Gabriel bit his bottom lip as the truck rushed up the dirt path leading up the shallow hill toward the frightening peak. The child-like angel tapped the rubber wheel under his palms and hummed some ubiquitous tune. He fumbled with the ancient radio a little, found that it worked, and, like the child he was, set to finding a channel. Never mind that he would be back in the battle of his life-so-far, and not to mention for the whole Veiled world, in moments. Some American rock-a-billie chattered up for a moment then lent way to white noise. Opera, French, Gabriel noted with interest, then British punk. And there it stayed.

The beat-up hunk-a-junk jumped onto the wide platue where all the mess was happening. The hi-beams from the car slid over the broken darkness of shattered rocks and foliage, and settled on two figures in the distance. It was, Gabriel could discern, the white wolf from earlier, advancing on a battered Atticus, the quiet leader of these rabble-rousers. The truck skittered into a comfortable turn and then sped across the lumpy overgrowth beating for the white wolf. Gabriel poked his head out of the window as he measured the space between himself and the werewolf, between the werewolf and Atticus, between Atticus and himself. A wrench on the seat next to the angel provided the only tool he’d need. He wedged the wrench between the acceleration and stop peddles, keeping the car in motion. An instant later, the British punk rock blaring from the windows, Gabriel noticed his time had come, only a few moments are allotted for this action, otherwise he would miss the wolf, or hit Atticus. Gabriel opened the drivers-side door, set himself at the edge of the seat, hand still controlling the truck, and then essentially stood outside of the truck. When he noticed the opportunity, Gabriel launched himself from the truck onto the rough grass, rolling onto his back. The truck collided, just as Gabriel calculated into the white-haired mass. Gabe laid on the ground for a moment, hand on his head; that poor Irish woman would be quite annoyed with him for what he’d just done. He thought of her and smiled.

The Arch Angel stood from where he laid and glanced over at Atticus, he unsheathed his holy sword, held it over his head, “I’ve gotcha, Boss!” he said, waving the sword like a plaything. In another moment, just as he had before, Gabe rushed off. He was going toward where the truck had led the werewolf, there was no doubt that the monstrous thing was still alive; unless Fords are made out of silver, Gabe thought. He rushed past Atticus, giving a slight nod as he did, and down the other side of the hill where the truck had careened. His shirt was completely tattered, utterly useless, so he removed it, and tossed it aside. “So long”, he commented, feeling the wind rush against his bare skin, cooling the scars on his back which once housed flourished wings.

Semyon had simply... Disappeared. One moment he had offered her a hand from their more-or-less not entirely painful crash landing, and the next, the wight had vanished into nothingness -

No, not entirely into nothingness. Veti knew that deathly cold her Russian friend had fallen into, a world within and beyond this one that a certain pink-haired BFF could slip into with an unnatural [supernatural?] ease. The werewolf could not begin to imagine what in this world Daisy could possibly want with Semyon, particularly when she seemed to despise the wight with a very special kind of hatred - but at the moment, there was really no time to dwell. He was safe - or at least safer than being caught beneath the enormous claws of a raging demigod - which was a hell of a lot more than could be said for -

What. The fucking. Hell?

The bouncing, careening headlights of a... A truck? Yes, it was a truck, some beat-up ancient piece of shit lurching toward the ravaged battlefield like some strange, geriatric cavalry. And the scene its bounding jostling headlights unveiled before her preternatural eyes sent the crimson wolf sprinting, her powerful haunches devouring the distance to her boss - her friend - and her mortal enemy.

In a motion as natural as breathing, Veti dropped the incendiary magazine from the pistol, and slammed in the silver, round chambered as she moved, her eyes never leaving the two figures those headlights illuminated, becoming brighter by the second. The loathing she had for the white wolf was visceral, needing neither reflection nor thought. Murderer, coward, beast. His life was forfeit. Her brother demanded it.

But it was Siya's exquisite, ivory face that flashed across her mind's eye as Atticus bled from innumerable cuts, retreating from the relentless onslaught of the white wolf's blade. Siya who would mourn; her precious friend who had only just found her Atticus again, who would be inconsolable, consumed by a desolate eternity without her infernal lover.

But that unthinkable moment was put off indefinitely, and quite spectacularly at that, as the ancient truck barreled into the white wolf like he wasn't much more than road kill. Damn, she couldn't help the wide, wolfish grin and the slightly maniacal laughter when she realized the fucking new guy had brains - or maybe just a touch of insanity - along with those crazy acrobatic skills.

Well, all right, just the touch of insanity then. Yeah, Veti had to give "brains" a pass as Gabe tore off the tattered shirt, sword in hand, and then... Then... Ran right by their bleeding, sliced up boss.

If she had a proper human face to palm at that moment, and even one spare second to do so? Yeah, she might have indulged herself.

Even so, Veti just couldn't help the lunatic mirth that rumbled from her throat as she slid beside her boss, one arm wrapping around his chest as she helped the incubus back-to-steady on his clawed feet. "Damn Atticus," she growled, heaving him upright though she tried like hell to avoid that tore up wing of his, "You look like shit, man. Keep bleeding out on the grass, and Siya's gonna be pissed."

The unmistakable scream of crunching, crushing metal, the teeth-grinding screech of claws rending an undercarriage to shreds stopped her laughter cold, and she ran with the incubus. Just past the hillock, the white wolf all but tore that truck in half, putting that aged, rattling old beast down for good. Pulling himself to his feet in that wreckage, the silver-edged shashka flashed in the moonlight as he stood to his full height. There was no more laughter from the white wolf now, only the promise of murder burning in his amber eyes as he lifted that ancient Cossack blade to run down Gabe -

Veti fired, the silver bullet shattering the bones in the white wolf's wrist. The shashka flew from his grip, its point buried deep in Irish soil - and not in FNG - as his shocked howl of agony gave even the Earth-ending wails of the Fenrir fair competition.

That made her smile. You had to take what joy you could at the end of the world.

But the white wolf was nowhere near done, cursing as he leapt to his claws, a dire glare for the still-living abomination and the incubus he had toyed with. But the driver was closer, that bastard who hit him with the truck, spoiling his sport - and he meant to see him his blood run over his claws before the end.

"Go for the eyes, Atticus," the werewolf growled in the incubus' ear as she reached to swiftly unfurl his one good wing. She didn't really need him to fly so much as to, well, glide a little. "Then tuck and roll. We can discuss trust issues and terminating my employment tomorrow."

"Well, you know - if it actually comes."

Veti was a crimson blur as she hurled the incubus with both clawed hands, straight into the path of the white wolf. In that split-second, she saw everything. She saw Atticus' halting flight, the distraction that would save Gabe, and the shocked roar that escaped the white wolf's maw. She saw his body twist just so, ready to swipe the demon from the sky but only exposing the width of his wide, ivory-furred chest - a perfect target.

And she saw the crimson bloom exactly where she aimed, the twin to her own silver-scarred flesh, when she pulled the trigger. The white wolf dropped, and Veti was satisfied. Yes, the world still might very well end tonight. But when she stood before the Throne of Judgment, she could say that this one thing was not left undone. That she kept faith with a brother, and that one sacred oath.

Veti strode to where the white wolf lay, mouthing a genuine, heartfelt 'Sorry' to Atticus before holding up one red claw to the FNG to back off. This fucker was hers.

The white wolf wasn't dead. Not yet. Yeah, Veti really was that good a shot. She smiled, hearing those bubbling, gurgling gasps for air as she approached. "Knife. Gun fight. Heh... " Veti slammed her knee into the white wolf's chest as she dropped, grinning as she batted aside his feeble attempts to clutch and claw at her as if he were no more than an irksome insect. "Yeah, that kiss of Luna - hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?"

The smile slid from her face, something predatory, dark and dangerous lighting her own amber eyes now. "Aislinn Hoyle was beautiful. Noble and decent, and worth a thousand of you, you worthless sack of shit."

The crimson wolf leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, almost intimate whisper as if to a lover, her words meant only for him. "I want you to know, this is the last thing your mortal ears will ever hear. My living voice, telling you that Reginald Hoyle sent me to kill you, and that he will laugh as your soul slides to Hell. Your life meant nothing. Your death means even less. And the Teachglach Mactire still lives."

