Andri took a long drag of his cigarette and let the smoke linger in his mouth, probe the cracks between his teeth and seep into his tongue. It almost made him cringe in revulsion. He held it in for as long as he could, then swallowed, making it even worse.

He hated smoking.

But too often recently it was the only thing he hated more than himself.

Even now, he could feel the demon at the pit of his stomach, running its nails up and down the barrier of his consciousness, testing it. It remembered the days when the night made demons stronger.

Somewhere someone revved the engine of their bike and it let out a sharp, hoarse roar. It fed on the darkness and grew closer, weaving its way through the city’s streets until it passed him by and vanished once again, poured into the endless sound of traffic. Another bike awakened, perhaps a friend, or maybe a foe, and followed suit. Loom’s nocturne. Always dangerously mysterious. From the twentieth floor of his balcony, Andri couldn’t spot any trouble but he had no doubt that it was omnipresent in the capital, always quietly lurking beneath the streetlights. Like a worm waiting for the rain to surface, like his own infant curse…

One could only envy the angels’ ability to dive at will with no repercussions. They had been the sentinels of the city long ago. Now it was up to the likes of him to keep the sleepers safe… and he wasn’t sure what he’d even do if he faced one himself right now.

Things were not looking good. His future was fractured. His own soul was cracking, making a confusing kaleidoscope of what used to be a clear picture. A dozen questions plagued him with a dozen versions of his own face, the shiny cracks becoming paths, shrouded in darkness and uncertainty.

He was looking at his future through a fractured glass that was his own soul.

His consciousness was unstable. The bite only happened four days ago and today was the second day when he’d awoken to blood on his hands and chest. Animals, sure... But it was disturbing that he could taste the difference. It was disturbing that he could smell the exhaust of the bikes fifty meters up above the street. It was disturbing that when they’d gone to the hospital, the nurse looked at them with a questionable amount of sympathy and said something along the lines of “It’s all part of the natural cycle, you have to find a way to adapt” and assigned them a therapist instead of a doctor. One for both of them, too.

He’d smashed a window on the way out, which turned out to be his most expensive outburst so far.

Andri let out a puff of smoke and rested his head on his arms. To be quite frank, he was feeling a bit lost. Becoming a Wielder was a spontaneous decision… but getting possessed wasn’t part of the plan.

Now he was forced to stay in a hotel because he knew that his condition wouldn’t go unnoticed in the Academy. All it would take was someone with a transparent instrument, or a mental link with his shard, or even just someone with very finely attuned essence senses. He didn’t know how they would react to having a demon walk amongst them. Maybe one of Kanna’s missed calls held the answer. A non-human Wielder was a contradiction… yet he had the nagging feeling that this title was the only thing keeping him sane right now. What would he be without that job? How would Mary-Anne afford her medications?

Andri lifted his head, forcing the grim thoughts back, and let the cigarette drop from his hand, swirling violently as it headed for the ground far below. The ashes left a flaming trail that died before anyone even noticed it. A defiant smirk found his lips at the symbolism. He'd remembered something, a lyric from one of the Academy's many hymns. In the end they were “all just a crack in this castle of glass”. When he'd first heard it, he wasn’t sure why such a song had become one of Hazumi’s favourites. Now he thought he was beginning to get it.

---

Loom was a peculiar city. It was the city of angels, but also the city of demons, and the city of humans, and the city of chimeras. It was where the best and the worst things always happened, a place where dreams died and were reborn. Loom’s darkness was endless and so was its light. In the end Loom was simply a blank canvas, covered in colours.

It was no coincidence that Master Melody's Academy for Fine Arts was placed here. If one could learn to tell good and evil apart here, they could make it anywhere.

Tokarin wasn't very good at that just yet. Of course, her body was very hard to damage but her heart wasn't. And the next words that would come out of this newspaper agent’s mouth would send a tinge of guilt down the young angel’s spine.

“You got a picture of ‘Infamous Joe’?” His eyes were fixed on the picture, wide. He didn't see that she'd twitched the moment he touched the innocent piece of paper and was already trying to calm down.

“I never knew he was infamous. What did he do?” Her voice came out steady but that was only because she tried so hard.

“He’s raped five women already. The last one - yesterday.”

Oh Gods..

“How did you get this? It must have been literally hours before-- ” Now he must have finally realised how pale her skin was and how hard her lip was quivering.

She didn't apologize before running out of his office because she didn't want to throw up on his desk. Sick mixed with tears in the bathroom sink. “Good job!” He shouted her way a few long minutes later and at that moment she thought he was a worst monster than Joe Wheeler.

Furious with herself and the world, Toki left the building through the twelfth story window. She was never coming to this agency again.

A hard rain tapped against the closed windows as a storm blew by just beyond the panes of glass. The gust of wind threatened to throw the latched double windows open and disrupt the strange peace beyond them. The scattered beams of sunlight that sheared through the roiling clouds fell on a table with several empty breakfast plates on it. The teapot had long since gone cold and the cup that accompanied it had been abandoned half full as though something had pulled its owner away suddenly.

The rest of the room was in a similar state of atrophy the dying flickers of the fire in the hearth cast dancing shadows across the workspace. A volin lay all but forgotten against the legs of a wooden stool; ideal for preventing the musician from slouching while playing. The sheet music had been unceremoniously stacked; Irish reels, contemporary works and the classics had been jumbled together in the stack as though they were all one in the same to the musician who played them. Perhaps in the end they were as they had been abandoned by him for other works.

Light brushed against another half completed project. The tools of a sculptor lay unattended at the base of a piece of marble which was clearly being shaped into a human form. The carefully attending eye could tell that the rough strokes were in the process of shaping a female form before it too had been abandoned like some much else in the room had been.

Taking up the lion’s share of the room was the spattered work space of an artist. The man was completely absorbed in his work. Deft practiced strokes were finishing up the last of a portrait; it was a woman. Like so much of the man’s life the brush strokes that had painted a fair skinned beauty were only the surface of the real work. Every curve, every stroke and every drop of paint had tangled layers of essence woven beneath its surface. To the average observer the essence would make her all but life life in her appearance as though her caring eyes were reaching into the observer's heart and plucking at its strings. Beneath the pattern of essence that made the woman so beautiful and lifelike was another tapestry of essence. To those who could see it and experience it was a tangle of sorrow and longing woven through with memories of the woman.

A backless dress in a crowd of students and teachers as she wove through them, a goddess among mortals.

A single hand pressed to his chest as the open wound knit itself closed beneath caring fingers

The feeling of warm bare skin beneath his as they lay on the soft carpet of her office

An empty office devoid of the warmth that had once been there

A longing void where once there had been light

Setting the paintbrush down the man twisted his hands as he finished the layer of memories beneath everything, tying in the last of the imprinted feelings. Eyes of quicksilver flicked over the painting, identifying and correcting defects at an alarming rate. With a final twist the man sealed the essence into the painting and dropped his hands to his sides as the mercury drained from his eyes as the essence sight was released.

With a heavy sigh the man closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at it anymore; slow tears dripped down his face as the feelings and memories rubbed at the wards around his mind. The feelings wormed their way around the protections pushing at him. Threatening to drag him back down.

Flicking his left hand Lazarus pulled a white sheet over the portrait of his beloved Hazumi as he turned towards an arm chair which sat beside the guttering fire. As shuffled over to it melodic Gaelic rolled off his tongue and the fire surged as Lazarus picked up another piece of wood and added it to the blaze. Flopping into the chair he quickly wiped away the tears. It would be no good for Shaylee to see him in this state. Every since the girl had turned up on his doorstep he’d had to do things differently. Infact every since things had gone all to hell he’d had to do things differently.

With a practiced motion Lazarus pulled something from his right pocket and began to turn it over in his hand with smooth practiced movements as he stared into the fire in front of him. Suffusing his eyes with the quicksilver again Lazarus toyed with the molecules of the log on the fire rearranging them by memory, transforming the structure of the cells so they resembled: oak, cedar, ash, spruce, willow. The ring in his right hand continued to turn over and over as his hands turned the piece of violet and silver metal end over end.

Finally blinking he tucked the ring away as he lowered the wards on his mind and began to search the house for his apprentice. Moving slowly down through the castle level by level he checked the kitchen, library, practice rooms, living rooms. When Lazarus finally found her he smiled. Shay was back at it again. Alchemy, she was no good at it but no matter how often she failed she always went back to it. Continuing to tinker and explore. Watching what she was working on Lazarus suddenly shot up off the chair. “Nononononono!” Turning he took off down the stairs out of his work room taking them two at a time in bare feet and fraying jeans as he raced down them. How did she get her hands on a copy of that volume?

---

---

---

---

I’m falling.

No… no… that’s not it, is it? This isn’t the breech that I descend upon, but rather, my own psyche.

I’m dreaming.

I’m dreaming that I’m flying. I always dream that I’m flying.

Perhaps this makes me an entirely uninspired individual.

Do you think it does? Hmmm.

I don’t care what you think. I like the feeling of flight. If I felt comfortable declaring it, I may even say I loved it. As it stands, I never got to do it much when I did have two good wings for flying-- perhaps I’m misremembering? I think I always found it relaxing, at any rate.

Maybe I hated how flying actually felt. This thought doesn’t bother me.

I know I hated the wings otherwise. I still do, though now it’s just the one-- I can’t even fly.

These dreams always seem to carry themselves to completion in, generally at least, much the same way, and I’m thankful for that-- it’s one of the few guaranteed things I have to look forward to, hypnos's sweet embrace, and this pleasant phantasos and pasithea granted by his kin...

I feel the world moving around me, like I’m in place and still, but some force is causing everything to reconfigure around me, to blur across my vision. The sky's becomes a dim azure, this visceral grey-blue that is the child of clouds and sky. I’m forever falling up and down, in this impossible state of existing purgatory.

Above me, impossibly, I see the stars and the milky way, despite it being noon, it’s as though I can look past the sun, while the sky is still the shade of this great sapphire. The moon is massive before me, a great silver eye, much larger than the sun.

Am I to interpret this? Are the sun’s energies not of great import to me? What is my psyche saying to me? I never see the sun in my dreams, but the blue of the aether is always due to it’s light-- it’s always daytime.

Truthfully, I don’t particularly care what a psychologist would say. I’m comforted by the dim moonlight illuminating the sky-- the sun is too bright. It’s nice.

Below me. The world.

I fly over the it all, I glide easily across French fields from my native Monaco to Loom. Traveling faster than one could comprehend, I think. Minutes, or perhaps just seconds, padded to feel like minutes. I see everything, and so much of nothing.

I’m going so fast, but I can see each individual detail of our earth, jade grasslands and cobblestone villages, I can see the beautiful Gothic Franco structures, older than I can comprehend. The gale is gentle against my flesh, I don’t have to squint.

I look to the faces of those that can see me-- I like to think they see me as astonishing. Children and adults alike, look up in awe at this wingless creature from the heavens.

‘I’m just a person,’ I’d like to tell them.

That’s not true though, is it?

They’d know it’s not true. Even in my dreams I am apart from them.

---

---

A gentle hand nudged the dark haired girl awake, “Melly?” came a soft voice.

Mel sighed, light returning to her vision as her eyes opened, sharply and quickly, but slight. The sigh was broken, not quite resigned-- her joy had gone errant, but apathy replaced it, not depression. It didn’t matter. “I fell asleep?”

The doctor nodded, “It’s becoming too common for me not to be concerned about, Mel,” Dr. Plath stepped back to her chair, “This is the 5th time in a row you’ve fallen asleep during our breathing exercises. Are you getting enough sleep at home?”

Mel was silent, her expression became a hard stare.

“Mel?” The doctor pleaded.

Mel shrugged, looking away from the woman.

Dr. Plath sighed, “A lack of sleep could be negatively impacting your mental health…” The doctor noted Mel’s downcast glare, “Mel!” She snapped, and was rewarded with the woman’s focus returning to her, “Your mental health is at risk, not to mentioned declines in physical performance, which, according to YOU…” She flipped through her notes, “Is ‘very important’ to your work.”

Mel’s eyes narrowed, her eyebrows glowered, before quickly relaxing, “I’m sorry for falling asleep, Doctor.” Mel didn’t smile, but she made an effort to at least appear kind-- the result was a kind of tragic half-smirk, “No-- I don’t get much sleep during the night, so I supplement by sleeping during the day-- these sessions mean I need to wake up a few hours earlier than usual.”

Dr Plath made a note of this, “So what are you doing all night?”

Mel shrugged, “Working mostly. I train, attend meetings with my father and complete whatever assignment he might task me with-- it’s mostly a lot of sitting around. I like going to restaurants, late night bistros have the most gourmet coffee, and some of the finest cuisine if you know what to look for--”

“Do you have any friends?”

Mel winced, and then sulked at this, Dr. Plath noticed this immediately, but it was already too late to take back the question. The two sat for a time-- two women illuminated by dying sunlight cut by the blinders-- Elenei’s wing could almost be mistaken for the brown of a fowl’s in the radiating orange light, the doctor was a picture from a black and white crime drama. Her expression a mixture of stark professionalism and genuine empathetic concern.

“I guess Mya…?” Mel muttered. Tilting her head to the side, processing the question, fully aware of why it made her so sad, and why it was important. Mya was her aunt-- she didn’t count. She should have real friends. She was on good terms with some hookers, barkeeps and baristas-- but you weren’t supposed to be embarrassed to tell people about your friends....

A heavy quiet dominated the air between them with a thickness like water.

“I miss the sea.” Mel declared, breaking the silence.

Dr. Plath didn’t look up from her pad, “Did you consider it a friend?”

“I’m not 12, Doctor,” Mel shot back, crossing her arms, “I don’t think the ocean cares for my well being… but…” Her expression softened, “I didn’t feel bad feeling alone whenever I went sailing. Something about the waves soothes your stress. It doesn’t matter if you feel alone-- it doesn’t have to be such a big deal, you can just… be...”

She continued jotting down her notes, “Have you considered heading down to Loom’s marina?”

“Nah.” Mel yawned, “I came here on my family’s drifter, Loom’s waters are different. They’re grey, stale… like… mechanical. Something about them freaks me out.”

“Hm.” Was all the doctor could respond with, before looking from the pad over to her watch.

“It’s about time, isn’t it, Doctor?” Mel preemptively said, already starting to get up.

“Afraid so…” Dr. Plath gave a sad smile to Mel as she made her way to the door, she got up to open it for her, “Please be safe getting home, Elenei…”

“Same time next week?”

“O-of course!” The doctor was taken aback by how quickly she was willing to confirm this with the girl, “And Mel?”

“Yes?” Mel stood half in the room, half out of the room now, she’d already picked up her sword, and her wing was completely in the hallway. From this angle, all one could see was a sad looking little girl. Not the weapon toting one winged chimera she was.

“I want to apologize for my questions earlier, you should know that I have no intention in hurting you when I ask you something. This should be a safe space for you, and I violated that by being too forward today. I’m sorry.”

pale skin gave way to a slight pinkish blush at that, “It’s okay, Doctor.”

“It’s really not, Melly-- It was unprofessional and came across as mean, I appreciate you accepting my apology in any case.” The doctor smiled, “Besides, I shouldn’t have to ask such a question, I already know at least one of your friends!”

Mel tilted her head for a moment-- but only a moment, her confusion was soon replaced with feelings of happiness and personal embarrassment as the doctor leaned in to hug Mel, saying “Me, of course!” Mel’s blush became a much more obvious red at that.

By the time the doctor said “I’ll see you next week, Melly.” she was already pressing the elevator button.

---

---

Mel exited the train station.

She was well used to the odd looks-- she looked enough like an angel that demons and humans alike would look cockeyed. ‘Why isn’t she just flying?’ They might think. Then they notice that she was missing one-- if she’s lucky, they won’t recognize who she is. Humans will just look at her pityingly.... Demons, no matter how well meaning, always just seem to look hungry.

Which, if she was being honest, that was fair-- most one winged angels must look like an easy snack.

Either type of judgement was better than the times people did recognize her as her father’s killing machine. Then came either abject fear, or some type of weird misplaced jealousy.

Apparently, the angel’s essence her father had used to cure her had possessed some type of magic-- because she could make her wing disappear when she focused on it. But as it stood, it required a tremendous amount of energy for few benefits. Maybe she was just bad at it?

Walking down the now dark, almost empty street, Mel made a beeline for an alley. The already dark sky was consumed by towering skyscrapers above her. It wasn’t like one could see every star in Monaco-- but in Loom one couldn’t even really get a glimpse of the moon.

Mel knocked on a non-descript door. Of course it had to be non-descript. It took her weeks of digging around to find any strip joints. Apparently the angel’s strong influence on Loomese law had made people ‘sensitive’ about places that ‘sold flesh.’ Laws like that meant that places like this-- The Saints and The Sinner Ladies-- were practically in hiding. Owning a strip place wasn’t illegal in Loom, but, to her understanding, it wasn’t really legal either.

How were aspiring gumshoes supposed to gather information to solve crimes if you make all the hangouts illegal? How does one investigate anything? And ignoring that, how do you hate a strip club? They had everything! Scantily clad men, women… things if you wanted, alcohol, fights, information, conversation…

If they served coffee, she might never leave.

Mel narrowed her eyes in frustration, and knocked again, slamming her fist against the old steel door hard enough to leave a dent. A metal panel slid, revealing a pair of worn-out, red eyes.

“What’s the password?” bellowed a dusty voice in a cockney accent.

Mel’s own French came through as she yelled right back, “It’s Morena Joy! Just let me in you asshole.”

The slide immediately closed, and the door opened. Before her, stood an imposing blue man, with a beer belly round and large, protruding in any direction several feet. Her arms and legs were muscular and stocky, yellow horns jutted wildly from his head like hair, his tired eyes glowed a dim red, and his nose wasn’t upturned like a pig’s snout, so much as it was a pig’s snout. He wore expensive brown jeans, ripped to hell and probably designer, and luxury sneakers he was no doubt about to brag to her about. He didn’t wear a shirt, and instead all that could be seen was a mass of green-inked tattoos, chest hair, scars, and golden jewelry.

“My pretty little bird!” He said in his exaggerated British, he immediately swept the tiny girl up into a hug that threatened to break her spine. Transporting her immediately from a dull, featureless street, into the purple haze of the neon club.

“Hi Belwas.” Mel managed to breath out under the strength of a hug that felt like the full pressure of Marianas trench. As he let her down, she made her way over to an empty table-- she always came early on days like these-- with Belwas following, “What’s new?”

---

---

---

---

Country Home, Outskirts of Loom. Owned by Marcela, Seraph Angel, Former member of the Angelic Council.

Scrape.

Just a little closer. He could see it, feel it calling out to him.

Scrape.

He just had to keep dragging himself across the floor.

Scrape.

Blood dripped down his chin. He wasn't sure if it was from his head wound or if he was biting his lip so hard his teeth had punctured it.

Scrape.

Sloppy. Sloppy. He had gotten cocky and now Delilah was dead and his arm was broken, the bone scratching against the floor every time he moved.

Scrape.

Delilah was in front of it. Her perfect eyes closed, those impossibly green orbs hidden from the world. She was slumped over, short brown hair tousled. She could have almost been asleep if you ignored the pool of blood beneath her and the unnatural angle of her neck. That bastard. He had killed her! He couldn't accept his fate, and instead fought and now the mission was in ruins and Delilah was dead. But he'd pay. Oh yes. He'd pay. Just as soon as he could get to it, that Angelic bastard would pay. Said Angelic bastard was busily killing one of the demons that had come with them. Slowly, from the sounds of it.

Scra-Thump.

He froze, shameful fear coursing through his body. The bastard couldn't be done. Not yet. The report had said he was obsessed with his hatred of demons. He should be taking his time with the demon.

Then where had that armored boot come from?

