his comrades anymore, he had been pulled somewhere else... Into...

Into death.

"Reaper- REAPER!" He spun, gaze darting frantically to track down the one being he knew who could have done this. "What have you done!?"

((((*Spasibo - 'Thank you'))

It had been a shitty couple of hours. But if Daisy had any soul at all to speak of, the fear in the wight's voice did it good.

"Calm down," she said, feeling quite smug despite herself. There was no reason to be smug, really. In fact, she'd somehow landed back in the very place she'd so hoped to avoid -- and it her plan succeeded, things were going to get much worse, much faster. But after everything that had happened in the last few hours, between the attack and Veti and Aislynn, and the second attack and the futility of their rebuttal...well, she was damn well going to take some good where she could find it.

"You're not dead, just...visiting," she went on, pretending to approach him from behind on coincidence alone. She'd scanned the general location before she'd pulled him through. They were safe for a few moments at least, though once she started working, that would fast change. Especially she she already reeked of the dozen wolves she'd killed not two hours ago. A thick gray mist swirled around them, appearing to rise and sink all at once. The cold and muggy water swirling around their ankles in tiny eddies was calm enough, though he would feel the pull more strongly than her.

Still. They were both about to be very busy. It was unlikely he'd go under without her noticing. She might even be obligated to help, if he stayed on task.

"Hokay, rules," Daisy said, as she reached for the Scythe, now returned to its semi-visible, intangible form. She began scanning the misty plateau, then raised a brow toward the wight in the most walking way she could.

"Rule one: that -- " she pointed to his knife with its deadly silver sheen, "is not going to be any use here unless you happened to soak it in holy water before you jumped. Did you?" She didn't want for an answer. "Didn't think so. Stow it or lose it, dude. Not even silver will kill a dead wolf.

"Rule number two, if you're going to call me anything, call me Daisy. I don't call you 'Dead'...or not to your face.

"Rule number three, I am your only friend here, and that's a stretch. Now, you have an advantage. Chances are, anything we see on this side is going to be deader than you. Which means you've got a leg up. Down side is, of course, your cute little guns and knives won't work for shit. You gotta fight fire with fire...which here just means hand to hand. If you can get them under," she pointed at the water, "the current will do the rest."

"Rule number four -- and I am so fucking serious here -- do NOT let them get the jump on you. I'm going to be busy handling our god-wolf pal. I won't be able to save your ass if you go down." It was mostly a bluff. She didn't need him taking any chances that would cost them later. But she also couldn't afford to be the person who lost two of Veti's friends in her world.

She had been searching their pale surroundings as she spoke, pausing every few seconds to listen or watch for something the wight apparently couldn't see. She seemed to find it as she finished her list, a determined grimace falling over her features.

"Right," she said grimly, taking a deep breath and allowing the Scythe to become solid in her hands. "Any questions?" Again, no time to answer. "Hope not. I just sounded the alarm. We are about to make some very dangerous, very gross enemies."

Atticus was in the grimmest battle of his existence, but it was not against the titanic god of destruction. The white wolf spun about on the balls of his feet, wielding the long silver blade of a sword above his head. Amber eyes burned into Atticus, following his movements as the incubus shifted his weight painfully following the strike of the werewolf’s weapon.

Bleeding from more wounds than he could count, one of his wings bent unnaturally at his shoulder, Atticus snarled and whipped his tail behind him. Resilient though he was, Atticus was no warrior, at least not of the same caliber as the white wolf. If their bout lasted much longer, Atticus knew he would fall.

Behind the poised werewolf and some distance off, the massive figure of Fenris twisted and writhed, locked in combat with the doomed heroes of Bain & Hoyle. Atticus cursed himself for allowing the traitorous werewolf to catch him off guard, and steal him away from aiding his comrades.

In that brief moment of respite, as he stood bleeding, Atticus’ mind drifted to thoughts of his friends, and he hoped against hope that they were all still alive. A twinge of fear came to his heart as Siya’s angelic face blossomed into his mind. He thought he could feel her, like the sensation of a butterfly resting upon his skin, and he gained solace from that distant sense. It was enough to at least reassure him that the tiny vampire was still among the living. As if in cruel answer to his buoyant musings, a horrific hiss echoed from the direction of the god-wolf, shaking the earth and buffeting the clouds above. Atticus’ heart sank.

We are not meant to survive this, he thought, how could we expect otherwise?

The werewolf chose that moment to charge. In an instant he was before Atticus, the sword swinging in a deadly arc for a strike across the demon’s chest. With a deft flick of his tail, Atticus barely managed to swat the blade aside, taking a unbalanced step back as he did so.

Atticus' maneuver was rewarded with a slash of claws that opened his flesh at his left shoulder. A sharp cry of pain barked from Atticus' lungs, and he dove away from the werewolf as best he could.

As he moved away, Atticus could swear he hear the werewolf laughing.

Fenris shook his flesh, much like a dog shaking itself free of moisture. His eyes churned with the rainbow inkiness of crude oil, and his massive jaws clacked together with a resounding crash of bone.

The vermin that defied him were proving more irksome than he had thought possible, as not one of them had yet to have the good sense to perish. Things had perhaps changed more in the thousands of years of his captivity than the god-wolf had fathomed. Those creatures who naturally tapped into the rivers of the beyond were more potent apparently; stronger and less fragile than their forebears. Or so the god-wolf surmised.

This notion angered Fenris.

He was going about his dawn of destruction too personally, too single-mindedly. His body, his power, his divinity was like an axe, and here he was striking at these insignificant creatures as if he were a penknife. The whole of the world was to suffer his wrath, and these vermin were no exception.

With his mind resolved, Fenris lifted his mighty head to the clouds. His mouth was opened, and the long rows of his fangs curled towards one another like baleful tree-branches silhouetted against the dark sky.

Between these teeth a bright red ball of energy began to take shape. At first it was nothing more than a glimmer to those upon the ground. Then, slowly, it began to grow in size and intensity. Tendrils of crimson lightning coursed from between the monster’s teeth, and bolts flashed out from the clouds to add to the growing ball. The flashes came faster and faster as time passed, and the crackling ball of energy expanded with every bright strike of the ethereal lightning.



What met the vampire that had punctured the flesh of the god-wolf was nothing short of a typhoon of power. Like a tank of compressed air pierced by a needle, it rushed outward from the god’s body, enveloping her with a force of eons and the sting of eternity.

Fenris’ essence teetered on the brink of overwhelming the vampire, tearing at her soul until the very link with her physical body was almost severed. If not for the ancient blood* that had already steeled her veins, it most certainly would have.

Through the agony that she would come to endure as a result of the intoxicating blood of the god-wolf, the vampiress had managed a feat only the other Æsir gods had ever achieved…

Fenris’ mighty armor had its first chink; a single hairline crack in the bulwark that was the mighty god of destruction. All that was left now was to exploit it...

*-In the first episode of Pieces of 8, Siya discovered that she was the descendant of a powerful vampire named Lord Morpier. To make a long story short, she was used to ingest and protect one of the pillars of vampire blood-power before it could fall into hands of Decima, the antagonist of the first episode. This was known as a Piece of 8, and it is where the RP got its name. This is the 'ancient blood,' and the subsequent strength inherent with it, that I refer to.