Veti pressed the muzzle of the Stetchkin between those hate-filled amber eyes, and pulled the trigger.

Thad threw bolts of green balls toward the ass end of the wolf god. It wasn’t lost on him where he was ending up. At the rear, behind it all, unable to see much of anything. He lost sight of everyone he cared about. Where was Veti? Oh well, once you’re the rear man, you are the rear man.

As if to answer his self thoughts a bright flash of some other powerful color filled the sky above. Red lightning. Thad felt the energy crackle all around him in bolts. All his hair stood on end, his body quivered, electric pulses sizzled through him. Thad could not move. He felt the slip of everything as the red sucked all of him right from his body. From dusk to dusk. From ashes to ashes. From asshole to asshole. Thad didn’t fall to the ground. His eyes were wide open but he was not there.

Max snapped back to form quicker than he expected. But he wasn’t behind the mutt monster. What the fuck? No he was in the swamp stinking foggy sponge of the shit hole he had been stuck in before. No! He could not be back in that place. No, no, no. Max graded his own head and scream his deep frustration. He would not do this again.

When the feel of this real shit hole seeped into him, Max took his hands from his face and looked around. And who was right there? Fuck. Little pink girl scout and her puppy dog too. That already dead guy was right with her. Max was pissed. He marched, stomped, tramped right over to that little shit reaper girl.

“You get me the fuck out of here or I’m gona snap your fucking neck!”

Semyon's lips managed to pull themselves into a slightly deeper frown than normally possible for the undead man, but in the end was forced to nod in acquiescence to Daisy's -so that was her name- 'rules'. She had pulled him over here, she could bring him back, and in the meantime he might as well make sure she was clear to do whatever it was she was going to try. It wasn't as if his knife or pistols would have done much good against Fenris... though apparently they were going to do even less here.

At least here, though, he had a fallback plan.

"Hand-to-hand, drown them..." Slipping his knife back home, the Wight took position at Daisy's back, hands at the ready. "...I can do that."

His gaze unfocused, features appearing almost bored as he stared out into the land of death. Eyes moved lazily in their sockets, head occasionally tilting this way and that, ensuring he took in everything he could at once. He remained otherwise unmoving, relaxed, watching for any sign of movement, listening for any sound of approach.

And he still nearly missed the first one.

Vaguely humanoid, the being detached itself from the shadowy murk to Semyon's side, lunging forth with grasping arms. Reflex forced him to dodge, leg sweeping back to pull his entire body out of the thing's charging path. Training took over in the next instant, lips pulling back in a feral snarl as Semyon latched upon the creature's arm and neck with vicegrip hands. His momentum switched, the leg that had swept out sweeping right back in, locking in place just behind the grappled creature as the rest of his body followed suit. The frantic lashing of the creature's free hand meant nothing, it's form overbalanced and overpowered, grotesque features managing to part in time to emit a high-pitched screech before Semyon buried it completely in the waters behind it.

That same, preternatural chill bit the Wight's hands as they submerged, sudden current seeming as if that was all the contact needed to pull him down as well. He broke his grip in an instant, stumbling back from the waters and forcing his mind to calm as the creature was pulled away.

One opponent down, and two of Daisy's rules proven to be very, very true.

Semyon returned to his position as watchdog in time to spy... Max-or-Thadd? Daisy had brought him along as well? Was that a... good idea?

Max-or-Thadd didn't seem to think so, at least. Anger showed itself in every facet of his movement. Completely understandable -Semyon hadn't exactly wanted to be brought here himself- but the man threatening the one person who could bring them back did not sit well with the Wight.

"Don't snap her neck..." He broke his vigil a moment longer to try and meet the man's gaze, until another of those creatures decided to pounce down on him. He snapped back to attention, deflecting grasping limbs with brutal efficiency, eyes ensuring none flanked him as he worked to wrestle this newest opponent down into the waters as well.

"...Please. Please don't snap her neck."

Pain, Agony, those words were but shadows of what it was that Siya felt as the font that was the blood of Fenris flooded her mouth. She would have screamed if her mouth hadn’t been so busy gulping down the ichor that held the power of the ages. As it was she simply clung to him and took in all she could and prayed she would walk away from this.

It was more than just a physical act of drinking, this consumption. It was so much more and she felt the intensity of it all but ripping away her remaining humanity. Her last thoughts had been, you are what you eat and there was some small truth to this. As she took in the blood of the god, she became more god-like and he became less. She could feel it, somehow, through the maelstrom of agony she felt at their joining. She witnessed the weakening of this unstoppable foe and that more than anything made her knuckle down and endure.

Great big gulps she took and felt her very essence expanding. She felt the darkness inside her that was the piece of eight swelling, growing and moving closer to the surface. Just as her eyes flooded with darkness, the blue chased away by the hunger inside her, her body now was consumed by the darkness of her blood, swollen past containment by the gift of Fenris it covered her from head to toe. She didn’t not grow physically, Whereas before she had been a pale blood-stained blot of white against the giant wolf, she was now a shadow so dark it seemed to suck in all the ambient light from the stars and the moon. But never the crackling red light of the god, it never touched that.

That was in the physical realm, in the world of between and perhaps others she grew. To anyone with the means to see would in those worlds they would see a giant roiling mass of shadow that rivaled Fenris in size with a vaguely feminine shape.

She reached her limit and pulled her mouth off of the wound with a shriek that sounded out as loud as a bean sidhe’s cry. A warm font of wolf-god blood sprayed her but was sucked into her blackness in the same way as the light and she dropped to the ground, flipping midair to land on all fours.

She spat on the ground and within the darkness that was her face a hint of a distasteful grimace could be seen.

“Fucking geriatric werewolf.” She snarled. It figured, she had thought Hoyle tasted gamey, a long caged god was worse, so much worse. She would need to get this taste out of her mouth and if she were going to do it how she liked, there was something she was going to need to take care of first. She spat again and rose up to her full, petite height. Though it was night, though her body was sucking in the light a shadow fell behind her and stretched long as if a light had just dipped up above the horizon and shone long and low on her. Her shadow was as large as Siya was small and it was more than a match for the god-wolf.

She stepped out from under him and circled around toward the front, her steps casual and slow and when she was not too far from his line of vision she stopped and slipped two onyx fingers into her mouth and whistled, long and low, just like you would to summon a dog.

“Hey Fucker.” She called, her tone insolent and arrogant, meant to irritate and attract. “You are nothing but a fucking Dog let off his chain by an idiot and you are too fucking stupid to take your freedom and run. So now we get to play.”

She cracked her knuckles loudly like a street tough and sneered at him.

“The first thing I want you to do is Play dead, I’m going to teach you, I think you will like it.”

With that she blurred towards the weakened god, speed and shadow woven together. She would rip him to fucking pieces for what he had done to her Atticus and the others would see that he was no longer the unstoppable force, he was just a piece of shit who didn’t know his place.

Something was wrong.

Well. No fucking shit. This wasn't your average Tuesday afternoon, this was Bain and Hoyle. "Something's wrong" was pretty much their logo, only stylized and in Latin.

But this time, something was really wrong. And it wasn't the wight, or the fact that he was holding his own against pissed off souls who'd already started showing up for the game. And it wasn't godwolf or the way his soul writhed in her vision dancing, immaterial, in her line of sight, ginormous as shit and just waiting to be taken down. And it wasn't the fact that Daisy was once again dabbling where she wasn't supposed to be.

It was MaxThad. Or just Max. And the fact that he was here, and he definitely should not have been.

That much was evident in the Reaper's face as she turned to what she have been the most minor of threats in the area, between the wight, the souls, godwolf, and herself...and yet somehow represented the greatest of them all. Even if he wasn't pissed -- and he was. She could feel hostile aggression rolling off him like a physical heat -- she'd have been worried. Because while she'd singled out the wight to take with her, she hadn't been anywhere near Veti's boy toy. He shouldn't have been able to get through at all.

But he had.