He laid there, arm halfway stretched out to pull him closer to his instrument, frozen in fear. Too scared to move. Too scared to look behind him. His eyes remained fixed on Delilah's corpse. Coward. He was just a coward and failure. It was almost a blessing to hear the whistling of a blade coming for him.

Shlunk!

Luicen yanked his sword out of the Wielder's neck, looking over at the only other living thing in the room. "I was impressed that you got two Musicians and a Battle Angel to come to your aid. It showed thinking ahead, which I didn't expect from you. But the two Demons disappointed me. Really? You sent two Surface Demons against me. Survivor of the Great War and every war since? Pathetic." He glanced around again, making sure every enemy was dead. The two Musicians lay near each other, one neck snapped, the other with a sword wound through the back of their neck. The vampires were in the right corner of the room, mostly in tact but with chunks here and there. He had taken pleasure in killing them. The Battle Angel was slouched in the other corner, black wings folded brokenly behind him. His body was, at least. His head was near Marcela.

Marcela laid in the middle of the ruined room, weeping and hugging herself, repeating 'my wings, my wings.' Her wings were damaged, the victims of multiple sword strokes. They were still attached, but flying would be out of the question for the next few months. If not years. If she heard him, she didn't give any sign. She was about his daughter's age when she was executed, their postures even similar before her death.

Lucien's face twitched in sympathy, quickly overtaken by annoyance. "Calm down. I didn't cut them off. Which is more mercy than your precious Council gave my daughter. Really though. For someone in possession of a Clairvoyant you were terribly ill-prepared for my arrival. Speaking of, where is your Clairvoyant? I have need of their skills."

Marcela glared at him through her tears. "Go to Hell, Deathbringer."

"I've already been there. Killed hundreds of Demons before they pushed us out. 'Deathbringer.' That's another thing that disappoints me. In my time we gave nicknames and titles that were respectable, and made sense. 'Deathbringer' can be anyone with a weapon and a vendetta. 'Blood Reaver', now that was a nickname. We gave it to Alexander. Crazy bastard. He'd go into battle, armed with nothing but his fists and armoured in the thinnest of clothing. The Demons, of course, would go for him first, thinking him the weakest. As soon as he started bleeding, they started dying. He used his own blood to craft weapons and armor, slaughtering them by the dozens. It was fortunate for the Cowards he died when Heaven fell. He wouldn't have stood for what they had done."

Lucien took a few steps towards her, kicking a Demon head out of the way. "You're going to tell me where your Clairvoyant is, Marcela. It's just a matter of when. I can make your death last longer than these scum." He gestured towards the mutilated corpses of the two vampires, obviously killed slowly.

Fear shown behind her eyes, but her face was set in stubbornness. "Why? What did they do to you? They weren't even alive during your war. They are innocent."

Lucien's laugh was hateful and mocking as he approached, now standing over her. "Innocent? There are no innocent Demons. They are all scum, monsters who deserve to be eradicated from the Three Worlds entirely. They exist only to make war and ruin lives."

"Really? Then why are we at peace with them right now?" Marcela snapped, trying to crawl away. Lucien waved a hand as he took a step towards her, keeping her within sword range. "It's a trick. They're going to betray you and the Musicians as soon as they are strong enough."

Marcela shook her head, giving up on her half-hearted escape. "I don't think so. It's too good for them now, too easy to get a meal and not be hunted. They can even breed with Angels like your daughter and neither side wil be-" Her sentence was suddenly cut off in a shriek of pain as Lucien's metal boot smashed into her face, shattering her nose. "Do not speak of her!" He snarled, kicking her in the face again. "You know nothing." Kick. "You think you have peace?" Kick. Teeth shattered, the shards cutting her mouth and tongue. "Where was your peace when Chime was slain?" Kick. Her head snapped back and hit the floor with a pain thud. Lucien's boot was covered with blood and spit and she was clearly nearly unconscious or dead, but he didn't seem to notice or care as he drew his foot up to smash his heel into her face again.

"Stop!" Lucien whirled around, sword at the ready, at the young voice. A young Angel, barely 12, ran past him, throwing himself in front of Marcela. "Leave her alone! It's me you want!" Lucien looked down at him, rage slowly flowing away. "The Clairvoyant." The boy nodded, glaring at him. Lucien crouched down, bringing himself eye level with him. "Tell me what I want to know, I and will leave you both alone for the rest of eternity."

Marcela had seemed to regain some form of consciousness, and was struggling. She was babbling some panicked words that Lucien couldn't make out, but he assumed she was trying to get the Clairvoyant boy away from him. The boy ignored her, hate and worried filled eyes fixed on Lucien. "You promise?"

"I give you my word."

That seemed to satisfy the boy, who took a deep breath before continuing. "What do you want?"

Lucien gave a grim smile. "Where are Ariane and Hazumi." The boy blinked in surprise and some relief. "Oh them? That's easy. They're in a place I've never seen before. It's all white and filled with ruins. But there's a growing blackness and danger there." Lucien was very still. There. Why would they return there..... "Thank you." He stood, beginning to leave the room before turning around and looking at the Clairvoyant as he held his mother's battered and wounded body, weeping. "A piece of advice, boy? Get her and yourself away from Loom. As far as possible. It's a focal point for trouble, and a storm is brewing on the horizon."

The boy looked up, tears streaming down his face as he glared at Lucien. "You're going to pay for this."

Lucien nodded, a sad smile on his lips. "I am. But it will happen long before you're strong enough to exact revenge. Don't go on that path. It leads to nothing but death and ruin."

With that, he left the building, heading towards Heaven's Gate.

Fran didn’t want to admit it. She wasn’t going to accept this. She refused to submit to her weakness, to admit defeat. She will overcome this. But there was no denying that for all her strength, Fran had a fatal flaw…

She had no idea how mortal technology worked.

She was no surfacer. She’s spent a good part of her life in Loom fucking and fighting, more of the latter ever since that cursed chastity belt was slapped onto her. And even so Fran just wasn’t in a fighting mood right now. She was hungry, but for a succubus she didn’t feed off food or drink. Well she can, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as feeling the life energy of a man or woman through intercourse. Even the best food for the gods themselves would just be snacks to the simple pleasure of sex. But alas, this cursed chastity belt took that away from her. So now Fran was trying to order pizza.

”Blood and Damnation! By the hells why is this so difficult?” Fran was at a pay phone, holding onto a flier. The Flier advertised quick pizza delivery anywhere within the city of Loom, and Fran hoped they could drop it off near her hideout: an abandoned bathroom in a park. Perhaps not the most… Glorious places to live, but Fran’s had worse. When you have literally slept with the dogs, a cold, dark latrine was hardly the worse places to be. At least the water was still running. But alas, Fran had no idea how this machine worked. She pressed the buttons and matched the numbers to what was on the flier, but it would only give her a long tone. Fed up with this, Fran smacked the payphone and drew her axe.

”I’ll spare everyone else of your uselessness!” Lifting her axe above her head, Fran smashed the payphone into two, splitting it from top to ground. A loud, electrical explosion boomed from the wrecked machines. Also coins, but Fran didn’t care for chump change. Also she didn’t have pockets, only cash which she had stuffed into her breastplate. She had no purse or pockets for coins, though occasionally she would take a handful for easy purchases like soda or gum. Feeling tired and bored, Fran figured that this is what she’d do. So she took a few of the larger coins and went to go look for a vendor machine. With any luck she’d find one that would serve hot and ready food, like burritos or cake. She knew they were here, though she was too far from the last one she used.

Sighing, Fran looked into the skies. A new habit that formed since she had arrived to the surface world: the skies had things to look at. She didn’t remember what it was like back in the hells, but the only reason you’d look up there was because you were knocked down. But here, Fran can look into the skies and see… Clouds, the sun, birds, and sometimes even airplanes. Airplanes were impressive to Fran. She had heard of the metal ships that sailed hundreds of thousands through the skies, faster than any dragon or winged beast. If someone would have told her that ship could have carried a small army across the world in less than a day, she would have assumed powerful magics. One day Fran would want to ride an airplane.

And have sex with someone on an airplane. She heard about something called the “1000 mile high club”, exclusive for those who wish to have sexs on airplanes while it flight. Also that airplane attendants were cute. One day Fran would have both.

For now however Fran simply wandered through Loom. She had arrived to Loom hoping for new possibilities in her life. Things were getting so monotonous in the hells, to the point she would be able to schedule it out. In the mornings she’d get paid to fight a demon or in a battle, and she’d fight for that day or at least a few hours. Then she’d leave the battlefield and find a demon for rough, unloving fucking. Then she’d go home, polish her axe, and maybe either listen up on local rumors or go to bed. It was that cycle for so long that Fran wondered if she was actually a robot, one of those human puppets. She certainly had the mindless work ethic down.

Hence why Fran made a break for the surface. Back where she lived, a chance like this wasn’t easy. While where she lived wasn’t quite a prison, leaving it was a death sentence. You may as well have hobbled yourself for a quick and easy death. Fran didn’t quite remember how she got out herself. She knew she wasn’t chosen, that it wasn’t an offer given to her. One day she just heard that there was a chance to get out, and she was one of the thousands to have tried to take it. And she was one of the five who actually made it. She thought a change of scenery was what she needed to start a new, better life for her. One that’s more fulfilling.

But so far she’s just been going back to her old ways, but even less interesting. The few times she’s fought with anyone, and she gets attacked by Angels. That was exciting, but then they slapped this chastity belt on her. Now after her fights, she can’t even feed. Sure she could try to rub against something, but that was about as effective as licking food instead of eating it. She would get the taste, but she could never satisfy herself with it. And with the lost of her sex drive, Fran’s eagerness to fight went down as well. She didn’t go looking for battles anymore, not like before. Sure she’d take jobs when they came her way, but now they were boring ones. Guards this. Protect that. No more killing jobs, no more assassinations. It was like this chastity belt not only deprived Fran of sexual pleasure, but violent ones as well. It was torture.

There were days Fran wondered if maybe it should all come to an end. This life on the surface hasn’t worked out quite as well as she’d hoped. It anything it was worse. At least in hell she could lose herself in the regularly scheduled ultra violence. Sometimes she might even fight a new demons with some tricks up his sleeve. But here Fran was deprived of these simple pleasures. So all she could do was eat and eat, until she’d finally waste away.

As Fran lost herself in the skies she noticed a winged humanoid flying away. ”An angel?” Fran has had… Less than pleasant memories of angels. Obviously, it was one of them that had put this cursed garment on her. But at the same time, she couldn’t truly bring herself to despise her holier-than-her counterparts. Sure she could hate individual angels just fine, but angels as a whole? She didn’t have a problem with them. They were so pretty, so powerful… And Fran has never had sex with an angel before. Was that even possible? She heard chimeras in this world were hybrids of demons or angels. Perhaps Fran could make a Hybrid of a Demon and Angel?

Only one way to find out.

The angel was flying far and fast, but Fran knew these streets well enough. Ducking into an alleyway she found a fire escape. For most humans it would require great feats of athleticism to reach the rooftop quickly, but for a demon like Fran it was child’s play. She easily leapt ten feet into the air, grabbing the railing of the fire escape and planting her feet on the side to propel her up. Like a cat on the prowl Fran continued to jump, grab, and launch until she reached the rooftop, where she would have a much clearer path to follow the angel. Even when there were streets dividing sections of buildings, with enough momentum Fran was able to clear these easily, continuing her chase for as long as she could. She wanted to see where this angel was going. See if there was trouble she could get herself involved in.

---

No rest for the wicked, as Donny always said. It was business as usual at Omnibite’s Performance Plaza HQ. It was one of the busiest locations of the Omnibite’s restaurants, thanks to it’s location near the Master Melody’s Academy for Fine Arts. If it weren’t students ordering food all over the city, then it was delivered to the store or picking up shipments from warehouses. When Donny came in he had about thirty minutes to get all his equipment and begin his deliveries: twelve locations which he needed to finish within three hours, get back to the HQ, and get ready for more deliveries.

But that was business as usual for this good ol boy. If anything, he was surprised it was so light. Normally he’d have to deal with 30, but 12 was better. He could use his bike for 12 deliveries. So with an assortment of pizzas, ramen, cakes, and other catering, Donny hooked up his bike to the business’s official bikewagon. Or as those in the business calls it, “The D’s Chariot”, since Donny, the emptonomous D, was the only one who ever made use of the bikewagon. Mostly since others use cars. But Donny felt faster on a bike, and it certainly allowed him to avoid most traffic.

With his route shipped out Donny left the HQ and was on his way. His first three were all clustered together in a single apartment, so he’d only need to make their deliveries and he could go. The apartment was about a mile away, and despite being on a bike that was easy for him. He took shortcuts through the alleys, taking bridges, tunnels, and even going up stairs. Those with a passing familiarity to Omnibites knew this fat boy on the bike, as he has already been everywhere in Loom at least once, and once managed to travel all of Loom in one day. Now THAT was an intense delivery route.

”Malkus, put on the beats! Play my Gotta Go Fast playlist!” Donny seemingly shouted at nothing, but in his pocket his phone, the Omniscience IV, heard it’s name called and did as it commanded. It started playing a song through Donny’s headset, to help him get musically pumped for the challenge ahead. The music inspired him to be faster, to see thing he too fast for most such as cars and the wind, allowing to to turn on a dime so smoothly, with such control, it was as if he simply teleported.

Donny’s first delivery went without a hitch. He grabbed the orders he needed, parked his bike, and in five minutes collected the money he was due and was right back onto his route. Now was for the next part of the challenge: crossing the main street. It was always busy, and for a sensible person they’d simply wait until the traffic lights were green before they went. But not Donny. There was a part of the main street which was thin, and at this part there was an alley. And this alley went down hill. So spending one of his free days off, Donny had rigged up a ramp for him to jump off of and land onto the other side, allowing him to subvert even heavy traffic. But he needed to be fast. So he would become speed.

Most bikes barely break 20 mph even on a freefall (Probably). But for Donny to clear this jump, with all his cargo intact, he’d need to hit at least 65 off the ramp. It was just a rough estimate of course, it wasn’t as if his bike had a speedometer on it. But he knew it in his head how fast he needed to go, and he was going fast enough now. He just needed to bring that speed all the way up the ramp and he was good to go. He had only seconds before he’d hit the alley, and he can’t lose any speed in that turn.

”Ara ara ara ara ara!” Donny chanted as he biked harder, his legs pumping and sweat dripping off his body. He was two minutes ahead of schedule, but that was two minutes he can’t waste. Not a second to spare for the limitations he’s placed on himself. Some may question Donny’s dedication and effort to the job. He was just a delivery man after all. It wasn’t a prestigious or even noble occupation. He delivered food to people: why put so much effort and risk so much for it? He was no teacher, no enforcer, not even that high into the upper management. So why did Donny risk so much for his job?

Because when he was hired, thanks to the efforts of his sister, she told him there was only one rule. And as long as he followed that rule, everything else was just a guideline. And her rule was simple: Don’t fail.

A rule he’s already broken before because he’s tried to play by the books. He was late on deliveries, got into accidents, and on one unfortunate incident got robbed. So now Donny plays by his own rules. He does things his way, because that’s what works best for him. Playing it safe and trying to hide behind a corporate banner might work for the punchclock, but Donny was a profession with standards. A man with honor. And his honor demands a timely, possibly even early delivery of his cargo to their appointed customers.

Nothing short of death was going to stop Donny from delivering deliciousness.

It was just before sunrise that Andri finally gave up on sleeping and headed for the Academy. The streets were scarcely populated with people, their grey shapes faded in and out of the morning gloom like the spectres that had recently started appearing. Men, women, winged or tailed, hurrying or lingering around the small shops that dotted the streets.

Still, they were few and far between. It had more to do with the part of town than with the time of day. One of the first things that had struck Andri when he first came was that Loom’s inhabitants didn't really stick to the human schedule of waking and sleeping. Instead there was a colourful current of people constantly cruising down the streets, each apparently sticking to their own routine. Many were nocturnal, many were diurnal and yet many others were somewhere in between. It was an oddity but not an unpleasant one. Loom truly was a city that never slept.

On the up-side, there were seldom huge traffic jams unless people were getting to or off work.
On the down-side, sunrise and sunset marked the times when the bustle of the city was the loudest. Those were the times when most of the megapolis’ inhabitants started their days and headed off somewhere. It made sleeping difficult for some... especially those with recently enhanced auditory perceptions.

Andri couldn't deny that he was cranky as he got off the tube, squeezed his way through the crowd and emerged on the surface. At the entrance of the station, once again there was the man playing his guitar, the ginger tabby a constant accessory on his shoulder. As the sun peeked over the treeline of the Academy it’s rays hit the cat and lit his fur on fire, making him look like a bronze statue, an eternal companion and listener. The music itself was nothing special but it’s sole presence in this cold november morning made things somehow more bearable.

Reaching into his pocket without slowing, Andri rewarded the man’s commitment with a few coins and put him out of his mind as soon as he passed him by. He reached the front gates in less than five minutes and paused barely long enough for the security system to scan his wrist and confirm that he was holding a Shard and had every right to be here.

Covering the Academy grounds took a bit longer. The crater that the Academy sat in had in time been levelled and planted with grass, flowers and trees, making it seem almost like a natural forest. In fact, the space was often utilised as a training ground - while the gyms, pools and underground tunnels were used for teaching specific techniques, trees often presented the biggest challenge when it came to combat. They bent and twisted the sound and many creatures were outright strong enough to knock one on top of you. To his right some workers were still cutting up the last remains of a huge birch that had presumably been used for exactly that. The electric chainsaws sounded crude against the songs of the birds but that was the cycle of life. Some perish so others could live.

The thought made him pick up his pace with a grimace and but he was too tired to invest any real feeling into it. His scowl was shallow, somehow lazy as he approached the building… which was probably why Kian, the short Asian kid who intersected him, didn't spot it right away.

“Hey there, Churchill! Long time no see, we thought the Boogieman got you!”

Andri’s eye didn't twitch, although it really wanted to. Second-years were always so overeager. Not as overwhelmed and timid as first-years but twice as cocky instead. They thought they'd seen it all by now, the poor souls. Kian himself wasn't too bad, he supposed, and normally he even enjoyed their interactions. The guy had come here all the way from New Zealand and was working two jobs to pay his rent while studying for a pianist. If anything, Andri admired his commitment.

“He tried but I broke his nails and he went home crying for mommy.” He gave the other boy a weak smile and waited for him to stop laughing before continuing. “I'm sorry but I'm actually in a bit of a hurry. Do you know if Hazumi is in her office?”

Kian waved his hand dismissively. “No man, haven't seen her in a week! Probably out on an adventure somewhere, putting some Lordling back in their place.”

Andri forgot to pretend to be amused and frowned instead. “Over a week? And no official warning?”

“No, man. You know how she is.”

It was true, he supposed. Hazumi came and went as she pleased, about as predictable as a snow in the winter. You knew she was coming, just not when.

“They should honestly find a way to make her stick to regular working hours.” He mused disgruntled.

“Yeah, maybe you should tell her that when you see her.”

Andri’s lip twitched and he waved a goodbye at his friend, deciding to check for himself anyway. With some luck, she'd be back by now.

Walking fast without looking at his classmates, Andri made his way to Hazumi’s office. It was roughly in the middle of this long building, on the first floor, presumably to allow her easy exit should she feel any imminent trouble stirring. She wasn’t a clairvoyant, but she was fairly good at predicting trouble, especially when more people were involved. The corridor itself was long and wide, covered in old-fashioned wooden paneling and although there was no natural light, the chandeliers far overhead made it almost as bright as outside. Unlike the rest of the administration which was congregating in the southern wing, Hazumi’s office sat alone in the midst of classrooms and training halls in the northern wing, the only indication of its importance being that the golden plate next to the door read more than a simple number: “Essence of the World”. It was slightly inaccurate, of course. She’d last been that back in Judas’ hand. Now the whole Academy was part of her and so she was a part of it too.
Usually this corridor was rather quiet - it was the first years that had classes here and they were seldom comfortable enough to cause a fuss. However, now it was almost desolate. The few students that walked past seemed somehow nervous. The voices were hushed, the glances were quick and fleeting and everyone seemed to walk faster than usual. Frown deepening, Andri overtook a big group of girls and reached his destination.