And that? That was wrong. That was dangerous. That was...scary.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Daisy blurted, for once not sarcastic or cynical, just confused, and more than a little freaked out. She could count on one hand the number of creatures she'd seen able to cross over without her help, and they were none of them good news. She was flicking back through her memories, trying to remember any cases, even just one, where she'd accidentally brought someone over to no effect.

She came up dry.

Max should not have been there.

Something was very, very wrong.

Before she could say anything else, though, the wight was knee deep in water, wrestling with another creepy grayish soul. Her eyes flicked to him, trying to communicate the danger without even realizing it. He wouldn't know what this meant. He wouldn't understand -- would he? -- what it meant that Max had been gone for a year, and now he was back and untrustworthy and dangerous, and she didn't want him anywhere near Veti...let alone herself.

"T-try it, and I leave you behind," Daisy said, trying to sound smug instead of scared shitless. Because here, on this side, he would be stronger than her. Oh, he didn't know it, or else he wouldn't be threatening here. But after a year on the wrong side, especially with Daisy already exhausted and distracted...if he wanted to hurt her, he could.

Still. She braced herself and put a hand on her hip and smirked imperiously. She couldn't afford to lose the advantage here. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Max was just scared, just like she was, a fucking cornered animal at the end of his rope. Besides. She and MaxThad had never been friends. But she and Veti were. He wouldn't really hurt her.

Right?

"You wanna get out of here," she said after a moment, "help him watch my back." She thrust a finger at the wight, her gaze once more lingering longer than it should have. "Let me fuck godwolf's shit up from this side, and we get an easy ride back to the other side."

Then she turned away from him and went back to her work, slowly siphoning the silver-gray aura from the godwolf, ignoring the cold sensation filling her chest. She could no longer tell whether it was godwolf's spirit...or just fear.

A bound demon very rarely uncouples from its host, mostly because most bound demons are evil, malevolent and content to help rip apart the world. Kata was not so inclined, and had relative freedom outside of Jay-Jay's consciousness: it was one of the most unique parts of Jay-Jay and Kata's relationship. While Jay-Jay was busy, the fire demon seemed to roam the field of war, almost-but-not-quite-invisible, like the flicker of mist. She reached out to the various members of the Bain and Hoyle group, communicating through the mind: so as to avoid tipping of the wolf.

”Jay-Jay and I will do something rather dangerous now. Should you see something unusual appear, please don’t kill me.”

She knew that the message might well fall on deaf ears, but at least now she had warned everyone not to try and stab her. It might act as a shock to the newer faces, although even the veterans of the group wouldn’t have seen this.

Returning to Jay-Jay, the demon found her host working on a new sigil, with incantations mixing common English with elements of Greek and Nordic rune work. It was a mish-mash, to be sure. Yet it seemed to suit the strange human perfectly. Eccentric and scatter brained and a bit all-over the place, for sure: but at least she was starting to rack up the ‘useful’ points.

The spell was far more complex than any of the others she’d dabbled with under her return to the Bane and Hoyle group. It was the size of a person and square in shape, unlike the more common circular formations that made up magical craft. Squares were for more powerful spells, because circles were free flowing and squares were more rigid…more controlled.

After a while picking away at her sigil, seemingly oblivious to the outside world and the efforts of her fellow employees, Jay-Jay eventually stood up and then stood in the middle of the square. The first step she took seemed to ignite the borders of the mark, and the fire-magus found herself surrounded on all sides by fire.

It was a scary thought, what she had planned. It involved a whole lot of trust and a whole lot of faith in the demon inside…and she was still technically a demon, even if she was a damn unique one. It didn’t matter though, because she couldn’t afford anything less than everything. Henry owed her a date, dammit. She could hardly let the world end before that happened.

The fire of the square seemed to die down after a moment, only to be replaced by the igniting of the interior. It was like a square of the earth suddenly became hellfire, as a nearly mile-high pillar of flame erupted from the earth in a meter-by-meter radius. Something inside the circle was igniting everything, and to a few people in the group: it would be reminiscent of the number of times Jay-Jay had transformed to help deal with the first vampire.

Then the fire intensified a whole other notch.

The flaming pillar grew in size, and started to crack through the square box. Little spears of fire jutted out seemingly at random, threatening to ignite anything caught in the path. The burning was a pure white heat, and for a good few breaths, it raged, and raged, and raged, until it stopped in a snap.

Like a snuffed out candle, the pillar died down to a single, dull humanoid shape. A creature made of flame that was vaguely feminine. Its eyes seemed to twinkle like the colour of coal and on its head bore a crown of half a dozen ebony horns. She was a contrast of white fire and dark symbols. A demon, but not quite as you’d expect. It seemed almost…divine.

Katago̱gí relished the moment of complete freedom. To be unconstrained was a rare treat that had last time led to the burning of London. One didn’t really let an Ifrit of her stature of the leash so easily. She seemed to float, as opposed to walk: an effortless glide that had her moving through the air, drifting towards the wolf as if there was no rush at all. She began speaking, and the words seemed to come out…wrong.

“Fenrir the end bringer, you are threatening to break my planet.”

In a flash, the flame-being seemed to flicker above the Wolf’s raised maw, between the gathering ball of energy and the sky. “I was not made a gift for these humans, only to let some puffed up puppy destroy it. Prometheus would not be amused.” Even Katagogi was not foolish enough to think herself Fenrir’s equal in a one-on-one situation, and yet he was being assaulted from multiple angles. The vampire and the Siren had begun to assault it, and the Reaper was oddly non-present, which generally hinted at her own involvement.

The Promethean Ifrit did not need to fight alone.

Fire seemed to dance between the Demon’s fingertips as she pushed down on the sickening ball of energy. Resisting its effects and trying to force it back down the End-bringer’s throat. Fire let fly from her digits and she began to blast at the attack, letting off ridiculous heat to all who came close. She was going to force feed Fenris this ball of death, and she’d make him choke on the very thought of coming against the Bain and Hoyle group. She didn’t have time to mess about with the wolf-god. Time unbound was precious: and this power would not last long. The candle would flicker and dim soon, and then, she wouldn’t have a chance of fighting the World-ender head on.

Gabe prepared himself as the white wolf came forth, his hulking muscles imposing on Gabriel’s relatively small frame. He held his holy sword with two hands, defensive position defiant against the raging, frightening werewolf. The wolf could scratch all he wanted, he could bite, and slash, and beat against Gabriel’s chest; the Angel now knew of his capacities. He wasn’t a hard hitter, that was the magic users, and the vampire who whisked around the battlefield. And he was not as dexterous or as fast as Veti or Atticus, but Gabriel knew that he could withstand anything the white wolf had to throw at him; Gabriel was the unbroken.

In moments the werewolf was offset, his curved sword went crashing to the grassy ground, only a few seconds before a leathery dart plucked at him from the sky. Atticus landed somewhere behind the white wolf, outlined by the fiery remains of the car crash. More shots rang out and then the wolf was down, laying in his own blood. Veti came over to claim the kill, nothing Gabriel would think of denying her. As far as he could tell, this beast killed a close friend of hers. Gabriel knew that he should have mercy for this animal, Gabriel knew that was what his Majesty would want, but Gabriel was all too familiar, especially now, of the power of human emotions, he was wrapped up in it. He wouldn’t dare to steal the fruitful moment from Veti, not in a million years. Yet, when werewolf’s life was snuffed, Gabriel winced a little. He calmed himself by remembering that this individual was also wholly evil, not worth dreading over. That was how he would get over killing the other wolf from earlier, it was how he would get over this, and it was how he would get over many of the deaths to come; some which his blade might act as a catalyst for.

Gabriel was over by Atticus while Veti dealt with the white wolf, he checked him a little, without touching, and offered some solidarity. “Thanks for the assist, if you guys hadn’t hopped in I might have been a pretzel right now. Then I’d look like you.” Gabriel smiled briefly, unaware of the mild insult, then scratched his head, that’s when the final bullet was sent into the white wolf.

Gabriel turned around, he saw Veti standing alone over the werewolf’s corpse, it gave him chills. Menacing red light from the horror of Fenris outlined the bluff above them. Small figures darted to and fro on the battlefield atop the plateau. Gabriel could feel a heat, a preeminent heat which wafted from the wolf-god. It was a heat familiar to Gabe, as he’d felt it while in the presence of his Majesty. Along with the heat, incidentally or no, came a fire demon, conjured most likely by Jay-Jay, the red-head firestarter. Gabriel felt bad, even now as he took a moment to breathe and clear his head, for not engaging the wolf-god which was so embattled with... his friends?

Gabriel jogged up to Veti, his weapons holstered, his hands rubbing against each other to provide warmth. Despite the supernatural heat in the area, it was still damn cold, the sea air was likely the cause (and Gabriel’s shirtlessness didn’t help all that much either). Gabriel’s ligaments strained under his flesh as he shivered a little. He eyed the wolf-god, then Veti.

“You’re pretty strong when in your transformation, huh? What do you say about getting me on top of that big fucking thing over there?”

Veti stood, her wolfen maw grim, jaw clenched. She was satisfied, contented she’d done all she promised Reginald Hoyle - she’d lose no sleep after putting a silver bullet between the white wolf’s eyes. But there was simply no time to savor the moment - not with a raging demigod about to unleash some nasty scarlet lightning-imbued bit of utter destruction on an unsuspecting, unprepared world.

The werewolf turned back to Fenrir, back to the remainder of her small, beloved pack. Siya’s impossible shadow seemed to swallow the monstrous demigod, illuminated by a magickal fire the likes of which she had never seen that, she suspected, somehow emanated from Jay-Jay. She took in no more though, when she realized there was a voice that was actually addressing her in the midst of the chaos, shadow and fire and lightning.

Veti blinked, her brow furrowed for a moment as the shirtless FNG’s words finally began to sink in. “Well… Yeah. Obviously. But you do know Atticus’ flight wasn’t exactly voluntary, or really even flight, right? Heh... But sure, if you’re really looking for a lift? I got you, not a problem.”

The crimson wolf eyeballed the distance between themselves and Fenrir, and then waved Gabe to her as she took a knee. Ebony-tipped claws interlaced into a cup of sorts, her amber eyes boldly assessing the size and shape of this strange, shirtless new guy for a proper trajectory.

“So name your target on the demigod of destruction, new guy. Head? Back? Haunches? Oh yeah, and I’d toss you like I did our boss, but that whole ‘chunking you like an enormous pumpkin’ only works over small distances with wings - even broke ass wings. Still, you’ll get way more lift and accuracy if you put some of your own power and weight behind the toss.”

Veti’s brow raised questioningly as she looked up at Gabe, the vile miasma of the crimson lightning turning the whole of his pale upper body a ghastly, ominous red, as if he’d somehow been painted in blood. A sudden chill raised her hackles, from the thick crimson rough to her magnificent tail.

“Let’s go Gabe,” she growled almost impatiently now, suddenly plagued with her own misgivings, “Name it, and I’ll launch your ass up there man. I’ll be right behind you… “

Gabriel set himself opposite the crimson werewolf, he bounced his limbs into action, enough to get his angelic blood flowing. He shook his head a few times and then settled into a hunched position, preparing himself, when the werewolf spoke again, rushing him, Gabriel let out a childish puff of air.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He squinted a little, noted that last time his try at the head was unsuccessful, and took a deep breath. “I want to ride that doggie from behind,” Gabe said standing, he began to sprint, “And put some spin on it!” The Angel lifted himself from the floor and into the waiting paws of his lycanthropic catapult. She lifted with her incredible strength, and launched him in the air, just as she did Gabriel kicked with his feet, remembering how he would take off into the heavenly skies. He curled into a ball just as he lifted off in order to gain more speed and energy. Near the height of the jump, some several hundred feet in the air, Gabriel uncurled with his arms outspread. Wind rushed his hair back as he fell back to the earth with incredible speed. The angel passed the fire demon, catching the heat of the flame as he did. Gabriel timed his next moves perfectly. He rolled into the rough, prickly fur, almost sliding off onto the wolf-god’s tail. Instead he found balance and unsheathed his sword and one of his pistols. A crackling of red lightning rushed pass Gabriel. The Archangel looked up toward the engine of this damnable, organic train, unsteady as he balanced on the raging back. He saw the fire demon attempting to push back the red orb Fenris had summoned, that was likely what caused the lightning to strike back here. Gabriel was spurred forth then, knowing that if there ever were a time to attack, it was now. He began running forward at a moderate speed, his sword dragging behind (as much damage as the relatively short sword would be able to do), shooting the bursting rounds ahead of him.

“Let’s go you son-of-a-bitch. Come on.” The angel murmured to himself more than to Fenris. When his current pistol was out of ammo Gabriel tossed it into the air in front of him, as calculated as ever, jumped to intercept the flying firearm, drew his second (spinning as he did so), caught the empty pistol in it’s holster, and landed shooting once again, hacking at the god-wolf’s back with his sword.

Ok, ok, use logic and pleas, Max could take both. Sort of. It wasn’t like he really was going to snap her neck, was it? He knew she was some pink freak gatekeeper and no sence closing anything just yet. Not when he was on this fucking side again. He and the dead guy who knew the same with his request.

So in a easy to see fowl mood, curses slipping out, he sloshed over to stand beside Semyon. He growled at the guy. Then let his fury find some creepy grasping ghoul trying to pull him under. No fucking way. Max used more force than needed to punch the thing back into the marsh. Bring ‘em on you rotting corpse.

Through the splashes he found it hard not to direct some hate toward that friend of Veti’s who must want to pull him back here. Never did trust her. But then, Max never felt much of anything for anyone but Siya and Veti. Thad was a different story. Why wasn’t he the fuck down here and Max up there with wolf god? It was his turn damn it.

Max felt another strange slimy attack and found some release in the over needed display of revenge. But as he stood back up he felt something different. Cold. Not from anything around him but from deep inside, the core of his own body. Something was beginning to freeze inside him. Or that’s how it felt.

It grew and in someway it told him he was back. He was here to stay this time. What had let him out before would not do so again. And since he was here, that dead flower’s fault, he should pay his debt. Maybe make a trade?

What? Max tried to shake the bone chilling feel in punches . A trade. He felt more than heard an answer. Something was crawling around inside him. Something ice cold and spreading. Max didn’t understand how he was hearing or feeling this and what trade it was talking about.

Then inside the frigid feel he cracked the answer. They wanted her, Daisy. They were as pissed at the fucking pink girl scout as he was.

Slowly Max looked around a glared at Daisy.

Semyon dropped to one knee, then launched himself upwards, open palm striking the creature before him square in it's ephemeral jaw. The thing stumbled back from the blow, only to suffer a second as the Wight's closed fist hammered suddenly down from above. Driven low, the creature offered only a brief struggle before a booted foot drove into it's back, submerging it under the waters to finally be taken away.

Most recent threat dealt with, Semyon fell back to the edge of the shore, taking the opportunity to glance over at Daisy... And at Max.

He saw the reaper's look before the most recent attacker jumped him, and as he continued to struggle against the dead 'things' her efforts drew forth, he became more and more aware of just what it had meant.

She seemed scared of Max-or-Thadd... She was scared of him, moreso than of Semyon, it seemed. It didn't seem like she had brought him over here, or that he was exactly willing even if she had. There was a problem between them, and even while Max-or-Thadd took to the Wight's flank in defense, his attentions seemed focused more and more of Daisy behind them.

It wasn't good.

"Watch your side!" Stepping behind the man, Semyon batted away the grasping arms of another creature with a quick snap of his own. Lunging forwards, he managed to snag the thing's sides in both hands as it tried to fall back, switching momentum to instead haul it towards himself. He lifted the creature back and up, pausing for a moment as he nearly overbalanced, teetering back and forth before sliding a foot forwards and slamming it hard into the water before them. It hit with an echoing splash, droplets chill even through his coat as they spattered his form.

"Focus comrade." He kept position on Max-or-Thadd's right now, fending off the newest creature that had moved in to attack even as he dispatched the previous. "They wait to see us distracted. Keep watch ahead!"