The door to the Essence’s office was remarkably indistinct – just the same heavy wooden brown as all the rest of the doors in the Academy. Normally it was closed, but often times it hung open, the sounds of rustling paper or quiet (often terrible) music spilling into the hallway and inviting people in.

Today was different. So different that at first Andri’s tired mind couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. The door was closed. Or rather, sealed off. Two men in heavy combat armour stood on each side, their bodies and faces completely concealed by metal and other materials he couldn’t name. His eyebrows arched even further when he spotted machine rifles hung casually across their chest on full display, well within reach for less than a second.

Black Guards. At Master Melody’s? That didn’t bode well.

The youth’s steps slowed as he hesitated. Everyone was giving the men a wide breath – something he couldn’t blame them for. The Black Guards and the Wielders didn’t exactly get along. Despite the fact that they both existed for the sake of preserving the balance on the Surface, they had very different functions. The pupils of Master Melody’s were every diplomatic way of solving a problem: negotiators, guards, investigators, interrogators, and soldiers when needed. The Black Guards were assassins. They were a special task force that dealt explicitly in extermination. The only similarity they had to the Musicians and Wielders was that neither of them discriminated against any specific race.

And if Black Guards were in the Academy, things were serious. Hopefully it had nothing to do with their patron going berserk and attempting something similar to what she had done a couple of years back.

Andri was well aware that it was a bad idea to approach the men – they were professionals, sure, but the likelihood of them being complaisant as well was minimal. Perhaps he did it out of spite.

“Excuse me,” he started as he approached, not going out of his way to sound polite. “I’d like to speak with the Essence if she’s in her office.”

One of the Men’s heads turned towards the student, the red glowing cameras of the helmet scanning the boy. “The office is currently off limits, as the premises is under BG investigation, by the orders of the PeaceKeepers. If you seek more information. We suggest you speak to the headmaster.” The soldier’s head turned back to look at the wall ahead.

Andri’s brow furrowed. He really didn't have the patience to be messed around today. “And why exactly is it off limits? You’re on our turf, if anyone has the right to investigate, it's us.”

“Speak to the headmaster.” The soldier replied again.

Narrowing his eyes at the men one last time, Andri turned and walked towards the next office.

He knocked and entered without waiting for a response. As he stepped into the spacious room he caught the last words of a conversation. “Keep me updated.” The principal was on the phone but he gestured for Andri to stay and once the device was set down, the demon turned his full attention to the newcomer.

“Andri, nice to see you.” Like most hellions, Ein considered the first name to be the most important one of all. It had to do with their naming system where each incarnation required a new title and it always went in front, describing the creature in its current state while still preserving their legacy. It made the headmaster sound casual even when he didn’t necessarily intend to be. “I heard from Kanna that you’ve been… rather unfortunate.” He wouldn’t apologize for that, though. A human bearing a demonic infant wasn’t a tragedy to most demons, even if they pretended it was because of the social norm. In the Academy social norms were often disregarded.

“Where is Hazumi? I need to speak to her and I need her to rip this parasite out of me.” He said, more sharply than he should have. It was hard to remain objective when your own life was the one slowly suffocating under an alien presence you hadn’t asked for. “And why are there Black Guards in front of her office?”

Ein scowled ever so slightly. There was a short pause, only interrupted by the rhythmic twirling of the pen between the demon’s fingers and it's clicking against the desk. “She’s missing.” He admitted at last. “We’ve been trying to find her for a few days now but there’s no trace of her that we’ve been able to find. Even her husband knows nothing about it, she just vanished one day a bit over a week ago.”

Andri could feel the liquid nitrogen pouring into his veins and he couldn’t tell if it made him feel hot with anger or cold with despair. He did know that his teeth were grit so tight they might break and that he would break something if that wasn’t going a step too far.

Ein stared at him but said nothing more for a long while, giving the boy time to breathe and calm down. “Kanna’s already attended an evaluation of her condition. If you want, I could schea--”

“What’s that?” Andri’s voice interrupted sharply. His mind had finally caught onto what was laid out on the principal’s desk. Ein’s face finally twitched with distaste. Pictures, at least ten of them. They were fuzzy, with a lot of noise, downloaded from an angel’s feather, but they were sharp enough to get the gist of the memory even through the paper. They were very red.

Students at Master Melody’s couldn’t be spared the sight of death. It was what they dealt in and it was one of the first things they were introduced to in here. The fragility of life, the importance of their job. Andri had seen enough massacres to recognize one.

These pictures were worse than most. And they showed a lot more hatred towards demons than towards humans, his analytical mind remarked distantly. Back in the present, he could tell Ein was reluctant to talk but he didn’t press further. The flaming halo over the man’s head was twisting uneasily revealing just how tense he was, even when his body didn’t. It spun faster than normal, the flames hissing and spitting quietly. He should have noticed earlier... but he hadn’t.

“An incident happened last night. Two of ours were killed by a Renegade, along with two demons.”

“Two of ours?” Andri’s eyes darted back to the pictures and found the two human corpses. His gut twisted as he recognized a girl slumped by a wall, her neck broken. The other body was male, face-down, mutilated and decapitated…

“Who is this?” He pointed, his voice betraying the shock he kept away from his face. When Ein didn’t answer his voice rose, demanding. “Who is this?!” The man gave him a warning look but Andri was beyond caring. “I can’t do my fucking job without knowing what’s out there, killing our own, can I?!”

The halo above the hellion’s head spun violently - a sure sign that passions were about to boil over but when Ein spoke, his anger was still contained. Barely.

“This Renegade is out of your league, Andri. We’re talking about an Original angel, the man who slaughtered all the other Archangels, one by one, and not quickly either. Don’t even think of going after him - we’re calling the hunt off and as of noon today, nobody is allowed to engage.”

Suddenly it didn’t matter what the names of the latest victims were. What mattered was that Lucien had done it before, and that he’d do it again, and that suddenly he was supposed to be ok with standing by and watching.

Andri’s mouth opened, sure to spill out some profanity but Ein’s tail moved faster than the sound of his voice. It lashed out and struck the young man in the chest, knocking him off balance and straight into the chair he’d been too restless to use. What came out of his throat was a muffled whoop when the air escaped him. The headmaster had gotten to his feet before Andri could blink and his two meter bulk of muscle and scale was now looming over the desk, the halo twitching with annoyance, bathing the room in a hellish light.

“You’ll listen to me when I speak. You might disagree with me and you can even go get yourself killed for all I care, but you will hear me out before you go. Hazumi is missing, she can’t help you and right now you are in no condition to fight. Your possession is unstable and you’re more of a liability than an asset. Those are the facts. And here is another fact for you: you can’t kill Lucien even if you tried. He’s killed better than you, and by the hundreds.” After the last word was spoken between sharp inhuman teeth, the edge was off and Ein leant back a bit. His strong reptilian tail remained where it was, pressed firmly against Andri’s chest, spines scraping against his skin through the shirt. “Up until now we’ve been able to monitor his movement and minimise the casualties but you don’t need me to tell you why that’s impossible now. He must be growing impatient as he’s never mutilated one of ours this bad before. We can’t hope that the parasite will kill him soon enough so we need to track him down ASAP. We know that. But that’s the job of the Peacekeepers and me. Not yours.”

The two men glared at each other for a long moment, then Ein removed his tail and stood upright. “You will be instructed at twelve. Until then I suggest you go see Patricia.”

Andri stood from his seat and gave a curt bowl before turning his back to the hellion.

“And Andri?” The voice caught him with a hand on the door handle. “If you do plan on getting yourself killed, don’t make it a group suicide.”

The grim smirk did not make it to the surface. There was still time until noon.

Revan stopped her on-foot trek in front of the old Grim Family mansion. She always took in it's visage before entering this forsaken place, and never could help but wonder why anyone would want to live on a plot of land that was so tainted with the very essence of evil. Of course, it was to keep said evil at bay. Be closer to your enemies, and all that. But still, the constant spine chilling feeling could drive the very gods insane. But perhaps Solus Grim was already insane, so it didn't really matter.

The veteran Reaper took a deep breath before stepping forward. She really hoped Alma was here, as being greeted by the Caretaker of the mansion was still unsettling. Far more unsettling than Alma ever was. With that in mind, she walked up to the front door, and knocked. Silence. She knocked again. The sounds of moving feet finally stirring within the dreaded walls of the place. Click Clack. The Locks opened one by one, until about after 8 more locks were opened. One of the massive metal doors slowly drawn back, revealing a hooded figure. "Oh, it's you..." Revan let a sigh. It was the Caretaker, the guardian of the house. With nothing but a shovel, this thing managed to kill one of the monstrosities hidden within the Vault. A truly impressive feat for a creature made of Necromancy.

Some would say a worthy guardian. Revan would call it a freak of nature. Deep down, she fears it.

It's face was nothing but grafted skin, with a small slit for a where a mouth would be. As the thing talked anyway. All it did was moan and make gurgling noises. At least it was a good gardener. Kept the place in shape. She gave it that.

"Is Alma home?" Revan asked the creature. It shook its head, and produced a monotone moan. "Would you know-" She stopped herself and realized. "Heh, even if you did, you wouldn't be able to tell me..." Sighing again, Revan turned around, only to almost jump at a figure standing a few feet away, a big black eye staring seemingly into her soul.

"Must you always frighten me, Alma?" Revan asked, barely containing her surprised face. Alma always had a habit of being a silent observer of exchanges. It practically left her completely unnoticed in any room, invisible to everyone until they finally noticed her presence, sitting somewhere in a dark corner staring at you with an animalistic curiosity.

"You only frighten yourself, Revan." She had a point. One fears only what they themselves deem frightening. Alma walked slowly past Revan, visably grimacing, clutching her torso, where a human heart would have been, if she even had any semblance of humanity. Resting her gauntlet covered left hand on the door, she paused, the hair covered side of her head, facing the Reaper in inquiry. "Why are you here, Reaper? I think Father would be disappointed if you weren't out there doing whatever you Reapers do..."

"That's the thing... Solus is gone. We can't sense him..." Revan stated, her worry evident in her tone.

Alma blinked, processing Revan's words and their implications. Her constant stoic, emotionless expression always made Alma difficult to read. Well, impossible actually. "Since when?" She finally asked.

"A week, I think."

Alma blinked again. More processing, thinking, tying recent events together. Something clicked in her mind, making her head tilt as she stared into empty space. After a few moments of silence, Alma finally spoke. "We have a problem then..." She turned to the Caretaker who was still waiting in the doorway. "Collect my loadout, I will be leaving again." The being nodded in acknowledgement, silently sliding away out of view deeper into the building.

Alma stepped away from the door towards Revan, her ever stoic face in full view. "Where have you last sensed him?"

Revan's reply was simple and direct. "Heaven."

"Then that is where I shall go..."

"But the Guardians have quarantined it. You can't possib-"

Revan was immediately interrupted. "I can pass through just fine. They know who I am.

Right at that moment, the Caretaker appeared in the doorway, with a small assortment of weapons of strange design. It took a few steps towards Alma, presenting her gear with a bow. Taking the alien firearms and attaching them to their holsters, Alma gave the Reaper a curt nod before beginning walking back down the mountain again.

---

---

The blue demon coughed up phlegm as the pair strolled through the empty sex club-- this floor was little more than a smoky parlor, shrouded in blue velvet curtains and purple lights, circular tables and cushioned booths made navigating the area like a maze. On the far side of the room, opposite the entrance, was a mahogany bar-- Mel swiftly maneuvered through the mass of cushion and tables toward it.

Belwas struggled to keep up, “Besides the usual? Well… Rose had her kid,”

“Why the hell did she end up keeping it?” Using her arms and her momentum, Mel jumped over the bar, landing deftly behind it, where the alcohol resided.

Belwas gave a broad smile, watching the girl perform her simple acrobatics. He leaned against the mahogany with an elbow, “You think I know the shit’s going through that broad’s head?” It was always interesting-- seeing the way she moved, it was graceful, something a little unnerving about it too. He’d describe her as gracefully inhuman-- of course saying that out loud would probably get him an earful. “Probably figures she can trick the rich asshole into paying for it.”

Mel’s fingers brushed along the cool glassy cylinders and went straight for what she wanted-- Hell’s Gate’s Finest-- “I wouldn’t put it past her.” She uncorked the bottle of vodka, letting the aroma of pure gasoline crash into her nostrils.

He watched as she poured the drink into the cocktail shaker, “Vodka martini?”

“Vodka Martinez.” She poured in the Maraschino, the gin, the bitters, and the vermouth with an undeniably practiced skill. She didn’t even need to look at the labels on the bottles, she recognized them by feel alone. She almost looked like a proper bartender, laughing at Belwas’ jokes, asking about his day, all while eyeing proportions clearly-- were it not for the fact that she was so clearly underaged, she could’ve been-- it was almost as if she’d learned from the bartender themselves.

Of course she had-- she came here every other night.

Belwas eyed the beverage as she gently placed in a curly lemon peel and an olive garnish, “May as well call it a Brown Russian.”

She didn’t respond, instead opting to take a sip, and finally let her day begin. Closing her eyes, she felt the stinging liquid hit her lips-- just a sip-- but she felt it on her tongue. She’d often been told that vodka was a beverage for those who hated themselves.

She was a vodka girl.

Belwas leaned against the bar, facing away from the pretty little bird, his blue gut would be the first sight many would see through the purple haze as the funneled in for the evening. “What are you thinking tonight, kiddo.”

Another sip. She felt a brief lift of her tension-- it was temporary, of course-- she figured angels had naturally high tolerances, probably because ‘God’ didn’t want his servants sinning. More likely it had something to do with the insane metabolism and enzymes or whatever. She didn’t care, all she knew is that she’d need another bottle before she felt a buzz.

In another big gulp, she finished the glass and began preparing another, she didn’t stop with her forward gaze. “I wanna punch something, Belwas.”

“Don’t you always…” He muttered under his breath.

Her glare became sharp, boring into the back of the demon’s neck, “What was that?”

“Nothing, kiddo. Seven hells, you need to drink more of that shit.” He laughed, a slight nervous twinge in his tone.

“I know.” Mel found the demon’s laugh annoying-- it’s wasn’t the accent-- but the way his belly jiggled. He was disgusting, a pure product of sin and debauchery-- he was like a fat cockroach. The interesting thing was that she didn’t think of herself as better than him. She liked him, even-- yet she was completely repulsed around him. “You’re always doing prize fights, just pencil me in for something.”

The demon coughed up something that seemed to move on it’s own, it was black and looked like a tentacle, he put the pus covered mass back in his maw, and spoke as he chewed, covering the bar in a spray of black tar, “Jesus fuck, Morena,” He wiped spittle from his lips, leaving them dirtier than before, “You know no one wants to fight you.”

“The hell not?”

He turned back around, looking at a watch he wore as a ring around his arm sized thumb, “No one wants to die.”

Mel slammed a hand onto the bar, “Don’t give me that horseshit, Belwas-- there’s always someone.”

He sighed, rubbing the horns on his head like a person with hair. “Well there’s one.”

She perked up, “Who?”

“You know who.”

Mel’s expression became one of soft surprise-- like the face one makes you forgot you had the day off because it was some bank holiday, her lips parted, and her head cocked inquisitively, “It’s seriously that time of the month already?” She asked with suppressed glee.

“Well he’s been asking about you all week,” He wiped away his spray of black spit from the mahogany bar with a filthy rag, “But I figured you wanted a real fight.”

“Ohh Belwas, how little you know me…” The corner of Elenei’s lip twitched upward however slightly, however sadistically, “I want to see what toys the angel of death brings for me this time!”

---

---

Thanatos.

At least, that was a name he went by. Similar to her and Mel-- or Morena, Joy, Helel, or any of the other nicknames people had labeled the pretty little bird as. His real name-- the full thing-- was unknown to her.

She knew his first name though; Malachias, Mal for short. His last name she didn’t buy-- Mordecai. What the hell was that? Malachias Mordecai? It sounded fake, like he was some kind of superhero or something. Though she supposed that wasn’t too far from the truth, Mal certainly looked the part of some terrible savior.

While Mel was a chimera, at best a mutated grey angel, with enough corrupted essence to leave her one good wing black-- Mal was an honest to goodness angel, one of the most impressive she’d ever seen. Physically, at least.

He had called himself Seraph Cherubim before. Whatever that meant-- she figured it was a type of birth defect, she’d seen angels with 4 wings before, anyway. But he had three pairs of wings, each pair larger and more majestic than the last. They were a silver-white, that had a way of glistening with golden-orange fire in any light.

His wings were a wild, divine fury.

He was otherwise a handsome man, very easily fitting into the statuesque image one sees in their head when thinking of a true angel. Muscles rippled beneath tight black clothing, he was taller than most men, and lean enough to be a model.

He had flawless honey-brown skin, an aquiline nose, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He never allowed for any more hair than a scruffy stubble to grow on his face-- it hardly ever noticeable since your eyes were drawn to his mane of hair-- a thick, curly, unkempt mass of hair as white as his wings that glowed with same fiery ferocity, it fell to his shoulders, and was separated by a single, solid band of orange hair that shone with intensity of dawn’s rising sun.

He was easily one of the most beautiful men Mel had ever met-- ever since meeting, she’d had frequently fantasies about sleeping with the man. The regality with which he moved spoke to some inherent poise that made him better than her and everyone she knew, he had the natural charisma of a skilled and gentle lover. He wasn’t like the men who would simply push themselves inside of her and roll over once they were finished. Sex meant something to him-- everything meant something to a man as intelligent as him.

That fact, and that, based on appearances alone, he was leagues out of her… league are some of the reasons she’d given up on ever actually pursuing a tryst.

Well that, and the fact that he was her half-brother.

Although, if she was to be honest with herself, he was such an adonis that this didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have, as much as it made her disgusted of herself.

Mal… Thanatos, was like her-- in that he worked for their father, and unlike her, in many ways-- for one, few people knew of his existence. Mel was a brawler, a public figure and an effective body guard to be seen with in public. Her jobs were never far away from the watchful eyes of the media. She could act as a free radical, since she spent most of her time… not working for her father.

Mal was different-- he did something else. He was smarter than her by a mile, less blindly violent, more charismatic, he should have been the public figure-- but he wasn’t. She wasn’t exactly clear on what it was he did, all she knew was that he’d spend weeks working on it at a time, with only a few nights of. Something told her the things he did were… darker.

Her father had at least one other child that she knew of. A succubus operating somewhere in the south. Another gifted fighter-- and another voracious sexual appetite. Mel figured it ran in the family.

Although… Mal only came to the saint and the sinner lady to see her, to her knowledge. She didn’t take him for chaste… but… in so many ways he was more like their father than she could ever be. But for some reason he didn’t have that hole inside of him. He could go around, building tools, gathering artifacts without worrying about such ‘base’ trivialities.

She supposed it was that, that made her want to punch him.

...

Belwas shook Mel out of her tangential reverie.

Mel blinked her eyes, “Y-yes?”

“What you black out of something?” He slapped a passing call girl on the ass, “You want me to schedule it for tonight or not?”

Mel paused for a long moment, looking around-- women and men, workers were funneling into the purple haze from a side entrance, getting ready for a night on poles of all kinds. Gripping between her eyebrows she glanced down at the drink in her hands. Baphomet’s Blood? She looked back to the portly demon, “How much have I been drinking?”