And then he was tied up with grasping limbs and shadowy forms once more, unable to keep a strong eye on the man beside him. He had to hope Max-or-Thadd would choose to focus on these creatures around, and leave off his anger for Daisy until later. She was their way home, and she was the one who seemed most capable of doing something about Fenris. No matter what he thought of her, or what she thought of him, right now she was the only VIP in the room.

Which meant Semyon couldn't allow anything to threaten her. Not Fenris in the land of the living, not these creatures of shadow in the land of the dead... and not his own comrade, who right now fought beside him.

Veti put all the spin on Gabe's toss that he ever could have wanted, grinning widely as her amber eyes followed him appreciatively along the length of his graceful falling arc toward the Fenrir's backside. She shook her head with an incredulous chuckle.

Batshit insane. A crazy fucker - yeah, she'd called it. Hopefully he had just enough brains not to fall off the ass end of the Fenrir, but at the moment the FNG was nowhere near Veti's biggest concern. No, at the moment she was sprinting toward Siya and her impossibly huge shadow, the one that seemed to engulf the demigod of destruction in a darkness that was all the tiny vampiress' own. Honestly, she hadn't the least idea what she would do when she got there, but Veti had had enough time away from her partner this past day. It was about damned time they got in on a little action toge -

Veti stopped cold, falling forward to all fours, her momentum nearly sending her hurtling to her snout in the dirt. She simply could not believe, would not believe, what she was seeing before her very eyes.

"Thad?"

A groan of inconsolable despair escaped her throat as she closed the distance between herself and her love in an instant, her powerful arms wrapped encasing him entirely as she pulled the seemingly catatonic man close, lifting him off his feet. Even beneath her thick crimson pelt, Veti shivered at the cold that radiated from him like mist off a block dry ice.

And the werewolf knew this strange, unexpected sensation that had absolutely no place here in this mild Irish night, beside the crimson lightning of a god that wanted to burn the world to ashes. This was the cold of Daisy's realm. The cold of the grave. The bitter chill of a cooling corpse beneath a lake of black ice.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't right. He had only just returned to her. They had fought so hard to find him again, to bring him back...

"Thad? Baby?" As she cradled him in her arms, Veti could feel the labored rise and fall of his chest, and knew there was still breath in his lungs, however shallow; his heart still beat, though far too slowly, far too faintly. His blue eyes were still wide open, but unseeing, almost unblinking. Whatever had happened here, the werewolf knew instinctually this was no working of the Fenrir.

Her lover held tenderly in her arms, Veti retreated several yards from the demigod, knowing very well that neither she nor Thad had a thing to offer in this fight. She had fulfilled her promise to her only wolf brother and now, if the whole world truly was crisped to ash by the Fenrir, if somehow, some way, her friends' gambit failed? There was little else Veti could ask in this life, but to leave her mortal life beside the man she loved.

The werewolf collapsed to the ground, Thad's unresponsive body still held to her thick, heavily-muscled chest as she gathered all of him to her. His head was nestled in one of her great, ebony-tipped claws, and she rocked him so tenderly.

"Thad, baby please wake up. Look at me please, baby look at me. Please don't go - not yet. Not without me... " Great tears welled up in her amber eyes, trickling down her muzzle to fall against Thad's neck. "Stay with me Thad," she pleaded, "You, all of you... The pieces of Max, the warlock, the student... The son, the lover - my love. Come back to me baby, please... "

But Thad did not move, beyond what faint, nearly imperceptible motions of his lungs and heart, that said he still somehow remained this side of death - though for how much longer, she could not begin to guess.

"I love you Thad," she whispered, one of the werewolf's claws running the length of his now-limp arm, bringing his fingers to her maw, laying the cheek of her great head - wet with tears - in his palm. She would never love another, as she did this man. He was her love, her mate, the one perfect man born to complete and match her in every last way. There should have been a ceremony. If they both had not spent so many years in complete idiocy, there would have been a ceremony, a grand celebration with beloved friends and family, filled with laughter and reminiscing and jests and probably not a little drunkenness, to share the promise of lives entwined with love and devotion to the end of their days.

"Please don't go. I love you." Veti felt so hollow, empty, holding the shell of the man she loved. The werewolf turned her head to the hand she held, baring her teeth as she wrapped her jaws oh-so-gently about Thad's forearm. Slowly, deliberately, she sank her fangs into his flesh, her long soft tongue lapping about his salty skin tinged with the faint coppery taste of blood.

"You are my mate, Thad," she whispered as she released his arm, the wolf disappearing into the woman who still held the man she loved so dearly. "That 'maybe someday' we talked about earlier - it came tonight baby. Forgive me. But if you are going to leave me here alone, or if we're both going to die tonight? The whole damn world, this side of death and the other, will see and know. You are the one I was created for, and I have always known that you are mine... "

Tears coursed down Veti's ivory cheeks as she rocked the still man in her arms, sitting there in the ominously flickering scarlet flames of the Fenrir.

Thunder cracked and roared overhead. The enormous sphere of baleful energy sizzled, tearing into the night sky with ever more ferocious vigor. Each new bolt of green lightning that struck it was a massive finger that touched from the clouds, adding fury to the ball with each new explosive concussion.

Fenris, the god-wolf of destruction, stood beneath this roiling emerald orb. His maw agape, holding the ball of energy as if his teeth were some grotesque setting of a ring, and the ball was the gem. The green light reflected into his eyes, the obsidian pupils dancing like electric mirrors to the instrument of destruction held at his muzzle.

This was to be the moment. Fenris could feel it, could sense that his time had come to erase the world at his feet, and usher in the era of his own making. He had upset the prophecy of Ragnarök. His coming, early and chaotic, had thrown off the balance that was to follow. The Æsir were helpless now. Odin, Thor, Víðarr; none of them could fall from the heavens to stop him. The flow of destiny had been shifted, like a boulder planted in the heart of a river, and it would never flow the same again.

It was then, as the great god was about to release his weapon and fulfill his new destiny, that he heard the sharp bite of whistle at his feet, followed by words of power and menace. The black eyes glanced earthward, affixing upon a tiny creature bathed in an ethereal darkness more profound than even the god-wolf had ever seen. Her words struck him as so pitifully useless, like the bray of a dying beast at the jaws of its hunter. Yet, it was in that instant that he felt a sensation.

Pain.

And it was a pain unlike any the celestial beast had felt in all its long years. In antithesis to the anguish he experienced while holding the great sword in his mouth, or the agony of the tightness of his bindings, this new pain came from within. It felt like a white-hot spike had been driven into one of his hind legs, and from it, fire seemed to radiate through his veins. Amidst the pain, Fenris perceived another strange sensation, that of fatigue, diminishment, and a sickening lethargy that felt as if his very essence was oozing forth from the apex of his wound.

Dazzled with confusion and a now dominating grip of torture, Fenris didn’t see the coming of the shadowy vampiress as she leapt towards him. Her body, incarnate with his own power, perforated his flesh, and riddled him like a ebony needle. A cry, so strange and foreign from such a mighty figure, bubbled up from his throat, and cracked the air no less than thunder.

Then the Promethean struck. A fiery demon of ancient hells thrust downward upon the god-wolf’s ball of destruction. Weakened and under assault, Fenris roared with disbelief and agonizing rage. How could this have come to pass? Flashing staccatos of doubt and hatred filled the mind of the god, even as the reality of his doom pressed ever farther towards him.

The ball of energy strained against the burning will of the demon above, and the faltering god-wolf beneath. It seemed to contort and shift, straining against the powers of the two unholy titans that ensconced it. Fenris’ inky eyes widened in horror, just as a flurry of angelic lead perforated his weakened flesh, just behind his ears.

For a seemingly eternal moment, the god-wolf stood there. The expression of pain and astonishment slackened off of the wolfish face of the god of destruction, until at last the jaws went limp. They fell then, like two pillars of flesh thrust from their foundations, toppling downward towards the Irish countryside. As Fenris’ jaws fell, the legs gave way, and with a sound like a roll of crashing breakers, the god-wolf plummeted from his mighty stance.

When he struck the ground, Fenris’ body shook the earth. No mightier a quake had befallen the emerald isles, and in all directions a wave of broken land cascaded out from the epicenter of the god-wolf’s corpse.