“Enough to make me question whether I really want your protection at all...” He mumbled, “Never mind that though.” He jotted something down on his holoscreen, “The fight? On or off, birdy?”

Mel burped, her eyes half open, “Tell him maybe.” Her eyes shot to the thighs of a brunette entering the establishment, “I’m suddenly, like, suuuper horny.”

“*Ugggghhhhh,*” The pained sigh escaped Belwas, as smoke puffed from his nose.

“What do you want from me, man?” Mel shrugged, “I am but a human.”

Belwas simply walked away, shaking his head as if he was allergic to sarcasm. Mel yelled after him, “Tell that nerd that if he wants his ass kicked again I’ll be here all night!”

---

---

Mel downed another shot and a stripper spread her legs before her, upside down on the pole, as if she could cut the purple lights above with her thighs, Mel glanced lazily between the leather and lace, lacking an discernable expression as the hot liquid burned her throat.

Luna.

That was her name, Mel nodded to herself. She didn't recognize the woman, but she had told her. She was a brunette with thick thighs-- a chimera of sorts, with small grey wings, nails that became claws, and a two-pronged tail that ended tipped in red. The woman winked at her with pinkish-violet eyes, a smirk revealed her fang. Elenei tilted her head.

She was pretty--

Glancing from the woman to her own wallet, she glanced at her holoscreen. She supposed the had the credit and the time. Elenei looked back to the olive skinned woman, clearly fishing for a response from her with her sensuous expression. Trailing her finger along her lip as she hung upside with leg and core muscle alone, she revealed a long, two-pronged tongue. Elenei’s eyes softened and widened.

She bit her lip. Shit. Fine. Yeah-- okay. Whatever

---

---

>init. save function
>processing
<memory capture process: active>
<memory saving as: v3219-667>
<Confirmed>
>init. capture
>recording...

Tatiana paced back and forth, tapping out a muted staccato rhythm on the carpet of the room. It was a rather nice carpet, plush and soft, well cleaned too. However, it did make tapping her foot impatiently somewhat less satisfying. She far preferred tiled floors or some nice hardwood, had a much more pleasant feeling to it. She could always tsk tsk, but that didn’t work unless someone had performed disappointingly.

At least she had a beer and a phone to pass the time until the boy who thought himself a man arrived. She’d received a rather unpleasant surprise a few days back, informing her to arrange a meeting. The man certainly had a flair for the dramatic…

>init. memory callback
>Searching...
<Search query results: 1>
<Play file?>
<Confirmed>
>init. playback
>Playing memory file v3213-78



It was morning. Mornings were evil, had been evil and, despite her lack of prophetic skills, she was confident they would continue being evil for the foreseeable future. She lay there for a moment, basking in the warm light of a small lamp by her bed. She didn’t have any windows - that was hard to do in a secure location, and besides, windows were weak points an SAS team would just love to rappel through. Or KSK, GIGN, really any special operations force would probably be happy to kick in her door.

She was quite happy to just lay there for the moment, relax for a while, maybe sleep in late today. Maybe she’d head down to the bar, put on some makeup so any opportunistic upstanding citizens didn’t start a fuss. It’d been a while since she’d plied her hand at luring unsuspecting innocents into her lair. She giggled to herself for a second as she remembered the last time. Who knew inexperienced virgins could get so kinky so quickly?

A loud THUNK from the main room jarred her from sleep, she lept out of bed, not bothering to dress properly as she grabbed the revolver laying on her nightstand and racing for the door. She peered out from behind a reinforced wall, seeing no immediate threats. Her front door seemed perfectly intact. She quirked an eyebrow, lowering the gun and slowly walking further into the room. Her vision flickered and came back a moment later in infrared, everything seemed normal… except… a big blob by her door, completely motionless.

She frowned, moving over to the door with the gun raised again, aimed at the space right in front of the doorframe as she sidled up to the side of it, fiddling with the handle with her free arm. The door slowly creaked open, and Tatiana held her breath, waiting for some would be assassin to burst through.

One second passed.

Another second.

Cautiously she peeked out from behind the doorway, scanning the area before she realized there was a body spread-eagled on the ground, right in front of her.

She bent down, examining the corpse with mounting apprehension. This was one of her men, practically a boy. Fresh off the boat from America. He had a neat round hole in the front of his skull - high velocity rifle projectile by the looks of it. The back of his skull was… conspicuously absent. She grimaced, that kind of damage was all too familiar.

Wedged in the man’s mouth was a sealed tube, with an overly ornate wax detail on the end. She quirked an eyebrow as she pulled it out of his mouth to examine it, smirking to herself despite the situation. The overly dramatic and flamboyant method of delivering this message - she presumed it was a message - made it immediately clear that this one would be fun to deal with. He was probably new to the shark tank, decided to go after the biggest shark of them all to look scary.

A small pen knife on a desk nearby proved more than adequate for opening the tube, and she pulled out the roll of paper inside, unrolling it and quickly skimming through the contents.



>Err.
>init. playback override
<memory playback terminated>

Tatiana started from her jaunt down memory lane, jerking her head upright to face the man who had just entered the room. She sized him up - shortish man, baggy black trench coat, crew cut, chest like a barrel, and two goons backing him up. All in all, she wasn’t impressed.

“So, what brings you here, oh dramatic one?” She raised her beer to him, “Oh and, do tell, what made you feel the need to put a bullet through poor Robert’s head and stuff that… flattering missive in his mouth before throwing his corpse at my door? Surely there are better ways of telling me you want to meet up somewhere? He had a girlfriend you know. And a family back in America, nice guy actually, it’s a shame you didn’t get to know him before putting what I’m guessing was a 5.56 through his skull.”

She took a sip of her beer, “I would offer you a drink, but I find it in poor taste to give drinks to people who murder my minions. Though whether it or the actual murdering of said minion is in poorer taste is a matter of debate. Seriously, you could’ve sent me a letter. Nobody ever sends letters, nooooo. Gotta have all that drama and flair to look oh so badass.” She narrowed her eyes, “News flash, kid, it doesn’t work. Just lets everybody know you’re new.”

Reclining in the chair, she continued, looking him over again. “Now, I have my suspicions on just why you called me here, but I’m in no rush today. Pull up a chair! Tell me what your name is! I’ve got time, and now so do you!”

The man remained standing, to which Tatiana frowned at him. Rude. First, he shot her employee, interrupted her rest, and now he ignored her hospitality. “Now now,” she smiled cheerfully, “there’s no cause for such frigidity! Tell me your name at least?”

“Miles.” The man grunted. He still remained standing, everything about him seemed stiff and uptight. “Tatiana Vladislavovna Kuznetsova, the Merchant of Death, yes?” He walked closer, trying his best to look intimidating she could tell.

“Last time I checked anyway.” She beamed back at him, taking another sip of her beer. “Now… Miles… that’s kind of a boring name really. Can I call you Edgy the Short instead? Since we’re going for nicknames here.” She flashed him a winning smile, “Now, Edgy, I can tell you have a nice speech rehearsed about how scary and badass you are, correct? Good, just like every TV crime boss ever, truly you are a fountain of originality.” She set her beer down, sitting upright and folding one leg over the other, “Can you perhaps skip the verbose diatribe/speech/self pep talk and just tell me what you want? If you really want to you can give me the speech but I can’t promise I won’t just sleep through it.”

Miles, or Edgy the Short as he would henceforth be known, took a small step back before clearing his throat. She reckoned he was trying to salvage his no doubt wonderfully eloquent speech. “That’s very cute, Kuznetsova, but you are nothing but a fake, a paper tiger, a façade of a woman overblown into urban legend. Your domination of the European arms trade is at its end. I’ve done my research and gathered my assets - unlike the stories would have the gullible believe, you can’t breath fire and bullets do not, quote, ‘bounce off your hide’ like you would have us believe.”

He continued, raving on at her, “You may be the queen, but I’m here to depose you! Your share of the arms trade is mine now. I have very favorable terms to offer, you may take them or pay with your life!” He took a breath, aviator glasses somewhat askew with the energy he’d put into his rant. “Lucas! Bring me the payment!”

A small, mousy man nervously scurried into the room, carrying a briefcase with him. Edgy the Short took the case and popped it open, revealing what was easily a small fortune’s worth of gold bars inside. “Accept the purchase and these are yours. Deny it and I’ll keep them and let Phil and Boris here do what someone should’ve done to you years ago.” He smirked triumphantly, looking down at her only for his swagger to drop like a stone as a loud snore met his ears.

“Dammit bitch! Did you hear anything I just said?!” He demanded, dropping the tough guy act. He stormed over to her, face suddenly red as a beet.

Tatiana’s cybernetic arm shot out, fingers crushing his windpipe as she smiled the same innocent, saintly smile. “Oh, I heard you perfectly. You’re giving me this great big briefcase full of gold out of the kindness of the empty hole where your heart goes!” She had her revolver out, aimed at “Boris” and “Phil” as she maneuvered herself behind the chair. “You two gentleme-” She ducked as bullets started flying, the one who she guessed was Boris unloading his weapon at her, the wall behind her, and all the other walls adjacent to it.

So that was how it was going to be. Tatiana grinned, it’d been a while since she’d had a good firefight - her vision blinked into infrared showing… five glowing blobs. There was one more waiting just outside, presumably to ambush her. They just had to come prepared didn’t they? It wasn’t enough to inconvenience her with a little kerfuffle, she would actually have to fight to get out of this - which suited her just fine.

A quick peek in infrared again let her know that “Phil” was circling around to get at her side, which just wouldn’t do at all. Rolling swiftly, Tatiana pinned him against the wall, behind an alcove “Привет, мудак.” With her free hand she pulled a knife from her coat, some cheap piece of garbage that had cost her a pittance, jamming it into his throat and into the wall behind him. She leaned out, braving the bullets to call to Boris, “They told your friend he could be anything he wanted. I made the choice for him. He’s a wall hanging now. Not very tasteful though.” Ducking back as a hail of bullets met her artistic criticism, she lined up a shot through the wall. “Boris” stood there, rifle aimed at the wall, clearly waiting for her to make the first move. Why he wasn’t just shooting through the wall she wasn’t sure - he was probably as inexperienced as Edgy the Short had been, which suited her just fine.

A series of sharp cracks rang through the room as he crumpled to the ground, three fragmenting rounds planted solidly in his chest from behind the wall. Which just left the sneaky guy waiting to ambush her. A bullet to the head through the wall solved that problem. She turned to the only other living being in the room, the man Edgy had called Lucas.

“Lucas, right?” She offered him a hand. “Whoever’s second in command, I suggest you alert them that they work for me now. Your former employer has paid generously for me to take his stake off his hands.” She beamed at him, “And with that I’d like to go and take a nap. You’re welcome to finish my beer if you want. It’s the good stuff.”

Holstering her gun, she walked out of the room without another word. That had been quite the little bit of exercise really, she’d forgotten how much fun the occasional firefight was. Big messy ones not so much, those built up a lot of stress, and not the kind that could be easily “worked off” like the kind of stress paperwork caused.

She would probably take a nap after all though. Later tonight though… she grinned. Later tonight was going to be fun.

---

---

---

---

A fly was here. It landed on Elenei’s cheek.

Vesuvius

Only for a moment, however. Light filtered through the blinds, courtesy of some passing vehicle, and in the slash of yellow fire, illuminating a strand of the room. It was all Mel could see-- the close form of the insect as it passed over narrowed eyes-- a buzzing body as it took flight, like a massive horrible monster for the briefest of flashes. She didn’t stir. She didn’t want to-- it didn’t matter. The fly. She didn’t have the energy to move her arm to lazily bat at the thing anyway.

I am here

What the hell was she doing here? Sleeping with a pretty lady, obviously-- married woman, actually-- she didn’t care much, though. That was the point, right? That she didn’t care too much. It was the man’s fault for marrying a cheating stripper, right?

Fire of fire

I’m insecure

A rhetorical question-- they all were. Asked by herself, to no one, that only she could hear, coming impossibly from a long dead part of her mind, echoed as a hoarse whisper. Her bloodshot eyes glanced up toward the cracked ceiling.

For it’s all been made to plan

Though I know

She was having fun is what she was doing. Or she was-- rather, she had been, she was in the cooldown of having had fun. She wasn’t having much fun. Right now wasn’t fun. This wasn’t fun. Right now was thought.

I will fail

The ceiling spider-webbed out from central points in a circle. Just above Mel. It wanted to be a hole-- something had hit here, attempting to crack the plaster, but failed-- it was the globe, now, solids covered in valleys and rivers cutting a path and providing definition. Truthfully, the ceiling was more crack than solid at this point. That wasn’t part of the design, this was age and malnourishment, this was directionless spite given form above her. The cracks were black parasitic worms hanging above her, invading the indigo dry wall.

She didn’t know if the ceiling was indigo, she couldn’t really tell in this light.

How long had Luna been living here? This place was aged-- either expensively so or not. Were those cracks the brothers of flawed marble from the 21st century? Or the glorified homes of thousands of wriggling roach larvae? Elenei shivered. She needed to look at something else.

I cannot be made to laugh

Mel frowned. The rest of the room was plain. It resembled a generic hotel room-- few personal effects besides a closet spilling over with the clothing of some type of businessman and a woman who spends too much on clothes. Two night stands, one for him, one for her.

For in life
As in death

Three, really. One had just taken place.

I’d rather be burned than living in debt

The fly landed again on Elenei’s cheek.

Vesuvius

Life crawled back into her muscles. She raised her left hand to swat at the thing, but in a moment decided against it. It didn’t move.

Are you a ghost
Or the symbols of light or a fantasy host?

The shifting in the bed stirred Luna-- the chimera beside her. Her grey wings fluttered as she greeted Elenei with a smile.

In your breast
I carry the form
The heart of the Earth and the weapons of warmth

She didn't smile back.

Vesuvius

Luna sighed in contentment, and moved to swat at the fly that had moved to Elenei's chest. Mel stopped her hand.

The tragic oath
For you have destroyed with the elegant smoke
Oracle, I've fallen at last
But they were the feast of a permanent blast

Luna was visibly confused, "Hmmm?"

Vesuvius

“My aunt likes flies.” It continued to buzz above Elenei, taunting Luna, “She says they’re the servants of Beelzebub.”

Oh, be kind

“Your aunt Mya?” Luna looked concerned, “She told you this?”

It hasn't occurred, no, it hasn't been said

Mel nodded, "How...?"

Elenei
Follow the path
It leads to an article of imminent death

Luna blushed, "I'll admit-- I'm a bit of a fan of your work." Mel's eye twicthed as the woman giggled. This was new.

Elenei
Follow your heart
Follow the flame or fall on the floor

Something snapped inside. Mel got out of the bed, much to the further confusion of the Chimera woman. She didn't care. You don't care, right? That's you. It's whatever. It doesn't matter.

But...

She needed to get out of here. She needed a drink.

Elenei
The panic inside
The murdering ghost that you cannot ignore

Luna protested as Mel walked to the door, she paused-- halting the woman's own attempts to get up and follow her.

“Does your husband know the way that the moonlight shines so perfectly off your wedding band?” Elenei turned as she reached the door to the room, “It makes your skin seem like porcelain, or pearl, or something pretty like that. When I see beauty like that… it makes me think.” Elenei’s hand lingered above the knob, “It makes me think when I make you scream and beg. Like, is it right to do this to this goddess? What happened in her life, that I’m what she needs for relief?”

Vesuvius
Fire of fire
Follow me now as I favor the ghost

Luna didn’t respond, however. Her position had shifted, she was sitting up now, with her legs pulled in close to her chest.

“Does your husband ever make you scream like that?" Elenei cocked her head, "What’s a stripper doing with a husband anyway?”

Vesuvius
Fire of fire
Follow me now as I favor the host

Luna curled up further, covering herself completely with the sheets. She looked away from Mel.

Vesuvius
Fire of fire
Follow me now as I favor the ghost

"Well, whatever it is, you don't have to go back in if you don't want." The air hung silent between them, "I'm sure I can convince Belwas to give you some 'paid vacation,' if you want."

Silence.

Mel sniffed her nose, scowling slightly. “Hmm.”

Opening the door, she left the bedroom, and soon made her way out of the apartment.

Follow me now
Or follow your death
Why does it have to be so hard?

---

---

There is at least a dozen of them eight humans and four Angels. She’s not in there.

Hunter. Kill.

Shut the fuck up Namshiel

Kill you.

Holy shit did you hear that? He can form sentences

Come on Ian I want to play. FUCK THEM UP ALREADY!!!

Calm down. This is an art you dumb whore.

Ian exhaled slowly as he sighted down the scope of his .50 Caliber rifle. The progress in technology certainly had its benefits. The scope he was using peeled back the exterior of the warehouse he was looking at. Combine that with the application of a heat filter allowed him to see exactly where the people inside the warehouse were standing. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. Shifting on the rooftop, the man reached back and pushed the rifle strapped across his chest off to his right side so that he could aim more comfortably in the composite body armor he was wearing.

3..
2…
1….
Squeeze

The first shot was a beauty as it blew the head off one of the angels. The crack of the high caliber rifle was unmistakeable even with the suppressor on the rifle. With a vicious motion Ian reloaded the weapon sending the massive casing flying into the abyss between the buildings as he shifted his position to track one of the other figures. Another crack and it took the arm off of one of the weapons dealers. Another casing, another shot. The rifle’s tempo was sporadic as Ian maneuvered to follow the figures within the building. With his last shot expended he heaved the rifle down off the ledge of the rooftop. Picking up a tube off the rooftop he snapped open the M72 rocket launcher and put a gaping hole in the side of the building. He’d had to modify the rocket in question as it had been originally designed as an anti armor weapon which had given quite the necessary knockdown power for the wall he’d had in mind.

With a quick flick of his wrist Ian dumped a coil of cable off the side of the roof. As it uncoiled Ian reached down to his left side and swung a collapsable grenade launcher up from where it hung on his left side. With a smooth motion he fired it in an arc so that it bounced through the hole he’d just put in the wall. It was a flash bang. As he hooked himself onto the rope and began to descend the building into the alley was he heard the grenade go off and then he heard the swearing begin. Smiling to himself he slid the rest of the way to the alley way where he unhooked himself from the rope. Taking an impact grenade from the back of his belt he reloaded the grenade launcher before snapping the rifle up from his right side and sprinting towards the opening in the side of the building.

As he closed in on the building he reached up and lifted a thin fire scarred mask into place over his face. It immediately seized onto his face bonding with the skin. Boney protrusions exited his skin near his joints as his muscles rippled and became more dense as he bonded with the demon’s essence. With a snarling heave Ian lept through the opening as he reached up and pulled another mask down over his face. The heavy material fit his face nicely so it did not limit his vision but concealed his appearance. It had also become part of who he’d turned into lately.

The first two humans he came into contact with were quickly dispatched with a single round through the head as they were still trying to recover from the effects of the grenade. Turning he scanned the rest of the building and sniffed. Angel on the left. Ian drew the handgun on his left hip and held down the trigger without looking. The barrage of bullets ripped into the angel all but cutting away part of its face. Ian ejected the magazine before replacing the handgun. Putting his left hand back on the rifle he began to slowly stalk the stacks of crates. There were still two more humans and at least one more angel. The humans were of no consequence; it was the angel who mattered. Stepping around a set of boxes Ian put a half a dozen bullets in the back of one of the humans who collapsed forward. One of the others was standing across from him. The arms dealer turned his gun on Ian. Leaping forward Ian kicked the corpse across the room at the still living human. The corpse slammed into him and Ian swung the grenade launcher up before firing the impact grenade into the two humans. The resulting explosion of wood shrapnel and partially vaporized body parts caused him to bring his arm up to shield his face from the blast.

As he took his arm down he was forced to jump backward and draw one of the blades on his back. The Angel had been hiding on top of one of the boxes. The dark haired angel swung her sword down on his blade as he parried it aside and drove his kevlar armored fist into the side of her face causing her to spit blood and teeth as it impacted just above her jaw. With a scream of pain she lashed out with the double handed long sword she was carrying. Kicking his hips back Ian passed the blade again and kicked her in the sternum. The force of the kick cracked her sternum and sent her crashing through one of the partially destroyed wooden boxes.

Walking after his victim Ian drew his second pistol and as she moved to grab the blade he shot the Angel with four controlled auto fire bursts which mangled her arms and legs below the knee.
Putting his foot on her chest he bore down on the Battle Angel. His heightened senses could pick out the complaint of her ribs as his weight settled on her.

“Where is Lashiel.” Ian didn’t bother with any sort of pretense. They both knew who he was.

Love. For whatever reason, that was the tint of the mist that engulfed his mind as it detached from reality and soared into the unknown. A topic as old as the world to some, and as alien as it was old to others. All creatures felt love, surely, but how they processed it was very different.

For him love came once. And it took on the shape of a woman. Short, brunette, unassuming. Winged. Sadly... winged.

She smelled of lavender. It was lovely and wretched. It was too sharp somehow. Yet he couldn’t entirely hate it. He felt like he should, and then he felt like he shouldn’t, his feelings caught in an eternal limbo.

And now he remembered her touch: strong, loving, his. Nails scraping his chest, fingers pulling at his hair, closing around his throat. She was tactile, not in a good way. She liked touching but often with a blade. Yet... the limbo was a constant. The memories were growing like cancer - more real by the heartbeat. He tried to remember hating her but right now his mind was too weak to resist the pure weight of the emotion.

It was sweet. It was so sweet it made him tremble. It was the warmth of a blanket, no, of an open fire. It was a cradle when you’re feeling weak, a firm push when you have to get up and carry on. It was support, strength… even desire, he remembered that too.

He remembered touching her body. Tasting her sweat. Licking her tongue, feeling her near…

Azel’s eyes opened slowly, his eyelids pushing the memories apart. His glazed-over eyes were still on her but a slight frown sat between his brows that wouldn’t have been there in his dream. Once, he was hers. Entirely, completely, hers and no one else’s.

Now she was dead. And oh, what a death that was… Simply spectacular. Whoever had caused was an artist. He had arranged all the parts perfectly, made them even more perfect than life. Disgust and delight entwined until the delight prevailed.

His lips stretched. Does such a dream mean you’ve awoken again, Ajira?

If she had, maybe this time he’d have the courtesy of killing her with his own hands. But then, perhaps she was long gone, never to be reborn again. After all, he’d been young when he’d eaten her remains. Maybe he had consumed all of her.

Azel pushed himself up with a small sigh. Regret was not what he was feeling right now. More, invigoration.

The demon pulled the sleeve of his expensive shirt up and checking his even more expensive watch. It confirmed that he had no time to dwell on the past. Not with so much going on in the present.

His friend had done it again. Lucien’s violent nature, combined with his overprotectiveness towards Hazumi lead to an explosive combination that often meant trouble for both of them. Arguably it was harder to conceal his crimes while Hazumi was still around, but the police weren’t completely incapable either, and Lucien had been slowly moving into Blackguard territory for months. Once his head was officially their business, Azel would be forced to step down and leave the archangel to his own devices. Their arrangement was only mutually beneficial for as long as Azel’s own life was safe. He was sure he’d mentioned that before.

But if anyone could tell Lucien what to do, it wasn’t him.
All he had to do was make sure that the Renegade eluded the law enforcers for as long as possible.

Standing before the mirror, Azel inspected his visage. The shirt had creased; he’d have to take care of it later. The black scruffy hair had to grow shorter. And lighter. Eyes, a deeper crimson, until they became brown. Complexion - richer. As he was listing the differences between him and Lucien, the shape in the mirror was changing. It was a process so natural that he barely noticed it. With all but the body itself.

When it came to the body, a small tingle of either pain or excitement always accompanied the physical change. Then, the real magic. The muscles coiled over each other like the roots of growing trees, bulging with suppressed strength. His frame grew taller and his bones, ironically - less thick. His organs also increased their capacity to fuel a bigger person than he originally was. And then, the wings. Ah, it was oddly pleasant for them to finally emerge after the peculiar itch, to grow out and spread beyond the comprehension of the mirror.

It was simply fascinating to watch his body morph.

For a long moment Azel enjoyed the sensation and the sight of Lucien’s naked physique. It was hard not to admire the body of an archangel of his calibre. Even if its sole purpose was to hunt down his own kind.

Now for the unpleasant part. The clothes and armor, the weapons and the parasite that had corroded his essence. Needless to say that didn’t feel great. But the disguise had to be good enough to fool a Musician so Azel endured. When he was finally finished coughing up black mucus and bits of his own (or Lucien’s) lung, the demon gave the mirror one last glance and headed out the door.

Of course, every transformation came at a price. For Lucien that was picking up little souvenirs from his angelic victims - ears, eyeballs, tongues, fingers… As he was already considered psychopathic it hardly hurt his criminal profile, but it was very appreciated by his partner. For Azel, the price was a certain hunger. And it was especially strong with those transformations that concealed his very essence.

Naturally, he didn’t go unfed: the Surface had become a lot more demon-friendly and Azel was guaranteed a monthly dose of donated blood, just like everyone else. However, while he could sustain himself off that alone, he much preferred the taste... and texture, of real flesh.

And that was harder to have. And far less legal.
But demons were considered pests for a good reason. They had their ways.

For example today. Today his reputation as a man who could get you anything would be rewarded neatly. Now, surely some would call strapping his client to a table and cutting a finger off “breach of trust”. But in his defence, she had received a local anesthetic and was in the hands of a highly skilled, albeit not very famous surgeon.

He walked past her with Lucien’s heavy steps and his scowl landed on her face. He could have picked another route, sure. But why should he? Vivian’s game was a dangerous one and he wanted to know just how smart she was.

Tonight she would kill what was her legal sister. Of course, angels didn’t really have family. But they had learned to pretend.

Vivian hadn’t learned well.

“Steep. His fee.” She grunted.

“Hai.” The surgeon agreed, running the scalpel gently over the flesh of her middle finger. Red blood budded on the thread-thin trail.

“I should have gone to someone else.” She signed. The doctor nodded, a wide smirk stretching his lips.

Azel cocked an eyebrow at his employee’s gesture but his words addressed his client instead.

“Be grateful for what you get, woman.” Azel said in Lucien’s voice, simply because he wanted to taste the vibration in his throat and on her face. “If it was up to me you’d be losing more than a finger for what you’re planning.”

This time the woman looked up and there was a twitch of fear on her features. It was oddly satisfying to be on the other side of a threat. He knew now why Lucien enjoyed it.

Containing his smirk the demon rested a hand on Lucien’s blade and left his domain.

Speeding down the halls of the Academy, Andri checked his watch. Six AM. Time was running out fast. He had only until noon to make his move against the Renegade.

While the principal had no direct command over Andri’s own life, the Peacekeepers did and once Lucien was out of the Academy’s jurisdiction, going after him would be considered a criminal offence. And yes, it was ludicrous to go after someone of his calibre with so little time to prepare but the pictures he’d seen in Ein’s office had left him no choice. It wasn’t a matter of throwing his life away, like the demon had assumed. It was something far less heroic, something much dirtier. It was the fact that he’d recognised the victims. Lucien had made this very personal and to settle it, Andri would have to meet him in person.

But he still wanted to be prepared for the encounter. It was pointless if he died trying to extract his revenge. And there was one person that could help prevent that better than anyone.

His name was Ian Snyder and he’d become a professional at hunting angels. Not in the sense that he was a legend - his methods were often criticized by teachers who prefered it when the Wielders were more versatile but Andri had the hunch that lack of versatility wasn’t Ian’s problem. Everyone had something they did best and while Andri’s own forte was security and protection, Ian’s was slaying angels. Simple as that. So, if you have to learn, learn from the best.

The problem was getting in touch with the man. Since the incident with the Illuminati two decades ago, the Academy had ensured that all Musicians and Wielders were connected with each other thanks to a special link awakened between their Shards. It was weak enough that it didn’t interfere on a daily basis but a small directed current of essence evoked by a certain thought ensured an instant telepathic connection between two to four people. It had proven useful over the years and prevented quite a few casualties because it meant that reinforcements could be called at a moment’s notice and it was almost involuntarily triggered in nasty situations. In fact, that had been what had saved himself and Kanna that fateful night.

But using it with Ian was not an option. Andri didn’t know much about the man but he knew enough to decide that he should stay as far away from his senior’s mind as possible. And as he didn’t reside at the dormitory, the only other real option was a phone.

Making sure he’s far enough from anyone, Andri leaned on a tree and started browsing his contact list. Ian had graduated long before he even obtained his Shard and as far as the Wielder could remember they’d met only once during an official demonstration. He could only hope that he’d received, and kept the number, for whatever reason.

Striking gold, the young man smiled to himself and brought the phone to his ear, praying that Ian was over with whatever he was after tonight.

The angel spat blood at him and in annoyance he simply shot her in the head. It was a waste of time. As he wiped the blood off his mask he heard the beeping of his phone. Tapping the side of his mask it triggered the receiver in his ear. “This is Ian what is it?” Standing up from the angel’s corpse he took a canister from his belt and began spraying down the warehouse with an aerosolized solution. It was a gift from Lazarus since Ian had a knack for creating situations which could get him in trouble. Walking back to the whole in the warehouse he flicked a match over his shoulder and the whole place went up in flames. Looking down at the blood spattered PDA in his left hand he listened to the line.

Thank God. Andri thought, leaning back against the tree with a small sigh of relief. “Hello, Mr. Snyder. My name is Andri Yrjan and I’m one of the Academy’s Wielders. I was wondering if I could ask you for an advice… in regards to the winged.”

Ian made a face behind his mask. Who the hell was this guy? Releasing the magazine from the gun in his right hand he replaced it and holstered the gun. “Um. Why exactly do you want advice on angels? Not only that but why did you think to call me of all people. It's been years since I was at the academy and I don’t think we’ve ever met.” With that Ian pushed his mask up off his face before taking a cloth from the breast pocket of his tac vest to wipe his face of any extra gore.

“We have met… but that is unimportant.” The other man’s face became serious as he stared at the leaves overhead and picked his next words carefully. “There’s been an accident. One that can’t be dealt with through our regular channels. I’m going after a very powerful angel but I can’t rely on the Academy for support. I’m not asking you to tag along but I would appreciate your expertise. All things considered, you seemed like the best person to ask.”

Frowning Ian walked off down the street to retrieve the rest of the gear from his rooftop perch. “So. Who is it you are after because I can only think about half a dozen Angels worth calling me over that are powerful enough that the academy doesn’t or can’t tangle with. One of which I’ve been trying to deal with for the past week. A few of which work for her and two of which I seriously doubt you are going to be able to tangle with.”

Ian hooked himself back into the climbing harness and started back up the side of the building towards his sniper's perch.

Andri frowned slightly. The man knew his job. But as it was, he saw no reason to hide the truth. It wasn’t that he had any sort of unfounded trust in Ian, more like he had very little to lose. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him, and you’re probably right that he’s out of my league. His name is Lucien.” Andri held his breath then, waiting for Ian’s reaction.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” Ian finished climbing back onto the roof. “Lucien will kill you and move on without even considering that you existed. As I said. You picked one of the half dozen who will literally just rip you apart. Why do you even care? He’s got a vendetta against the high council. How does that involve you?”

Andri’s eyes moved slowly from one leaf to another. He could tell Ian that he’d been recently possessed and that meant his life wasn’t as valuable to others as it once was. That he wanted to ensure that he had a legacy, however small, and this was probably his best chance because his life expectancy was cut short.

That Lucien’s latest victim had been a friend and just thinking about it made his blood boil. And that he definitely didn’t want anyone else he knew to suffer the same death if he could help it.

But instead he just scoffed. “Come on, you can’t be that far behind. He might be after the Archangel but he doesn’t mind trampling over anyone standing in his way and has been doing so for decades. With Hazumi gone the Academy has no way of tracking him down so the casualties are bond to become even more. I’m not crazy and I know I can’t do it alone, I’ll find allies but I don’t know how many I need or what to expect from him. I’ve made up my mind and you can’t honestly believe your words can change that. All I’m asking is if you’ll help give me a chance.”

Picking up his sniper Ian gave the wall a look like he was talking to an idiot “You’re actually set on committing suicide aren't you? Call Lazarus. He can probably tell you where the angel is. Although he’ll also tell you that you are committing suicide. If you want any kind of a chance you need to make sure he doesn’t see you coming. At all.”

‘Suicidal’. That made three times in half an hour. “Any idea how I can do that? Is it true that he can’t sense any essence? Also, I’ll need Lazarus’ number.” Finally they were getting somewhere. The watch was burning a hole in his wrist.

Ian shrugged “I don't know about that but if he’s after someone and he doesn’t know he’s being hunted I somehow doubt he’ll see a runt coming at him from behind.” Collecting his things Ian walked down the stairs and out the back of the building. “As for Lazarus.” Ian looked at his phone and hit the button to bring up his contacts before sending the number for Lazarus. “Becareful. Lazarus might just tell Lucien you are after him if he thinks that it might get you to back off. Honestly I still don't get why you are after this guy..”

“Because I am suicidal.” Andri shrugged. Or simply long dead. He took the phone off his ear to glance at the screen. He brought it back up with a thoughtful twist to his lips. The picture Ian had painted of Lazarus warning his target didn’t sit right with him. He probably wouldn’t make the call after all. Not to mention that Lazarus himself had been a teacher at the Academy and was Hazumi’s life partner. It was hard to imagine anyone being more overprotective. “Thank you for your help.” He concluded his conversation with Ian. “Pray for me, if you do any such thing. And nasluka to you too.”

Ian made another face. Who the hell is this kid.

“Yeah whatever kid happy hunting.” With that Ian hit his ear piece and killed the line.

“Look Koshmar do you remember this guy at all?”

Yes, you met him once in passing.

“That's just disturbing that you remember stuff like that.” Koshmar chuckled in Ian’s ear.

Lucien strode into the bunker, eyeing the six guards and other automated defenses. He could kill the six guards in a heartbeat, he knew. The other defenses, which he was sure consisted of far more than just guards and turrets, were impressive and likely extensive. He doubted he’d leave here alive if he tried to kill anyone. What was far less certain, however, is the amount of people that would be left alive if he tried to kill anyone. With a grim smile at the thought, Lucien walked all the way through, coming to a halt in the entry room, his steel clad foot tapping impatiently on the ground.



Tatiana sighed, stretching her arms out as she pushed her chair away from the desk. Being the CEO of a company was a lot of paperwork - being the kingpin queenpin? of a major multinational criminal enterprise dealing in large scale arms dealing, drugs, racketeering, and just about anything else produced roughly enough paperwork to stop a bullet or ten. Granted, it was all digital, and hard drives weren’t known for being reliable body armor, but the point still stood.

Paperwork was not and never would be her forte, too much sitting in one place doing menial and mind numbing tasks, not enough interesting things happening. Setting the computer to sleep, she stood from the chair, letting out an exagerrated yawn. Right about now was the time one of her… most frequent customers was to show up, dealing with his cynicism, grit, and general grumpiness would be a welcome change from decoding reports and sending orders.

Shedding the fluffy bathrobe she usually did paperwork in, she dressed quickly, not forgetting to pack some armor on underneath her usual attire - he might’ve been a major buyer, but Lucien was… unstable. That was a word. His single minded thirst for vengeance intrigued her, but kept her on edge. Men like him, or, well, Angels like him she supposed, were dangerous. Far more dangeorus than she. It had only partly to do with his personal skill in combat, and far more to do with his quest for vengeance blotting out all else in his life. He would unhesitatingly kill anyone who stood in his way, and he had no mind for anything but revenge.

Contrasted to her, he would stop at almost nothing if it meant the end of his enemies. If she were to become an obstacle, and he had a way of killing her without himself being killed, she had no doubt he would do so without a second thought, without regard to the repercussions and consequences.

She, on the other hand, did have earthly attachments. She liked sex, good food, and rock’n’roll, though she didn’t generally partake of any drugs. A mind addled by addiction was not a mind that could continue to keep her out of jail. She had people she cared for, even if she would never admit it.

The thought that someone could be so completely, so single mindedly dedicated to killing those who had wronged him, that as far as she could tell his life had no purpose beyond that goal - the prospect terrified her in some way. Oh, she could understand it alright, and the fact that she could - and that she routinely did business with someone who lived that every day of his life, days, weeks, months, years. That was what truly scared her. Revenge was a dark, winding road, and one that she would rather not have to tread. A friend had done so once, and watching her tread that path, her heart decaying and darkening as it consumed her life and very being…

Tatiana shivered despite the cozy temperature of the room. Thinking about the past could wait for later, she had a meeting to conduct.



“So, Lucien, how are you doing today? Please, follow me, we can talk in the coffee room.” She beckoned him to follow her with a finger, leading him to a separate room furnished in a rather traditional manner. Vaguely reminiscent of an 18th century study. Plush armchairs were arrayed around a small lacquered table of mahogany, itself laden with a large engraved silver cylinder, steam gently rising from the top. Mugs and plates were arranged neatly around it, and small glass bowls with chocolates and other sweets were within easy reach. Some people bought out politicians with money - Tatiana had less grandiose tastes.

“Take a seat, wherever you wish. Try some of the coffee by the way, it’s imported, specially cultivated or something pretentious like that. Still tastes like shit to me, but that’s what the sugar’s for.” She gave Lucien a vague wave towards the chairs, taking a seat in one of her own, facing the door. “So, how can I help you?”

“I haven’t killed anyone who doesn’t deserve to die yet. So it’s a good day so far.” Lucien replied following the...what was the word...Russian! Russian. Humans had so many different ways of identifying themselves. Not that it mattered anymore, with the Three Worlds combined.

He briefly gave the room an unimpressed survey, searching for any sign of something out of place from last time that would indicate an attack.

Tatiana eyed him in amusement. “If I were planning to attack you, or ambush you, or anything like that, why on earth would I risk myself being this close to you, welcoming you right into my home, and all that? Do you really think I might’ve sold out?” She sighed, “Just sit down and drink some damn co- actually no caffeine probably isn’t a good idea, have some water and a chocolate.”

“Got that comfortable once. Ended terribly for all parties involved and set me on my current path, ending the lives of hundreds who did not need to die. Forgive my paranoia.” He gave a slight smirk at the human woman. “So you’re willing to offer me caffeine but not willing to let my sword be free?”

“This is implying that you couldn’t kill most anyone under the sun with just your bare hands?” Tatiana quirked an eyebrow at him, sipping from her cup of sugar with a little coffee added. “And to be fair, you can’t disembowl people with a cup of coffee nearly as easily as you can with a sword.” She sipped again, unwrapping a chocolate and taking a bite out of it. “Nevertheless, I presume you’re not here for a booty call or to swap pleasantries about coffee. Who needs a boomstick this time?”

Lucien shrugged, pulling a chair at an angle so he could see both the door and Tatiana should anyone come bursting through, laying his wings over the back of it.. “Death by sword is far quicker than death by bare hands. But, whatever makes you feel better.” He merely quirked an eyebrow at her mention of a booty call before sighing. “Azael again. Ever since he found out I know you he’s insisted that I get weapons for him from you. Says ‘I have more pull.’ I owe him so I do it. Besides, gives me time to move from place to place lest the Peacekeepers start noticing me using his home as a base.” Lucien shifted slightly, unused to the feeling of a chair with backs. “What’re you willing to sell?”