The green, and crackling ball of death, once suspended in limbo between the Promethean and the Rökkr, was now free of its bonds. Pressed downward by the fire demon, it plummeted towards its maker’s dead body with the fury of vengeance as its engine. Though the god that had brought the terrible weapon into the realm of the living no longer occupied the plane, it mattered not. Its purpose and might still existed, and if it struck the Earth, even in spite of the god-wolf’s dire failure, those who had won their victory would not live to see the coming dawn.

Blood

Rich blood

Divine blood

Heart’s blood.

Siya was swimming in it, literally. Dark, rich, vital and thrumming with power that threatened to overwhelm her. How large was the heart of a Wolf-god? Large enough for a tiny vampire to rest comfortably inside, feeling the slowing rush of blood as the wolf-god died. She reveled in it, opening her tiny mouth, sucking in not only the blood, but the divinity and then the death of a god. It was so good, so right that she should have this feast, so right that she should take in this blood. Such feasted, gulping it down. It was almost as good as the blood of Atticus.

Atticus.

The name rang in her head. The taste of him momentarily overriding the taste of this spiteful, dead god. She was glutting herself like a tick and she did not know what had become of her Lover, or her friends. What sort of person was she? She was a monster, not a person, she chided herself as she began to move. Blind she wriggled around until she found the opening she had made on her journey in as she’d ripped through his flesh. Shifting, wriggling, lubricated by the dark heart’s blood she wormed her way back out as blind as a newborn. The tight channel of flesh seemed to cling to her and she had to struggle to make her way out, as the wet flesh sucked at her, but she fought onward until she felt the cool wash of air on her face. Covered in a thick mask of blood her eyes were slow to open, her lashes gummy with the thick fluid. But she forced them open just in time to see the green ball of fire that her recent prey had been making spinning towards the earth.

Some instinct warned her that if that ball landed, dire things would happen. She didn’t think, she simply moved, slipping from the slit in the flesh followed by a font of blood like a newborn she flipped midair and landed on her feet. She looked up, her all black eyes the only color other than deep arterial red on her tiny form. She saw the arc of the deadly ball and charged forward to put herself between it and the ground.

She hadn’t know what to expect, she hadn’t had time to expect anything. She had simply reacted and now, as the green ball, so much larger than her landed on her tiny hands and then her shoulders she screamed. The noise cutting through the night as if countless fingernails scratching across slate. Like Atlas with his burden of the heavens on his shoulders she stumbled and knelt, one knee falling to the earth as she struggled to keep the ball aloft long enough for help to come.

Pain was too small a word for what she felt. Agony didn’t cut it either. Whatever it was burned into her, ate away at her and she suspected that it was only her coating of a god’s blood that kept her from being instantly blotted out. But the blood was burning now, and it was only a matter of moments before it was gone and after that, she would be gone too.

“Help!” she screamed to whoever could hear her. “For fuck’s sake do something!”

Atticus groaned, pushing himself painfully up from the broken ground. Since Veti had flung him at the white wolf, the whole world had been a blur. Broken, bleeding, and completely disoriented, Atticus could not comprehend his surroundings or begin to know if his friends were alive or dead.

With eyes clouded with debris and the haze of nausea, Atticus scanned the world around him. As far as he could see, crags of shattered earth and rock protruded at unnatural angles, rising up towards a sky that was an eerie amalgamation of black, grey, and shifting green.

Green? Atticus thought, distantly recognizing the abnormal nature of such a color in the sky.

His mind began to clear, and comprehension slowly began to return to the incubus. He realized that all he could see was bathed in the bright, unnerving green color, as if the whole night was being illuminated by a flickering neon sign. Reality struck home, borne upon the emerald light, and a maelstrom of thoughts rushed into Atticus’ mind.

The white-wolf.

Ragnarök.

Fenris.

A cry, piercing with notes of desperation, and tragically distinct, met his ears. Atticus’ eyes widened in horror, and he spun about with agonizing quickness.

Siya!

There, perched upon the mountainous corpse of the god-wolf, was the tiny vampire. Coated with thick crimson gore, she stood like Atlas, pressing her tiny frame against the crackling green orb that dwarfed her almost to the point of invisibility.

“Siya, no!” Atticus yelled to her.

Without thought his feet began to move. Shattered though he was, the incubus began to charge across the riven ground towards where Siya stood in torment. Atticus unfurled torn wings, ignoring the lightning strikes of pain that shot through his body. With each new step, he flapped and jumped skywards, crying out as if the exclamation would itself carry him into flight.

A final grunt, and a last valiant effort of will propelled the incubus from the ground. From his wings, raindrops of blood fell from the many wounds, yet still he flew. With each pulse of his muscles, a haze of black rimmed his vision, threatening to strip him of his consciousness. Atticus fought through it, calling upon every ounce of infernal power to keep his mind anchored in the terrible plane that was reality.

Distantly, as he careened towards Siya, Atticus realized that in his current state he could offer no help to his love. When he reached her, if he tried to ease Siya’s burden in his natural body, he would be utterly destroyed by the malevolent power of the green ball. He was no god, and he had no means to assimilate a god’s divine resilience as Siya had. Yet, as he passed over the dead hulk of Fenris, Atticus knew what he must do.

With an ungraceful lift to his wings, Atticus landed hard upon the corpse. He skidded towards Siya in a tangle of blood and fiery-red flesh. Stopping near her feet, Atticus scrambled up from the bed of thick fur, and lifted his head. Though, what looked up into the vampire’s face was not the Atticus she would have recognized.

Onyx tendrils, like rancorous ink, cascaded from around the incubus’ mouth and eyes. It bled over his skin, blotting out the red, and replacing it only with the stain of black. As his flesh transformed, his eyes dimmed from their bright crimson into pits of darkness, until in a sudden flash of dull orange, they ignited like chunks of burning coal.

Thick, chocking black smoke began to pour from Atticus’ eyes and mouth. It billowed upwards, smelling of scorched flesh and brimstone, as it gushed upward towards the green orb. When the smoke met the energy ball, it flowed across it, enveloping the lower hemisphere in its acrid curls until all of that portion was completely obscured. More smoke rose from Atticus, issuing forth from his very pores as if they were chimney stacks, impossibly thick, and noxiously potent.

Like the smoldering demon he now was, Atticus rose up fully. He placed himself beside Siya, and he pressed upwards with all his might against the orb. Hell itself channeled through Atticus, the incubus acting as a living conduit for the power of the underworld. The ethereal smoke buoyed up the ball, easing the burden upon the vampire and the demon.

Even in spite of the mighty strength of the vampiress, and the malignant will of Hell itself, the orb’s destructive advance had only been slowed. It was only a matter of time before the vampire’s strength failed, and the demon’s body could channel no more of the Devil’s fury, and was banished into oblivion.

Like the break in an ice damn, a glacier, cold surgered. From deep inside Max it sweeped and avalanched. As much as it came from within, cold also swept in a wave behind the three of them. They were watching her back. Well, Semyon was. Max let the push take him. He rode the freezing ice and directed himself right where it wanted to take him.

To Daisy.

One side cold. The other a blast of sticky heated wind. Something was coming in both directions. Max could understand the grip of cold that took him. It was the fingers of the dead world coming to collect their due. They wanted her. They had him. But she was calling something else. That punk pink headed chick was playing with her reaper toys and directing something bigger than should ever be here. Or if it should, it was fucking well gonna change the landscape some.

Confusion racked through Max, his own and that of the cold hand that held him.

Never mind, Max cursed. It was not his style to figure out everything. He was an action figure. So, go Joe. Go gettem’. To infinity and beyond. Right now that was Daisy.

Max leapt up in the air with his back to the new swarm of creepy swamp shits that surged just as he did. His aim was Daisy. Their aim was too. His hands finally ready to snap her fucking neck.

Right as he lept something shook his body. Like the cry of an injured wolf, his ears rang with a howl. He tasted blood.Not his own but, was it Veti? Max as much as Thad, knew the sound, the scent, the touch, the taste of that amazing wolf woman Veti. How could she….? He screamed in frustration. He heard Thad weep. But what could Max do?