Tatiana laughed softly for a moment. “That’s what this was about? You could’ve simply sent me an email, letter. I thought something big had happened for a moment!” She took another nibble of her chocolate, pausing for thought. “I have no reservations about selling to him and yourself, but I need to know just what he would like to purchase. I can’t think of anything I have access to that I wouldn’t sell to him for some reason, but if you have something specific I can do a little digging for you, see if I can’t pull up something extra special.” She winced as she took a sip of the coffee, setting it aside with a sigh. “I can’t drink this. Would you like some tea while we discuss weaponry for our dear Azael?”

“Big for me is stumbling through your doors, injured and bleeding profusely, while Musicians and other Peacekeeper forces chase after me. You don’t want something ‘big’ to happen.” Lucien gave an unapologetic shrug. “He just said ‘the ones that are most likely to sell.’ I don’t know much else.” He shook his head at the offer of tea. “No thank you. Water would be preferable, if you have any.”

Tatiana gestured to a small table next to Lucien’s chair. “Water in there.” She looked back up at him, “I’m well aware that if something genuinely big were to happen, there would be bullets and magic flying right now.” She reclined in her chair, raising an eyebrow. “And is that really all he said?” She sighed, “That’s not helpful. I have swords, guns, armor, pretty much everything.”

Lucien opened the table, examining the water bottle to make sure it was sealed before opening it and taking a drink. First safe drink I’ve had in a while. He mused, before replying to Tatiana. “What can I say. When he sees something shiny he just kinda….goes for it. Kinda ridiculous like that. Dopplegangers are like that, in my experience. Granted, my experience has only been killing all but one of them, but nonetheless.”

“Speaking of armor, I need mine repaired again.”

Tatiana rested her forehead on two fingers, sighing. “Well, tell him that I can’t help him much unless he gives me specifics. I can’t think of anything off limits, so just get what he wants and I’ll see if I can’t get my hands on it.” She was about to continue until a small robot rolled into the room with a cup of tea sitting on top of it. She smiled at it, taking the cup and shooing the little robot away. “What’d you do to your armor this time?” She smirked at him, “Truthfully, you are the only one who can damage masterwork equipment this easily.”

“What can I say. I killed one of the Cowards. She died but left her mark. Had to kill all of her guards too though, and that was quite the bloody mess. Left most of a small town in ruins, bodies everywhere. Didn’t endear me to the Peacekeepers, that much is for certain.” Lucien gave a morbid chuckle. “Not that they liked me all that much to begin with, what with my nasty habit of killing after they had forbidden killing. Regardless, my armor is in need of repair once more.”

Tatiana shook her head. “Master crafted armor, of the highest quality. Tested to stop multiple impacts from 6.8mm ammunition, a full magazine of 9mm ammunition out of a submachine gun, sledgehammer impacts, a direct hit from a .338, and still be little the worse for wear. Using bleeding edge laminated graphene to form a nigh indestructible plate hundreds of times stronger than steel and far lighter to boot. Specially reinforced over the vital areas and incorporating a dilatant and gel backing to minimize blunt trauma and shock damage. And you’ve already broken it.” She gently rested her face in her hands, “I don’t suppose your sword is secretly chipped to hell and you need a new one as well?”

She reached down to a small table next to her own chair, pulling out a flask of aged bourbon, pouring herself a glass and slowly but steadily draining it. “You do realize,” she deadpanned at him, refilling the glass, “That you’re telling me I’m going to be spending the next three days working with almost no sleep to get this back into proper shape?” Downing the glass again, she raised an eyebrow at him, “I hope you’ve got something good to make it worth the trouble.”

Lucien shrugged, smirking slightly. “Should’ve tested it against angry Original Angels. We pack a hell of a punch.”

“Next time I see a clearance sale on them, I’ll make sure to buy them in bulk just for you.” She snipped at him, pouring the bourbon into her tea. “I can make you some armor that actually will stop damn near anything, but it’ll be heavier. Like an actual suit of plate armor.”

Lucien smiled. “I have offered my services in testing your toys in return for free repairs. As for the weight, that’s no problem. What you Humans consider heavy and what is actually heavy are entirely different things.”

Tatiana quirked an eyebrow at him. “Remember who you’re talking to.” She sipped at her tea, frowning at it before dumping a spoonful of sugar into it. “I’m not talking about heavy by the standards of some couch potato - it actually is heavy.” Laying the mug of tea down, she stretched her arms out, “The armor I can make covers a wide range - I can make something as light as a second skin but with little to be impressed by as far as protectiveness goes, I can make you armor that will last through hell and back and a couple trips through the ghetto to boot, but you’ll feel the weight alright.” She leaned back in the chair, “Before I go and make assumptions, just what do you actually want? Don’t assume that when I say heavy I mean heavy for a twelve year old girl. We’re talking heavy even for you.”

“I need something that can withstand the strongest hits you’ve got. My healing factor won’t save me from everything. That’s where the armor comes in. I’d show you my sword, but someone keeps insisting upon it being tied. So you’re just going to have to take my word for it when I say I accidentally snapped it off in a Demon’s neck.” Lucien waited for the inevitable reaction, a slight smile playing on his lips as he took another drink.

Tatiana looked at him for a moment. Her breathing remained even.

She closed her eyes.

She reached for the small table again, pulling out the bottle of bourbon and upending it into her mouth. The room was silent for a minute aside from the steady glug glug glug of the rapidly emptying flask. Tatiana kept her index finger held up to Lucien, bidding him stay silent as she drained the flask. It was oak aged ninety proof bourbon, some of the nicest on the market. In truth it was a drink to savour and appreciate. But it was also strong, and that was what she needed right now to continue talking to the Angel without strangling him.

“That sword,” she began, covering her eyes with her cybernetic hand, “took me ten days to make. A small fortune in resources to build it of only the best materials in the world. Services from the best enchanter in continental Europe. Two days alone spent working on the edge to make it second to none in the world. A piece of art, a true masterpiece of bladesmithing. Light as a feather to the user, crushing in its blows, unyielding in its sharpness.” She gritted her teeth, “Material worth well over its weight in gold. Successfuly tested against diamonds for hardness, flexed two hundred and forty degrees without taking a set, battered six hundred times by hydraulic hammers to test its resilience. A blade that any warrior would weep to have received for next to nothing. And you SNAPPED it?!” She screeched at him, losing all semblance of restraint. “Are you TRYING to break my equipment?! You would have to be! What in the name of all the fires of hell were you using it for!?”

Lucien’s eyebrows merely rose in amusement. “There was a Demon Lord trying to eradicate a town. I stabbed him through the neck, and his stone like skin closed in on it. To prevent him from going on a rampage in his death throes, it used the sword as leverage to throw him away from the town. The blade snapped in the process, but hundreds of lives were saved. A fair trade.”

Seething, Tatiana closed her eyes, trying to calm herself before something regrettable happened. After a moment, she had mastered the impulse to strangle the bastard and looked back up at him. “That agreement was for basic repairs. I’m no miser, but that blade alone cost me…” she trailed off. “Do you have any idea just how much money I lost? Your offer netted me barely anything, I only lost with it. You’re not getting a single thing from me until you make it worth my while. I run a business, not a charity.”

“I thought you might say that. Fortunately, I left several things with your guards so they can bring them in. Didn’t want them all cluttering the room. So you’ll have to call them and tell them to bring everything in. There’s quite a lot of them.” Lucien waited expectantly, gesturing towards the intercom Tatiana had.

“You really shouldn’t be so distressed. I’m helping you find weaknesses in your equipment that you can improve upon.”

Tatiana fixed him with a look of pure venom. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to get me to punch you or actually think that.” She looked at him for a minute. “Whatever it is you have it had better be damned impressive. It wouldn’t kill you to find some information for me either. That’s of far greater importance than money.” Tapping a finger to her temple, she paused for a moment before speaking. “Raine, bring in the ‘things’ he says he left out there, please.”

Lucien watched as the pretty, by human standards, guard brought in the various items. The first was an unusually large axe. “Angel Forged.. Minerals and metals you won’t find here or anywhere else but Heaven, which I’m sure you’re aware is locked down. Was wielded by Maximilian. He is dead, but the abilities of the axe have not decreased. It’s far stronger than anything you can create with your Human metals. He used it as a...what’s the word...bangarang. That Human thing. He could throw it and it’d always come back to him. Light as a feather, sharp enough to slice through most armors.”

A shamshir was next. “Ah, I had forgotten about this. Sarian did always enjoy your Human culture. Same metals as Maximilian’s axe, only when this blade cuts the air the cut would project several feet, creating a minorly ranged weapon. He relied too much that ability, however, and wasn’t nearly as dangerous in close range.”

A pair of daggers clanked on the table. “Sasha was a vicious close ranged fighter. Her daggers draw energy from whoever they cut. Every cut would drain energy and give it to Sasha. She didn’t go down easily. But a sword through the skull kills just about everyone, no matter how much energy you have left.”

A bow was lain in front of Tatiana. “Crafted from metal, and strung with a thin wire. Creates it’s own arrows of Angelic Essence. What Vivian didn’t know was that Angelic Essence can’t hurt Angels. The look of surprise on her face as she died was enough to assure me of that. I assume it draws on the Essence of whoever is wielding it, so it’ll fire Human essence if a Human is wielding it, Demonic Essence if you give it to a Demon, so on so forth.”

A straight sword, similar to Lucien’s former one, was put on the pile. “Gabriel and I always did prefer simplicity. It can turn invisible, making it impossible to gauge the length of your opponent’s blade. Something that was useless when I had seen it countless times. I was the better sword fighter.”

A spear was the last weapon to be put down. Lucien became quiet. Morose. “Cerria. First of the Weather Angels. Strongest of our fighters. She was terrible at precision strikes, which made a spear an unusual choice until you saw how she used it to orchestrate storms. It still holds a charge of a lightning bolt, ready to be released into your enemy once you stab them.”

Lucien gestured behind them. “The rest is their armors, a verifiable ocean of metal for you to melt down and make use of. Stronger than most of the armors you can create here, while still being incredibly light. That’s what I want you to use to make my new armor. Oh. And one last thing.” He pulled a rucksack from the piles of armor and tossed a beaten journal onto the pile. “Found it in Gabriel’s home. Looks like it’s reports. Don’t know how old.”

Tatiana’s jaw had been steadily decreasing the distance between it and the ground below it right up until Lucien mentioned melting them down. “Are you out of your mind?!” She exclaimed in horror, “Should I use the Mona Lisa as a blank canvas for a painting of my own?! Should I demolish Michelangelo’s David to make room for a new sculpture?! Do you not hear the words coming out of your mouth, man?!”

“I am not an artist. I am a soldier. Soldiers use whatever is at hand. If I need Mona Lisa’s canvas for padding, I will use it. If I need the stone of David to create a wall, I will tear it down. The armor does not fit me. I need it repurposed to fit me, so I can kill the last one.” Lucien leaned forward, his eye suddenly intense and burning with desire. “She’s the last one. Do you understand? She’s all that’s left. I kill her, and it’s over. The deaths, the needless slaughter, the crimes, the crusade of vengeance. It all ends. I pay for my crimes, just as she will pay for hers.”

He gave a slightly crooked smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention a thing about you.”

If one looked closely, the sudden subtle but distinct shift in Tatiana’s demeanor would’ve sounded alarm bells of all sizes. Her cybernetic arm clutched the now empty bottle in her hands and her jaw was set in a firm line. She sat silently for a little while, staring at the expensive Persian rug currently adorning the floor beneath the tables and chairs.

With a sudden cacophany of sound the bottle shattered, shards of glass flying in all directions, yet Tatiana didn’t move. She remained almost motionless save heavy and uneven breathing. “Don’t talk to me about being a soldier.”

She looked up, a fire burning in her eyes, even the cybernetic one, snarling in a low growl, “Don’t fucking talk to me about being a soldier. Don’t you ever fucking talk like that to me.” Her tone was even, but her voice cracked at almost every other word. “I’ll make you your armor, not of these, but I’ll make it.” Her eyes narrowed, “But talk to me like that again and we’ll be having a different discussion. Some of us have different things to war, don’t talk to me about pragmatism in it. I know it all too well.”

Lucien waited, eyes on Tatiana for the slightest movement. His hands were free, ready to grab whatever necessary should things turn violent. Not that he hadn’t half expected it already. As the glass shattered, he merely smiled his crooked smile. It was more pained this time. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. Easy to forget I’m not the only one with pain these days.” He shrugged. “Armor is armor.”

Tatiana took a deep breath, brushing away glass fragments. She lowered her other hand, realizing it had unconsciously strayed close to her gun. “Then we have an agreement.” Letting the breath out, she poured herself some more tea, drinking deeply of the beverage to calm herself. “Anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Nope.” Lucien stood up and stretched, his wings flaring out as far as he could without smacking into things. “I’m going to be heading into Heaven soon, so if I don’t come back for a long time, assume I’m dead.”

Nodding solemnly, Tatiana stood as well. “Well alright then. Expect the new gear within a fortnight. I still need more information about just what Azael wants before I make something for him, however. Raine can show you out if you would like.”

Mary

Loom, Mid-day.

She was suddenly awake in the city of Loom. The smell is what assaulted her first. Rotting garbage, spices, and emissions. She stood up, stretching. "Well. At least this time I know what happened." She muttered. Her ring glimmered on her finger. Doesn't make it any less painful. You don't have to be as tough as steel, Mary. Mary gave a sad smile, examining the small alley in which she had awoken. It, at least, was familiar. Garbage and filth everywhere. So she hadn't been out for too long this time. "Yes Mercy, I do. Because until I kill him or he kills me, this is never going to stop." She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She couldn't let this go on anymore. You're not ready to kill him. Not yet. Mary chuckled humorlessly, walking out of the alley. "I doubt I ever will be ready, Vengeance. But at least if I fail I can force him to kill me. And that might bring an end to this damned cycle."

She was almost outside the alley, trying to hide her nervousness by fiddling with her ring. She had no idea what the world was going to be like out there. Had someone like Judas rose to power again? The Angels and Demons shattered the fragile peace? Was Lazarus still around? Was the Musicians Academy still standing? She had so many questions, and no way to answer them. Not yet. Even if he kills you, the cycle won't end. I'll still be around and he'll just drag me from your corpse. "Then we'll have to figure out someway to cast you into the Abyss of death." Oh ha ha. I'm sure you find yourself very punny.

Mary smiled. "I do. Thank you for noticing."

With a too light of landing, the man stood in front of her. Mary's eyes widened in surprise, and then terror as she took in his appearance. Unnaturally long canines, pale skin, predatory eyes and unnatural speed and grace. Vampire. Mary began to shake as images flared in her mind.

A giggling voice, demanding that they eat her. A stern voice, telling him that Sir wants her alive. A fight breaks out, knocking her over and disrupting her bonds and blindfold. She runs.

The same giggling voice on the phone, asking if it's okay to eat the girl now that they've eaten the parents. She drops the phone. Grief shuts down her mind. And guilt. The rest is a blur.

Screams of pain and terror. Something tearing apart the giggler as the stern one was already dead. She could only stare in horror.

Mary wasn't aware that she was running until she had already slammed open a door and was bolting. There were voices in her head, telling her to slow down, to fight, to do anything but this mind numbing panic that had over taken her. She couldn't register it. She just had to run. She couldn't be caught again. If she was they'd kill the people who cared about her again.

Mary didn't know how long she had ran through the buildings and streets of Loom. It seemed like forever. Eventually she found herself in a new alley way. This one longer. The man was behind her. Now that she had a moment to stop, she could hear him taunting her. She looked around wildly. There was no where to run. No where to hide. She was trapped and doomed and she was going to die die die die-

ENOUGH! Vengeance's voice boomed through her mind, making her freeze in both mind and body. You are a Musician! You bring order to the chaos! You are judge, jury, and executioner! In this world you are the force of Order. Act. Like. It.

Mary shook herself. He was right. She was a Musician. If she failed now, she wouldn't be able to stop Sir. She wouldn't be able to bring order to this mad world.

The Vampire was getting closer. She took a deep breath, before turning to face him, her instrument loose in her hands. The vampire smiled, opening his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the sounds of war horns and chimes. Before he could do anything, golden chains erupted from the ground behind him, wrapping around his body and forcing him to his knees.

"You stand guilty of murder, attempted murder of a Musician, and Essence stealing. The punishment for such crimes is death." Mary's voice echoed to her from a long distance, as if she wasn't in control of her own body as she strode up to the vampire, her instrument now a pistol. The vampire was beginning to panic, struggling futilely in his bonds. Calmly, she put the barrel against his forehead. "May God have mercy on your soul." With one sharp bang, it was all over. The vampire's body collapsed limply onto the ground, and Mary's instrument returned to a ring.

Mary turned around and promptly vomited.

The young woman bent over a long thin Khopesh which had been clearly made to fit her hand and she worked with an engraving tool. Shay’s handy work could be seen starting from the base of the blade where it met the hilt and it began its slow march from there. With headphones in her ears she continued to translate and copy the glyphs from the journal on her left. It was more art than science since the blade in the journal was a straight double edged hand and a half sword. No doubt the one in Lazarus study where she had snagged the book from. It was clear from the spidery hand writing that Lazarus had also penned the journal she was copying the glyphs from. The whole of the writing was in an archaic form of Gaelic that Lazarus liked to use to keep casual eyes off his secrets. It had been one of the first things Shaylee had learned upon coming to Finch’s Loft.

Leaning back over the Journal she peered down at it. “What the hell is a snare entity?” It appeared she was missing a necessary component for the conversion. Regardless, now she had a pretty good idea of how to create the Vessel. Taking a break from the engraving she picked up the Journal. From what she could tell the Vessel was meant to act as a receptacle for essence that could be drawn on for use in necromancy. Unfortunately Lazarus switched into a language she could not understand about halfway through the actual description; however the majority of his writing on how to perform the creation was still in Gaelic. It appeared she would actually need Lazarus to explain and help her with the conversion of the weapon. Damn

With a squeak of fright Shay jumped a half foot in the air as the door to her workshop was slammed open against the stone walls. Lazarus stood in the doorway and he appeared to be pissed beyond belief.

Double Damn

“You better believe it Shay”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she remembered he had the eerie ability to read surface thoughts. “That is so not fai-” Suddenly the journal in her hands was wrenched away from her and snapped shut as Lazarus caught it in his left hand.

“What the hell do you think you are doing with this? Infact where did you even get it. And while we are at it you better not be attempting what I think you are.”

Shaylee stood up and kicked her hip out as she folded her arms. The pose was that of a petulant teenager but Shay didn’t even notice. The young woman had grown up a spoiled brat and a popular girl; regardless of Lazarus efforts she still retained many of her unsavory habits. “What the hell are you hiding Dr. Finch? I saw your library. There is a shelf full of these and you are the first person to tell me all about the crap you’ve done in the past. So why haven’t I ever seen one of these Journals? They are a how to manual for your new necromancer and yet you haven’t once shown me them.”

Lazarus eyebrow twitched in annoyance and it was clear that Shaylee was treading on thin ice but the girl didn’t even notice as she continued her own tantrum regardless of the fact that she’d been caught doing something she damn well knew she shouldn’t have been doing.

“And while we are on the topic of that little secret library of yours. Why the hell does your sword whisper?”

Lazarus eyes almost popped out of his head. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING HANDLING DRACUL!” The room seemed to drop in temperature as Lazarus eyes blazed with cold blue quicksilver. “You little fool. You know nothing about anything! If it weren’t for me you’d still be trying to get ghosts to even respond to you. Yet alone being able to command them. And you have the nerve to dig through my private library? Handle things you don’t understand AND THEN get mad at ME?!”

Shaylee could tell that she’d pushed him too much; there was no escaping the tirade that was coming. Well. Except for her trump card. Hanging her shoulders and her head Shaylee’s eyes watered and she sniffled before reaching up and rubbing at her eyes and nose with both her hands. “I’m sorry….I just feel like you don’t trust me enough…”

Lazarus stopped mid rant as his brain tried to comprehend what was happening? Wait. Why is she...damn it. With a sigh he walked across the room to her. “Hey, stop that. I didn’t mean to get so upset. There are just things you aren’t ready for yet. It has nothing to do with me trusting you.”

Shaylee’s quiet sobs continued until Lazarus finally relented set the book down and gave her an incredibly awkward hug. For all the young women who’d ended up in his life the resurrection mage had never managed to get over the awkwardness of attempting to provide physical affection. Marry had been the easiest as she was young enough that it had been closer to a father daughter relationship. Shaylee and Iris, even though Iris was his daughter, it had always been difficult to express physical affection. Perhaps it was that when he looked in the mirror he really appeared only a few years older than the two of them. Well the last time he'd seen Iris.

“Shaylee, the reason I have these and the reason you haven’t seen them is simple; the journals are from a time in my life when I needed every weapon I could possibly get my hands on. You don’t want to have the Knowledge in these books. Atleast not right now; you are better off working on your own to flesh out the kind of magic you command. It is completely unique; we will work on teaching you regular necromancy too but right now you are better with.” Lazarus chuckled a little to himself “Ectomancy”

Shaylee rolled her eyes at the label that Lazarus had given her particular brand of necromancy. “If not now then when?” Sitting back down on the stool next to her work table Shaylee crossed her legs and used her arms to hold them up. There was no doubt in the young girl's mind that at some point she would need that magic and knowledge contained in those books. “Given that I am even capable of spirit magic don’t you think that is indicative of something not being right in the world?

Lazarus hairs stood on end for a moment. It always seemed to elude him just HOW good Shaylee was at understanding things. Maybe that was why she was so incredibly good at the magic that had blossomed in the presence of the spirits in their world. They would probably never know, but Shay was right. The world felt more and more out of balance. Lazarus could feel it; no doubt it had to do with his missing lover. All of the sudden he had the nastiest itch to go and check his phone. It had been a solid week that he’d left his son in law to his own devices and it was dawning on the Resurrection Mage that he’d all but tuned out the outside world until now. For all he knew it could be ending.

The look on Lazarus face said it all to Shay. Something was decidedly not right in the outside world. “Dr. Finch. What is wrong?” It seemed to snap him out of his contemplation as she said the words out loud. Shay could already tell that he was trying to determine what if anything he was going to tell her. Before he could respond she cut him off “Please don’t lie to me. You talked to us all about how more than other magic Necromancy carries a high price and a great risk. I accepted both of those when I came here and you respected that when you took me in.”

It was clear that Lazarus heard her as he looked like he was rethinking the lie he was about to tell. “The world is not well. Essence is no longer disappearing into the void and Hazumi has gone missing. Without her to regulate Essence in the world things have become even more dangerous. Especially since she was the one who prevented murder; to be frank that has made things a lot easier for those of us who are okay with working outside the Law. However, it opens the door for grander scale machinations. Frankly we don’t need that; Judas was enough of an eye opener for this world. Any more disruptions on that scale could spell disaster for us as is.” Lazarus shook his head “There are hundreds of problems to worry about. I guess maybe it is time to worry.”

Looking up at Shaylee he looked back down at her sword. “Come on.”

With that Lazarus picked up Khepri and walked out of the room. Shaylee scrambled off the stool and followed him. Something felt different about the way that Lazarus was talking to her and when he lead her down a flight of stairs concealed behind a stone wall she knew something was up. The set of stairs spiraled down into the heart of the bedrock which Finch’s Loft had been built on. As they went deeper the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The two of them came out onto a long metal corridor that had windows on either side. Walking just behind Lazarus Shaylee peered out the windows on her left and right. The cavern they were crossing above was massive and appeared to be lined with shelves about sixteen feet wide. The cavern extended into the darkness on both sides. Filled with the strange structures as Shaylee exited the walkway she shuddered as she looked back. As she was leaving she could see that her first inclination had been right. They were shelves and each one of them had a square door on the front of it. Shaylee had seen shelves like them once before and she could only wonder in horror at why her mentor had a whole cavern of them.

The tunnel on the other side had a staircase leading down that Shaylee shied away from as she knew where it lead. The depths of the that cavern she’d just seen. Scampering after Lazarus she hugged her arms against herself and fought the urge to look over her shoulder. The young girl had the distinct feeling there might be something behind her. Looking up at Lazarus she was startled to see that he was using his essence sight. What is he doing? She stifled the thought and looked up at Lazarus again expecting him to make some comment but he was still focused on what was head.

The hallway opened into another room. Shaylee suddenly skittered very close to Lazarus as they entered the room. Leering at her from the walls were what could not be mistakened for as anything but coffins. “Wh-what are those?”

Lazarus didn’t even look as he crossed the room with long strides. Looking down it dawned on her that Lazarus was still barefoot as he wandered across the room. “Sword Wights.” Shay’s mouth hung slightly open as she frowned and scampered after him. “Wh-what are they?” Lazarus sniffed as he kept walking. “They are the strongest form of risen dead that I can conjure in this realm. In the Seat of the Mad I can raise Titans but no such things exist on the surface.” Shay appeared confused, “What is a Titan?” Lazarus finally looked at her. “It’s an undead that had a corpse which was created specifically for being raised from the dead. Think of them like organic golems since no such creature predated them. They only exist as the puppets of Necromancers. Shaylee nodded “So. What makes a Sword Wight so special?” Turning back he walked to one of the coffins and ran his hand over the ruins on its surface. “They are powered by artificial souls. Because of how they are constructed though there is no way for them to last for more than about 20-30 hours. The result however is a potent undead with advanced reasoning capable of raising and controlling other undead as well as producing potent evocation and abjuration magics.”

Shay shuddered again.

The unusual pair continued deeper into the depths of Lazarus’ laboratories winding through other spaces where he performed other experimentation with a variety of magic and alchemy. With a final shove Lazarus pushed open a single door of a set of double doors that appeared to be more in line with the style of Finch’s Loft as opposed to the metal sterile lab doors. Lazarus smoothly slipped inside.

Hesitating Shaylee finally worked up the courage to enter the room. The room was one part library, one part archive, one part workshop. The walls were covered with paintings and images; some featured people Shaylee couldn’t identify, some of them she knew and still others she could guess who they were from reputation. Hazumi feature prominently but two other women also had a equivalent presence. No doubt they were Kathleen and Iris. One of them she could only stare at with a certain degree of horror and fascination. It was the Master Mage: Solus Grim.

Another featured two people; one a young man and the other was a shadowy figure that lurked in the background of the painting. Ian Shaylee shuddered at the painting; it made her skin crawl to look at the shadow figure who was no doubt the personality of his instrument. When Shaylee finally tore her eyes away from the paintings she noted Lazarus who was standing over a sealed vessel. Peering over his shoulder her eyes bugged as she looked down on a girl with beautiful green wings who lay in what appeared to be a peaceful sleep. Closing the cover of the thing that appeared very much to be a casket Lazarus smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes we have to own up to our mistakes.” Gesturing he moved past the sealed casket he continued “She was one of them. Remember that when you are forced to take a life.”

With that said Lazarus moved to a large metal cabinet that dominated the far wall of the room. Reaching up Lazarus removed a large tray after disabling a lock on the outside of the drawer. Setting it on the desk Lazarus beckoned Shaylee over. Plucking a gem from the tray he held it up. “This is a soul stone. It is feeds on essence. You wanted to know why Dracul whispers? Because it houses the Souls of all the people it had killed.” Lazarus trailed off for a moment. “Well, it houses part of their essence which can be used for magic.”

Taking Khepri, Lazarus moved his hand over the end of the Khopesh and fitted the gem to the end of it. With a flick of his hand Lazarus finished the inscriptions down the length of the blade. “Khepri should now be capable of storing essence and energy for your own use.” Handing Shalee the blade he gave her a look that flayed her to her soul. “Betray me and I will cut out your heart and eat your soul Shaylee Carter.” The room itself seemed to grow darker and colder.

In that instant it became all too clear what Shaylee had gotten herself into. Lazarus was dangerous but he was also one of the most powerful necromancers of the age; and with good reason. “I won’t”

And with that he went back to being his normal self. “Good, now I don’t know about you but I think I missed lunch.” With that he helped her to belt Khepri onto her waist before he headed for the doors of the room. “Start collecting energy and essence for Khepri. As you do it will become more functional. And with that he disappeared out the doors. With a parting look at the casket with the woman in it she sprinted for the doors before they could slam shut.

Tokarin’s flight was not a quiet one. Her wings were not meant for stealth – in fact they were so noisy that the more attentive listeners could hear them even over the sound of traffic. The sound of the humongous appendages slicing the air at such high speeds came as a warning to demons to duck their heads or prepare for a confrontation.

However the vampire in front of Mary was in no state to notice. And neither was his inquisitor.

So Toki’s approach remained unheard. And so was the whispered “what” when she took in the sight in front of her. A look of pure horror was bleaching all of her features, giving her a ghastly appearance as her eyes darted between the woman holding the gun and what had once been a living demon and was currently definitely not.

She took a step back, fully intending to go back the way she came… but her foot caught on some paper and the rustle made Mary’s eyes dart towards the newcomer, and Toki’s hands snap up protectively.

“Stay back!” She warned, wings folded closely, ready for a dash.

Mary paused, scanning the angel in front of her through watery eyes. Some vomit was still on her lip, and she wiped it off with a shaky hand. The gun aiming at Toki shook almost in sync with the shaking of her free hand. Not an enemy. She sighed in relief, tense shoulders suddenly slumping.

“It’s…it’s okay.” She stuttered out in a shaky voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Her instrument turned back into a ring, wrapping around her finger. “H-he was going to try to kill me. Drain my Essence. I-I had to.” She started to cry again, tears rolling down her face. “I-I’ve never killed someone before. I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…” She hugged herself as the sobs grew worse.

Tokarin’s eyes widened. He had tried to—

Oh God…

Her body and mind were still frozen for a long moment. She should have been able to shake it off, but truth is, it was the first time she’s seen the contents of one’s head in so much detail too, and it was terribly distracting. She felt nausea rising in her throat but forced herself to get a grip – the girl in front was badly shaken and a quick scan of the futures ahead revealed that they’d be getting some nasty company soon.

“Come on,” Toki started weakly, extending a hand but wasn’t quite brave enough yet to step towards the girl, “you need help. You’re covered in blood, and-- and are you wounded? We need to get out of here, report it to the police… Call paramedics maybe?” She didn’t say anything about the vampire’s partner joining them soon but she choked on the truth slightly. She didn’t have the time to look at what exactly would happen a minute from now but she was certain it was best they weren’t around to see.

Mary shook her head, recoiling slightly from the stretched out hand. “Nonono. I’ll just get you killed too.” She took a step back. “I get everyone killed...my parents, my friends, Lazarus…save yourself before it’s too late. Just...just leave and pretend you never saw me…” She clamped down on the voices in her head, all three yelling at her to leave. She wouldn’t hurt someone else. Not again.

Toki certainly didn’t want to take another step into the alley. It would make flight impossible, not to mention the bloody mess that she’d had to cross to drag the girl out. But she also didn’t want to leave her – whatever her circumstances, the angel had the feeling that she didn’t deserve what was coming for her. And ‘feelings’ were very strong motivators for diviners. “Listen, I’m a Clairvoyant, okay? I don’t know what’s happened to you but I can assure you that we’re both in danger if we stay here. We need to go!” She urged, leaning into the alley but making sure she still had one foot out.

“Go where? Nowhere is safe. He’ll find me and kill you in punishment. I escaped only to doom others. I’m a fool. A foolish idiotic girl who kills people.” Her instrument turned into it’s normal, string of light shape. She shook it at Toki. “I don’t even know how to use this! It was just thrust upon me by Hazumi and Lazarus. It was supposed to help. It’s only caused more damage! Some instrument.” Talking was calming her down, bringing her back to reality. She was a fugitive from Sir. She had no idea what time it was, in more ways than one, and needed to know what happened while she was gone.

“Okay...Okay. Where are we going?” She took a few steps towards Toki, ignoring the body of the vampire.

Finally, Tokarin thought as she grabbed the other girl’s hand and pulled her out of the alley, starting down the main road at a quick pace. “It doesn’t matter where we go, as long as it’s further away from here.” She said, trying not to panic. The vampire was surely closing in and she really hoped he wouldn’t be able to sniff them out. One of her wings wrapped around Mary protectively, hoping to keep her safe from both the vampire and the suspicious looks of the passer-by. To someone watching them from afar it would have probably looked funny: two short girls enveloped by feathers hurrying down a street as if chasing a bus… It would have looked funny if one was to overlook the blood on Mary’s clothes and the hysteria that clung to both.

“How did you even get into that situation?” The angel questioned, trying not to think about just how unpleasantly eventful the last twenty-four hours had been. “And do you know anything about vampires? How do we escape them--” She cut off, realising she hadn’t told Mary why they were actually running. “Because that one you killed had a partner and I have a very nasty feeling she won’t be nice if she finds us.” She explained with a very definite full stop at the end.

“Vampires. Surface Class demons. Supernatural physical traits and senses.” Mary muttered, almost unconsciously. She came to an abrupt stop, registering what Toki had just said. “He had a partner? I-I can't let her run around. Not after what they did. What they plan to do.” She gave a shaky smile at the angel. “After this, if we're in a safe place I'll tell you everything. You probably won't believe me. But I'll tell you.”

She couldn't stop shaking. But she had to do this. It was her job as a Musician. Her instrument turned back into a gun.

“You said you're a Clairvoyant. I need you to tell me every move she'll make when I shoot at her and try to chain her like I did her partner.”

“What?!” Toki stopped dead in her tracks. “I'm not helping you kill someone! How do you know they're even evil - everyone would be upset to have their friend killed! No, we are running away. And then we're calling the police!” She said firmly and grabbed Mary's hand gingerly. A pain was starting in her right temple like a nail being slowly driven into her skin and soon it would reach a nerve. They were wasting precious time. Unlike their hunter.

Mary’s eyes hardened, despite the fear in them. “Because I heard his taunts as he drove me into the alleyway to kill me. “ She took on an impression of the vampire. “‘We’re going to drain you like we drained all the others.’ ‘Run, run little girl. It won’t matter in the end. I catch and share you.’ ‘My, my, all that fear. You’ll barely be a snack for us.’ ‘Maybe I’ll play with you before. Tell me girl, are you a virgin?’.”

She stopped, unconsciously and unnecessarily clicking off the safety on her weapon. “Unless you’re going to assure me she wasn’t his partner when he said ‘we’, I’m going to judge her. Then kill her when the truth comes out. I’m a Musician. It’s my duty. I’m not going to let someone else die because of me.”

Tokarin shivered as Mary reenacted what she’d been through just minutes before, her mind going blank for a moment, possibly overwhelmed. “What do you...” She started and trailed off, realising what Mary was talking about. If those demons were out on the hunt, then sooner or later they’d pick another victim if they fail at catching whom they intended.

That may be so… but she was still unable to bring herself to aid in killing a living being.The thought alone was too much to bear. She couldn’t even consider it. “Okay,” she said, “listen, I’ll help you stay safe. I’ll tell you when to duck but the rest is up to you. I… I don’t want to be a murderer.” Her wings slumped at the shame in her voice. Her head was really giving her grief now, the vampire would be here any moment.

Mary smiled gratefully, arms going out to hug the girl before she stopped. “Still covered in blood. You don’t want any on you.” It was easy to be calm when the threat was far away, but she could feel the fear coursing through her veins, making her ready for action at the slightest hint of trouble. I won’t be alone anyway.

No. You won’t. We’re not fighting this battle for you though. Vengeance replied.

Why not?!

Because you can’t call on us to fight every fight for you. You did fine last time. Mercy spoke up, her voice soothing and calming.

I nearly died, puked, and then broke down in tears!

It’s progress. You ran away all the other times. The Abyss put in mildly.

Shut up.

She focused back on Tokarin. “How far away is she?”

Tokarin looked into the future. The glowing strands of possibilities unfolded in front of her like a spider web, possibilities laid out in front of her and branching out into a grey haze. Among the dozens she had to pick the ones to concentrate on, to prepare for. The majority involved flight – there were so many ways to run or hide and some of those would even work in the long term… but she couldn’t flee. She had to look at the ones where they would fight… and make it out alive.

“How far away is she?” Mary’s voice bled through the fog of her physical perceptions.

“_{twenty seconds}” Toki whispered, her eyes darting at the scenes far ahead. On the horizon she could see very unpleasant things. Injury.. death.. She didn’t want to see anyone else die today, yet she couldn’t escape it – Mary dying in so many ways, and herself too. She quickly dismissed those futures and changed the lense, browsing through the events in the middle.

It felt like changing glasses rapidly – from short-sighted to long-sighted and back again. It was confusing and it took time and normally she only looked at snippets at a time, working her way forwards, rather than backwards. This time was different because this time mistakes could be fatal.

Seven seconds left. Toki wanted to avoid all the possible injuries any of them, or anyone else for that matter, could sustain. She had to find the one strand where it all went their way, the one strand that would make the fight look like insane luck, like a miracle.

Not the one where a bus-driver swirled around to miss Mary who would end up on the street, and crash into the shop opposite.

Not the one where during the fight, the vampire would get a hostage that Mary would have to shoot.

Not the one—

“She’ll be here in five seconds. Duck to the left in four, you won’t see her. ” She’d used up all her time to read and now she didn’t have the time to instruct Mary. She really hoped her reactions were fast.

“Close the distance, keep her jaw shut and react to everything I say a second later!” She yelled just as a body slammed right where Mary had been standing.

Four...three...two...one…

Mary leapt to the left, feeling the wind tear at her clothes as something tore into where she had just been. Close the distance with a vampire, not freaking crazy at all! She thought, her mind a whirlwind of fear as she reacted more to Toki’s commands then anything else.

Mary’s instrument blared out war horns, changing shape into two spiked gauntlets that covered her arms as she lunged to grab and slam the Vampire’s mouth shut.

Instead of grabbing the vampire’s jaw (or missing, as the case might have been) Mary was knocked to the ground. Instinctively, her hands shot up to block any lunges towards her throat. Nononono crap crap She thought in almost a complete panic, waiting to be torn into. Nothing happened. Looking tentatively up, she saw that the vampire had a new enemy. A woman with white hair, demonic horns, and most notably, and axe far too large to be practical. ”Well well well. And here I thought today was going to be boring.”

The vampire was struggling against the axe, holding the blade from sinking into her head. The demon, Fran, was forcing it down using just one hand, letting its immense weight put pressure on the vampire. ”And to eat out a lovely lady in such a dingy place like this. You have no class!” Fran delivered a quick jab into the vampire’s stomach, buckling her and allowing Fran to cleave the creature in half, from shoulder to hip. Her axe sliced through her body smoothly like a hot blade through warm butter, splattering blood against the succubus, her weapon, and the alley around her.

Spinning on the tip of her toe, Fran looked towards the other two on the street. Her quarry, the mysterious winged lady, and now this stranger with a magic instrument. Originally she didn’t intend to save them so much as she was hunting them, but seeing that this vampire was going to steal her prey away, Fran had to do something. And now that her competitor was half the woman she used to be, the succubus smiled at the two and bowed.

”My my, where are my manners? My name is Fran. And to whom do I owe this pleasure?” Fran spoke politely, almost sophisticated, despite being covered in blood, gore, and dressed like a sexualized demon knight.

Tokarin stared at the hellion in shock, her sudden appearance coming as a complete surprise. Why hadn’t she seen her coming? She should have. She really should have! The only explanation was that “Fran’s” appearance was part of a future she’d dismissed for one reason or another. Her carelessness could have cost Mary’s life.