Max was already committed to his attack. He aimed to be on Daisy and drag her down into the cold that wanted her. Her back was turned, his hands were opened, and even if now it suddenly seemed wrong, tasted bitter, he would follow through.

It was a trade.

"NO!"

More of the grasping dead pressed in, drawn by those not-quite-dead in their midst, drawn by whatever it was Daisy was doing to Fenris from this side. They surged forwards in greater numbers now, as if realizing their prey could not be brought down any other way.

Semyon met them head on. He had to. There was no choice.

Grasping arms were batted away or broken by the Wight's own. Lunging forms were deflected, defeated, and cast into the waters whenever the opportunity raised its head. Snapping blocks, brutal limb breaks, and vicious throws proved able weapons, and he put them to tireless use against the horde. They pressed forwards, he pressed back, centuries of combat experience pitted against a mass of primal hunger.

And then Max was charging Daisy.

He caught it from the corner of his eye- and froze, for a moment stilled into fatal inaction. It was everything he feared, the possibility that he could very well be stranded here, that one of his own comrades, who he bore a duty to protect, would kill him. The dead creatures took advantage of the pause, bearing down on his form, locking him in place and driving him to kneel into the chilling waters, while Max drove closer to the Reaper.

His comrade had all-but betrayed him, his charge was in danger and it appeared the entire world of the dead was set on breaking him.

But Semyon had to keep standing. He had to. There was no choice.

For ones like him, there was never a choice.

[["Dimitritch, our hero, failed. But we succeeded."]] Semyon drove against the pressing mass, breaking free long enough to fall back, out of the water and fully upon his feet once more. Those legs rooted themselves to the ground, words flowing freely as he concentrated solely on defending himself with an upraised arm. His other arm, left to instinct, separated from the mind that would undoubtedly cause him to fail, raised itself as he fought and spoke, reaching out behind the embattled Wight.

[["His Sergeyevna was lost, but I have eternity to find mine."]] A weighty snubnosed revolver pulled itself from beneath the cuff of Semyon's leg, held tightly in that forgotten arm as it centered on target. A short-cut sigh managed to escape his lips, the smallest flinch as he couldn't completely lock away what he was doing. What he had to do.

[["I will not die here..."

"...I am sorry."]]

With the dead still pressing him from the front. Semyon had no option but to aim the revolver to the center of Max's back, and drive the trigger home until the chambers spun empty.

(( [[ <- being spoken in Russian-> ]] ))

Daisy was fairly certain she was going to die -- not that she had any idea at all of what that meant, except it was big and bad and scary as fuck -- and she wasn't thinking about how to fix things, or what Artie was going to do. She was thinking about Veti.

What. The. Fuck.

She had been able to feel the tension building behind her. As she siphoned off God Wolf's spirit, the dead came fast and heavy, drawn like flies to a display of power that was alarming at the very least. Useful for most. Dangerous for anyone who so much as touched her. And while the wight seemed more or less competent, she wasn't dumb enough to think he could hold off all of them by himself forever.

And it was by himself. Because she understood it now, far too late. She should have seen it the moment he stepped back through the gate and into Veti's arms. She should have been suspicious -- how had he found them at all? -- but Veti had looked so goddamn happy and Daisy had been too busy sulking to notice anything strange.

Well, now she noticed. She could feel his gaze heavy on her back, and while she didn't dare turn around, she was sure to keep half her attention on him. If he attacked...

And then he did. In almost the same moment God Wolf was gone, as Daisy was turning to tell them both it was time to get the hell out of dodge, he was lunging and she was turning and staring there, blank faced, some idiot deer in the proverbial headlights, thinking about what she'd have to say to Veti if any of them made it back.

"Sorry, I had to kill your boyfriend again. But this time, he was being difficult. Honest."

Yeah, that'd go over well.

And then the wight said maybe the only thing anyone could have said to draw her attention away from the horde of dead now insistent on dragging her away.

Weirder than that, she didn't even know what he'd said. It was some other language, a series of phlegmy syllables and hard consonants she only half understood. That wasn't what bothered her. What bothered her was the weird sense of deja vu it awoke in her.

Blue eyes flicked to the wight's face, confused. Stunned.

"What did you say?"

Thad reached her before she ever got an answer. And then, seeing the wight's plan, she swore under her breath, ducking to the right, dragging both of them down. Daisy felt cold water close over her head for the first time in a long, long time. and if she had a heart at all, it was beating wildly against the inside of her rib cage.

Thad was beneath her, and then on top of her, and then beneath her again, and then she was up, stumbling away, coughing, choking, as the water around them swirled at the center of a growing horde.

And worst was still to come. God Wolf, she had no doubt, would be pissed.

They needed to be gone, and now. Daisy knew she had neither the time, nor the energy, to get them back across the other side. Veti was going to be hurting for a little while longer either way, but it was that, or deal with none of them returning at all.

"Thad, stop it!" she half shouted in a not-at-all authoritative voice. "Don't fucking make me leave you here. Whatever you're hearing, whatever they're telling you, they're wrong. They're lying." Two of the horde broke off, splashing at her through the water. She tensed, gritted her teeth, swept them aside with a touch of the Scythe. She was shivering. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"They're dead, dude! You got out -- you think they don't want to fuck your shit?" As she spoke, she edged slowly closer to the wight, no real plan in her head, except that she needed to get to higher ground, somewhere she had the power again.

Suddenly, there was a blast of cold, enough to knock half the dead off their feet, into the water, carried away into the gray mist. The water at their feet frosted into ice around their ankles.

God Wolf had arrived.

Daisy felt her spine lock into painful rigidity. The decay wrapped around her torso and arms burned with cold. Swearing, she drove the butt of the Scythe into the ground at her feet. At once, a wall of water surged up around herself and the wight and Thad, the dead around them momentarily thrown off. It bought them mere seconds, and Daisy was already trembling with the effort, eyes focused on Thad, cautious, careful.

"I can't hold these walls long," she grunted through clenched teeth. "If we get trapped here with God Wolf, the others won't be able to do shit for us. I am your only chance to crossover again." The towers of water behind him trembled meaningfully, the spectres on the other side now gaining in strength and number. "You think you're dead? They can still kill you. Don't make me bring down the walls. Trust me -- Death is much, much worse than dying."

When Fenrir's body plummeted to the earth, the ground trembled and bucked at the monumental impact, screaming in protest, absorbing the death of a god and breaking beneath the weight. And as the remains of Ardgroom's ancient circle shuddered in a quake like no other known on the Emerald Isle, all Veti could do was wrap her body about Thad's, holding him to her tightly and shielding him from the terrible wrath of the fallen Fenris.

The onslaught subsided - or at least the furious assault on the earth itself found something like an end. But as Veti raised her tear-streaked face, dirt-caked now and wild with anguish, she heard Siya's scream for help. Her head twisted about, mouth falling open in shock at what the vile verdant light illuminated. It was a sight she would not forget to the end of her days, her tiny vampiric friend bent under the weight of that lethal ball of malignant green lightning like Prometheus beneath the weight of the Earth.

No grief would keep Veti from her Siya's side. And she knew all too well that neither Thad - nor even the part of his soul she knew and loved as Max - would ever forgive her for not answering the tiny vampiress' cry. In the moments it took to lay Thad's fading body gently to the ground, kissing his forehead in a tender farewell before turning to sprint to Siya, Atticus had come to his lover's side as well. The incubus brought the infernal furies to bear, an image that would have driven any one of the Faithful to their knees in fervent, frightened prayer.

Shadow and Hell twisted and writhed beneath the emerald colored sphere that promised only death. A swift, slightly hysterical thought flashed through her head, the delicious irony that two forces whose essence was the very antithesis of life, had somehow managed to keep the wrath of a god from killing them all. Veti probably even laughed, deep and more than a little frantic, as she dashed to maw of the dead Fenrir, once again becoming the crimson wolf in the space of her long, loping strides.

There was no plan. Not really, not one she could have truly, properly called a strategy of any sort. All she knew, was that Aislinn's face flashed across her mind's eye, and then Reginald's, and then the all the faces that populated the strange dream she'd had, the werewolves meeting by firelight among the standing stones of Ardgroom - and she felt a sudden, confident and undeniable strength surge through her body like electricity, a power she simply knew was not merely her own.

Veti's ebony-tipped claws wrapped about the canine tooth of the Fenris wolf, the very one she had seen small enough to be carried by Aislinn Hoyle, the talisman the white wolf use to break the chains that bound the god. Screaming to the green-tinted heavens above, the thick, coiled muscles roiling beneath the crimson-furred flesh, she ripped the fang from its moorings and vaulted up the Fenrir's body.

Veti did not hesitate for a moment as she plunged into the frigid shadows and the sulfurous fumes of Hell and, with both hands, slammed the Fenrir's own fang like a spear into the sphere that carried the vengeance of a god.

The pain was... Indescribable. The rancor of a god was distilled agony, and a river of burning torment coursed down her fingers, her arms, searing its way down her spine and through her powerful legs. She could feel the flesh sloughing off her claws where the fang was buried, blazing down her forearms and even baking fur and skin from the top of her head and face. Not even the regenerative powers of the werewolf should have kept her there, standing and - somehow, miraculously even - still alive.

But clinging to this mortal coil meant there was no end to the torturous scorching that blasted her again and again, waves of a relentless, emerald firestorm; nor the howling crescendo of a scream that was torn from the werewolf's throat and carried across the ruins of Ardgroom like a harrowing gale.

Henry was pouring his all into it now. His new instrument was spinning threads of magic together at a insane rate. Complicated weaves of elemental energies made needle thin ice spear a into meter long ballistic missiles of pissed off, siren powered ether. He drove them into the wolf with all the anger and sorrow of those who the God-Wolf had called upon to torment Henry just moments earlier. He pounded the Wolf with barrages of hyper dense streams of water, capable of cutting metal clean apart. He lashed at the wolf, tore at his weakened body. Then came the Prometeans fire, and everything changed. The wolf was desperate, angered by these meager foes suddenly turning the tide on him. It summoned something, something vile and terrifying. Henrys eyes were drawn to the ball of massed energy, and his entire being screamed for him to run. But were is one to flee, when the world itself came crashing down against you. Where do you hide from something like this. Henry never liked running anyways, he had told himself again and again it was time to stand his ground. He still had a Icequeen to kill. So instead. He lifted his violin to his chin once more. This time however, the tones were soothing and a strange contrast to the chaotic, dire situation they found themselves in.

Magic of another nature began to weave about in the air. They were warm, caring and downright loving in their caresses of everyone around him. Thad seemed to be out, but the lack of a Reaper told him it was not what it seemed. His magic cocooned around his body, surging it with the elements raw power as to provide him with a beacon once it was time to come back. They wove around Atticus, the demon Henry owed his life to and then that same stream wrapped around the petite Vampiress that snared Atticus heart. It lifted their pain from them, the cold embrace of a unseen river washed over and reinvigorated them, meant to ease their pain. Another etheral arm danced around the brave and brilliant Veti, working overtime to try and regenerate the damage she caused herself in the face of a world eating, powerful ball of green death. They spread out like a myriad of shimmering blue arms as they reached for everyone present. One cradled the gorgous, inspiring firedemon that had saved him moments earlier as It all but sank into her, demon and human, and lifted that anger and pain from her heart as another surged tendril of vivid magic surged to aid the Angel, who Henry actually feared, but in this moment would give his life for if he had to. He connected himself to everyone, hooking a million tiny tendrils of energy into their overflowing emotion the same way he lured lusts and desire out of victims back when he was just a Siren, not Henry Grimm. And then he pulled their pain, sorrow, fear and despair of them.

The Siren took their all of their pain, every ounce of it, and he absorbed it.

The feedback was immediate. And it was merciless. The pain of searing flesh, of crushing under the weight of the entire world hit him hard enough to stagger him. The loss of family echoing in the back of someones mind, the fear of being a outcast from someone else. He had no idea who felt what, he did not care. They were family. They were his to protect, his to heal. He took it all in, he endured as his skin started to break in a way similar to when the God Wolf had tried to kill him with his own magic before. He screamed as it began to break him apart, he felt his magic slipping. His sight grew blurry, but he stood his ground in all his radiant, gods given fury. And then, a face flashed before his eyes. A trick perhaps, of etheral nature. Perhaps a ghost of his mind given form by rampart magic. He cared not. The blue haired woman stood beside him. Cold, gorgeous, magnificently tragic in her rags and drowned self. Her voice was cold, like the river that birthed him.

”Henry grimm, have you forgotten what you promised?” The woman smile and the words echoed suddenly in the Sirens head. Like the tones of some forgotten masterpiece, they awoke his being in a way he thought not possible. Something took a hold of him, and he rose, their pain still in him but he withstood it. He was flash of white and blue, magic running wild as he drew the under ground rivers beneath their feets to swell and try to break severa hundred feet of compact soil to come to his aid. He was furious with himself, to allow himself even a single moment of weakness could kill them all. Here, in the chaos, his friends were fighting to the bitter end, he would make sure they survived or at the very least, die standing and without pain.

Max was almost on Daisy when she spun and pulled him under. That fucking pink punk was way faster and stronger than she should have been. But the real hocker was the sound of gunfire right behind them. What the hell was that? That shit rag mop shot at him! But the bullets almost seem to surprise the cold grip inside as much as Max. Ice shattered. Like the break of dangling icicles falling from a roof edge the freezing inside him fell to his feet and shattered.

Or maybe it was the swamp water inside his mouth and nose. Or maybe it was the way this little girl was rolling him around. Trade? Fuck the trade. He was getting smacked.

When she let go he stumbled up and let a string of useless curses fly, at her, at Semyon, at the damn cold, and soon enough at the new force of heat rushing in their direction.

Then dead doll did her thing and a wall of water rose up around the new best friends. Funny how fighting bring you together.

“Ok,” Max spit out the water. “Ok. No trade.” Max held his hands up for Semyon to see even more so than Daisy.

“I don’t know shit but whatever is coming don't want to be here and whatever is here sure the fuck doesn’t want it. There are gona be some big bangs here. Let’s skip the fucking fireworks.”

--

Thad was there, sort of. He wasn’t until some warmth flooded through his veins. He could feel it. It traveled all through his body waking up each little part. Max got the ice fingers and Thad got the warm love. He reached for Veti. Not in any movement at all. He couldn’t move. Max was in the land of the dead again and he was a shell just waiting for life to come back.

But he had something he didn’t have last time he lay dead for so long. Something Veti gave him. He could taste her in him. He wasn’t sure he understood what but he didn’t care. It was her. It was her fight. It was her strength. And she had given it to him.

He would gladly take every last drop and suck it up.

Thad couldn’t really see or hear but something was all around him. Energy. The basic stuff of life. There were swirls of negative energy that crackled with never ending absorption. It felt as if it wanted to take all the world inside it’s green and black hole. Take it all. Just pull it in. And once in, it would be gone. But there was positive energy too. Bits of darkness that resisted the life sapping hole. Bright flashes of light kept the hole from expanding. Crimson sparks cut into the side of the green depth. Then a strong line of white light began to thread through all of it, all of them. It pulsed and began to shrink the green light.

They were fighting back. Thad knew the black rips were Syia, and flashes Atticus and the red sparks Veti. He knew them all. He could feel them. But his surprise was the white light and the force behind it. Could that really have the flavor of that song singing shit, Henry? The magnitude of ice boys power only now clear to Thad.

Give sweet face credit.

As Thad felt all this not being able to move at all he tried to think of some way to help. He had to help. All he could think of was the warmth flowing through him. Fight negative with positive. Hate with love. Ok, lame, very lame, but it was all he got. So Thad called with what he had, just the sense of things, just his mind, just his heart. He loved these guys. Even that shit Henry. And Veti. The love of his life. More than that, love in his death as well. They were fighting. He would too. Just trying to add more positive, more light to the deep green hole that was swirling around.

The magic of love.

Shit, don’t tell Max or Daisy. They would most likely split a gut laughing at him.