Her eyes glazed over as she took another look at what to expect. Luckily, the chances of Fran attacking them were slim. At least not in the violent way, for now. Toki blushed slightly and came to.

“Um… Fresia.” She uttered, coming up with it on the spot. “Thank you for helping.” The angel looked at Mary, hoping she was just as ready to make an exit as she was. The traffic to her right was getting more serious and some cars were starting to slow as they passed. It wouldn’t be long before the first horrified scream was heard.

Fran turned her head towards the winged humanoid calling herself Fresia. She walked over to her, placing an armored finger on the girl’s chin to get a good look at her. ”Oh it was my pleasure. Such a ruffian like her can’t treat a good girl like you right. Now how about we go somewhere more… Pleasant, and talk about what’s all this about, hmm?” Despite the chastity belt making Fran physically unable to pleasure herself, she still felt arousal and attraction. And if her theory was right, all Fran needed to do was get this angel to remove her chastity belt and she’d be back to business.

”Come along. I know of a shawarma shop near by. I don’t know what shawarma is exactly, but it smelled delicious.”

Toki was trying her best not to look as horrified as she felt inside. Her heart was making loops in her chest and all she wanted to do, desperately, was to spread her wings and flee. But that wasn't an option. Not for Mary, anyway.

As she was trying to think of a way out it struck her that she wasn't really fit for living in a city like Loom. A city where victims became predators in the blink of an eye and where disfigured corpses lay unnoticed as people went about their daily business. A flashback to her failure from just hours before scorched her brain and made the choice for her. A sudden resolve flashed in her eyes and she stepped back from the demon, grabbing Mary’s hand in a firm grip.

“I'm sorry but we're leaving. We have to be elsewhere and we're running late.” Although her voice was still a bit unsteady, her tone left no room for dispute. She would leave, one way or another.

Mary was too relieved and dumb founded that she wasn’t dead, or fighting for her life, that it took her a few moments to do anything more than stare at Fran in dumb surprise. It took the grabbing of her hand to snap her out of it. “...Right, Fresia.” Liar. Vengeance noted. “We’re late. I hate being late.” That much, at least, was true. Punctual, Pretty, and Prepared. The three P’s her father had hammered into her when it came to meetings and the like. “Thank you for saving us, but we really should be going.”

”Oh? Right, just a spot of heroics before finishing up with your business. I’m sure you mortal types are soooo busy.” Fran sighed. She wished she could be busy sometimes too, but without being able to indulge in herself, she had nothing but free time, wasting away. So why not waste time keeping these girls company? ”Well then, let’s be off! I grow tired of this gruesome scene. Perhaps we’ll find something new and exciting, yes?” The succubus said with a smirk. While Toki spoke with a tone leaving no room to argue her leave, Fran spoke with a certain seriousness that, like it or not, she was going to follow them.

Shaylee had crashed hours ago from the work she was doing with Khepri. It would be a hundred years or so before Khepri even approached the energy stored in Dracul. Lazarus stood looking at the painting of Solus and Hazumi in his study. Dracul hung from his hip and he gently rest his left hand on it. On his right hip hung Dragon’s Sire where his right hand rested. Anduriel rest on his upper chest as he contemplated the two portraits silently. What he was about to do could easily unravel all of Hazumi’s work but know what was coming made this all the more important. There was no way she’d have let him do what he was about to do if she knew or could stop him. Smiling grimly Lazarus turned to the desk and connected a series of essence lines in the desk. The pattern was incredibly complex, failing to do it in the correct order would turn Finch’s Loft into a self contained deteriorating Quantum Singularity which would slowly bleed itself out over the next 800 years.

There was simply no way he could let what was kept here fall into anyone else’s hands. With slow methodical steps he descended the stairway into the dark beneath the desk. The Academy thought it was still locked in its Vaults under heavy guard. Anduriel had made short work of its defenses. Which on its own was kind of frightening but then again Anduriel was something else entirely. Stepping out from the shadow of the stairway Lazarus approached the massive crystalline tube in the middle of the room. The layers of protection which had been put in place over it were more numerous than the Resurrection room and were easily ten times that of what Dracul made use of. Between the technology he had acquired from the Blood Reaver and the magic he’d stolen from the Children as well as their ancient technology he’d been able to craft a prison which was arguably overkill but that was something which could be easily understood.

That didn’t take too long

The voice scraped at the edge of his brain but he drew up the essence stored in Dracul and the wards around his mind flared to life throwing the voice back. It was no use listening to the fragment. Soon it would be gone, well the personality at least. The research had been harrowing to say the least and it had to be done in between teaching Shaylee and pretending like he’d put down all his weapons for good. That had been his intention but things had started to go south and it no doubt had to do with what he’d been shown. Not even Hazumi knew; hell she had been the one who’d pulled this damn thing from him but he’d kept the knowledge close. There was something moving out there in the nothingness and it was malignant beyond words.

Sending an intricate series of essence through the safeguards he partially dislodged his soul to use as a key for the locks. The barrier shimmered and with a smooth motion Lazarus drove both his swords into the living rock of the floor and extended his warded will and grabbed the chuck of Influence.

What are you planning on doing with me Finch? You know you can’t resist.

With a surge of Essence Lazarus compressed the matter in the air around the thing before he stepped over to a table. “Oh I found quite the use for you.” It had taken almost two years to build it from ancient texts and stolen technology from places unmentioned but he’d finally been able to build a vessel. It was unlike any weapon he’d crafted before and it would never be done again if he had a say in it. Strange wards that defied the senses, slithering as though they were alive, crawled up the outside of the staff. With a wrenching shove of essence he forced the Influence into the staff. The Wards along the staff flared to light with a shimmering sickly orange light casting crazed shadows across the room. Picking the weapon up he as but recoiled as a strange silver green blade grew from the end of it. Transforming the staff he held in his hands into a spear. A spear to pierce the night. A piece of the looming darkness beyond.

“Oh yes you monster. Now you will serve me. And then when this is all over I will cast you into the abyss between the stars.”

With another sick look Lazarus set the weapon down. With that he collected Dracul and Dragon sire before ascending the stairs again.

That night he tossed and turned. Dreaming of Hazumi.

Lucien and Alma

Close to Heaven’s Gate

Lucien examined the shattered remains of Heaven’s Gate critically. It was heavily guarded by Blackguard. Unusually so. Against one or two of them, he could have fought his way through. A squad he could have ran through with some injuries to show. With some luck he could have even done it with a few squads. But not this...army that was guarding the Gate. “What are you hiding...or guarding against.” He muttered. The Fallen Hunter was a good distance away from the Gate, examining it with his enhanced eyesight. It was certainly a fortress. Not one he was going to get through easily.

But Ariane was in there. And, more importantly, so was Hazumi.

“Might as well get this started.” He sighed, drawing his sword. This was going to get bloody. He hated it when it got unnecessarily bloody. Something prickled at the back of his head. Perhaps it was a sound they had made, or perhaps it was just a sixth sense for trouble and violence. Regardless, he knew someone was behind him. In a second he had whirled around, sword at the ready.

It was a girl. A young woman by human standards. She had dead eyes and a familiar, unsettling, bearing. She wasn’t attacking, which was a hopeful sign. Then again, she might also just be waiting for reinforcements. “Who are you. Why are you here.”

Alma regarded the Archangel that stood in front of her, analyzing the man. She recognized his face, even though she never met him. Something calling him out to her in the back of her memories, though she couldn’t fully remember. It was something her Father once spoke about, an Angel that he had a keen eye on.

She waved it off as a coincidence, he spoke about a lot of people. It was the only thing he found entertaining these days. Watching people go about their lives and make all the wrong decisions.

Snapping herself out of her train of thought, she tilted her head in curiosity as she spoke. “I’m on my way to Heaven.”

“Aren’t we all.” Lucien replied, sword still at the ready. “If you’re on your way to Heaven, go ahead. Good luck with getting past all the Blackguard. They don’t seem inclined to let anyone through. Least of all random girls walking through.” He didn’t trust this woman. She reeked of danger. And nothing. Not a single hint of Essence. That was more than enough to put him on edge. “I’ll ask again. Who are you.”

“My name doesn’t truly matter… Names are useless pleasantries.” She walked past him, starting her walk down the hill. She suddenly stopped and turned her head slightly. “If you wish to pass the Gate, then I suggest you follow. They know me…” Letting that settle in Lucien's mind, she set off towards the Gate. She pulled out a flashlight from her belt, and shone it towards the gate in bursts of 3 short bursts, and 3 long bursts. A simple call that she and the guards had between them. It would help put them at ease.

Lucien stared at the woman. Either she didn’t know who he was, didn’t care, or was leading him into a trap. He stared at the Gate again. It was his best bet of entering Heaven without a bloody fight. This could kill me. Or it could make things a hundred times easier. He debated a few more moments before shrugging. If it was a real offer in, great! If not, it wouldn’t be the first time he had fought himself out of a suicidally lethal situation.

Nonetheless, he followed the nameless girl cautiously, ready to bolt at an instant if the Blackguard so much as gave a hint of being ready to attack.

Alma walked up to the gate, greeting the checkpoint guards with a nod, who all returned it likewise. The one in front tilted his head to check over Alma’s shoulder to see Lucien approaching in the distance. “Is that Arch with you?” His voice echoed with the mechanical static of his Voice Comm that his enclosed helmet emitted.

“Indeed. I can always appreciate a helping hand.”

Lucien kept his silence as he examined the interactions with the Blackguard. A familiar face, if not one that was higher ranking than them. They hadn’t attacked yet, which was comforting, but not comforting enough to make him let go of his sword. He followed her, but cautiously. There was only one way into Heaven, and he didn’t want to fight his way through it.

He raised an eyebrow at her comment of ‘helping hand’. She hadn’t even told him what her purpose was.

The soldier’s helmet suddenly blared with a blue light for a moment, scanning the Archangel. “That’s a dangerous man you have there for company. But that's none of our concern.” He turned away from the duo and mumbled something into his helmet, the static was too prominent to hear what he was saying.

Alma herself could care less what or who Lucien was. There were bigger problems to deal with.

The soldier turned back around towards Alma, beginning to speak. “The Wall on the other side is overflowing with Elders. We are managing to hold them off, but they seem to been in endless supply. They are spawning from an unknown source in the ruins of Reingard.”

Lucien’s wings flared out, his sword have drawn, before the man finished speaking. Slowly, as it became clear that the Blackguard wasn’t going to attack, he relaxed. His head tilted at the mention of Elders, teasing at some long lost memory. “What am I getting myself into…” he muttered, waiting for Alma to continue or elaborate on exactly what he was going to be fighting.

“The old Capital…” Alma muttered to herself. She turned to Lucien, walking up to him, looking him up and down, surveying his equipment. “Hmm…” She hummed to herself in thought. “What do you know about Elders?”

“They’re dangerous. I remember that much. They’re an old name. One I haven’t heard in centuries. Certainly before the Great War. You’re going to have to remind me. Because if they’re back, I’d like to remember how to kill them.” Lucien replied, eyeing the Blackguards around them.

“Just use your sword. It will be enough.”

Lucien shrugged. “That was the plan before you came along. Don’t see a reason to change it now.” He tilted his head at her. “Why are you here? The infested, ruined, and violated lands of Heaven aren’t exactly broiling with trouble that should attract your kind.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

“My kind? You don’t know anything about me…” She turned to the guard and gestured at him, making him turn and speak into his headset again. “I’m here because I’m searching for someone. Someone important.”

“I know your type. You wouldn’t be here unless something extremely dangerous was going around. Solus was the same.” Lucien replied, still keeping some of his attention on the guards around him. “Everyone is important to someone. Even the lowliest of Demons. Who are you looking for?”

“Solus…?” Alma raised an eyebrow at his mention. “You knew my father?”

“Of course. Fought beside him in the Judas war. You seem to have inherited his charm. You still haven’t answered my question.” Lucien idly checked the edge of his blade, making sure it wasn’t dulled by recent use.

“Well…” Alma replied, a little more curious about the Angel. “Solus and Hazumi have… vanished… from the world. I’m here looking for them.” As she finished, a low rumble of an armored Humvee creeped up in the distance. “That’s your ride…” Said the guard to the pair. “It will take you to the Gate. From there you will be on your own.” Alma nodded her thanks, awaiting the approaching vehicle.

Lucien blinked in surprise. “Solus is gone too. Things really are bad then.” He looked distastefully at the truck, his wings flaring as he shifted in discomfort. “I’ll follow in the air. Not about to trap myself in a metal box with no way out should things go wrong.”

“The automated turrets will blow you out of the sky, plus there is nothing between here and the gate, and that’s as far as the Humvee goes. But if you want to be filled with lead, that’s up to you.” The guard advised him as the Humvee pulled up beside them. Alma immediately strode towards it and got in.

“Aaurus above…”Lucien groaned, following the girl reluctantly. He put himself in the car gingerly, doing his best not to pin his wings down or otherwise damage them. “What are we going to do? Wander around the ruins of Heaven, shouting out names and hoping they pop up?”

The car moved forward with a jerk, setting off towards the military base. “No. We are looking for clues. Something that will help me find them both. And as far as I have been told, they were last seen in Heaven.” Alma paused to move a bang of hair away from her eye. “I’m Alma, by the way. We might as well know each other's names if we are going to be working together. At least for the time being.”

“I thought names were useless pleasantries?” Lucien said, the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Lucien, though I assume you already know my name. As for clues, I suggest we just find a trail of bodies. Solus was usually good about leaving those behind. Other than that, there’s not much in Heaven that could interest them. At least, there wasn’t when I left it.”

“If there are Elders, then there’s something of interest now…” Alma said offhandedly. The vehicle passed several buildings, with heavily armed soldiers running in the direction of the Gate. “Driver, what the Gate’s status.” She asked. “Dire. It’s getting hit with wave after wave of infected. Angels mostly, tentacles sticking out of them and shit.”

“Wasn’t Heaven evacuated?”

“The survivors, yeah. A few thousand.” There were 150000 angels who had repopulated Heaven in the past year in an attempt to rebuild their old homeworld. If only a few thousand made it out, then the situation truly was bad. “The rest are like possessed, superpowered zombies. Tough as fuck to take down. And they are coming at us in the hundreds, sometimes thousands depending on the day.” This whole affair was hidden from the news. The outside world had no idea what was happening here.

Lucien sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This land should never be reinhabited. Too much death. Too much hate.” He looked out the window, giving a harsh chuckle. “Some things never change. How long until we start killing things again.”

“There’s the Gate now.” The driver stated as they approached a massive, heavily damaged ornate archway. It was scared from the ancient Great War, when the Fleshshaper’s Abomination destroyed it and it’s Keeper. But beyond the Gate, should have been the bright skies of Heaven, but they were dark, rotten, and smoke filled. Not a trace of the Sun could be seen. They drove through the Archway, and were greeted by more military buildings. Tanks, VTOLs, Mech Suits, every bit of military hardware was being repaired, rearmed, or already on it’s way to battle. They passed them all, until they reached an enormous concrete wall, it’s perimeter stretched as far as the eye could see, and it’s height reached some 200 meters into the air. “That’s the Wall. This is where you two get off.”

“Of course it is.” Lucien quickly scrambled out of the Humvee, taking a deep breath, his lip curling in disgust. “They smell even more corrupt than the Demons. Abominations.” He swished his sword through the air a few times. “Come along Alma. We have things to kill.”

---

---

The clock was ticking painfully fast against him but Andri was no fool. There was a reason Lucien hadn’t been hunted down for so long and it wasn’t due to lack of trying. Countless men and women had taken their chances against him and, quite frankly, some of them might well have been better than himself. Luck was a fact of life, sadly. A harsh lesson he’d been taught not so long ago.

He needed a strategy. His attempt might be nigh impossible but nobody was truly invincible and with the right tools and tactics, he could take down anyone.

The first and foremost problem was the information. Lucien, while officially a Renegade, had never been introduced to the students at the Academy as a potential target. Not only that, but out of all the species they had studied, Archangels were entirely ignored. Probably courtesy to Lucien himself, who had exterminated all but one before Andri was even born. Archangels were now a mythical race, one believed to be hiding away in Heaven while another was trying to kill her. Charming lot. Question was, how do you fight them.

Luckily he knew enough about Seraphs to have an idea what to expect. A diverse arsenal transcending the traditional types, a vast knowledge and even vaster experience, an unstoppable mind… They were a handful. Truly nasty opponents, albeit somewhat predictable in their arrogance. As their memories returned, many of them acquired new abilities that only expanded the further back they remembered their lives. That usually made them over-confident… and sadly for them, worse in their original abilities. The reason was simple: modern angels were the product of millennia of hard training. The more they remembered, the closer they got to their original starting point - to the moment all of them were created equal. The moment when there wasn’t anyone who was “the best” at anything.

A different world. In theory, it was very hard for a Seraph to remember more than seven lifetimes and maintain their level of expertise. In practice, nobody should ever count on that when facing one in battle. If Lucien was an Original angel, would that mean that he was good at every field ever practiced by angels? Or would it mean he couldn't compare to any modern angel? And did he stay where he was when he was created or did he make progress and hone his skills?

Information was essential. And the web wasn’t helping. It was time to break the rules for the first time today.

“Hello?” A female voice sounded on the other side of the line. She sounded distracted, slightly puzzled but not truly bothered. She hadn’t seen the caller ID. Headset.

“You’ve been gaming all night again, haven’t you?” He smirked.

He literally heard her face light up before she even said anything. “Anzen, now that’s a nice “good morning” call!”

He chuckled. oni_desho?! was a petite girl with glasses and a thing for games and far-eastern animation. She wasn't Asian but she really liked to pretend. She was also insistent on using nicknames on anyone and everyone, including herself. His meant “safe”, and hers implied she was a demon. Rather ironic, all things considered.

“I have a little task for you. I need some information that only you can get me.”

“Oh yeah?” She sounded intrigued.

“It’s also confidential and secret.” He added.. He expected her to be excited but instead what followed was a pause.

“I heard about the Blackguard hanging about… You realise hacking is just a hobby, right? And Ludelle is damn good at sniffing out rats. I can't guarantee they won't notice.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to fight the system...” much… “I just need you to find a file for me. You can use my account, I’ll give you the password.”

“Yeah, because you can do hacking now too!”

“Isn’t a secret hobby’s purpose to be a secret?” He smiled. “Come on. Please.” The pause on the other side felt soft… so he pushed. “You can do it, right?”

“Maa..” She said which she'd taught him meant something like yes. Not her exact words.

“But if they do find out there will be repercussions!” She warned him.

“Technically I'm not even allowed to talk to you right now.” But if asked, he’s already thought of an excuse : he wasn't involving her in her capacity of a Musician, just calling a friend. “So, please do your best not to get found out.” He smirked. “Consider it your first hacking test. I'll make a certificate for you if you pass.”

“That'll completely defeat the point of secrecy, baaka!” She snapped but she was clearly smiling.

Andri came to a stop around the corner of Mariahilfe St. and had to blink a few times before he could believe his luck. “Um… ” He stuttered. “Call me back when you’ve got something.” He bid oni farewell and hung up.

In front of him, leisurely walking down the street, was the one person out of Loom’s few million, whose help he was seeking. Elenei Melodiá Kiều, one of the city’s most famed protectors. Someone hard to mistake if purely by virtue of the fact that she had survived getting her wing severed - and carry on doing what she was doing best.

Still, the young man had to make a quick check of the news feeds to make sure he was looking at the same person. It was easy enough to find an article about her most recent achievement - and there were many. His lips twisted thoughtfully as he compared the image to what he was seeing in front of him. She was a slight woman, even more so in person, and it was hard to imagine her running a sword through someone’s throat.

Then again, predators often posed as prey so he wouldn’t be fooled.

Finally taking a step forwards, Andri walked toward the woman and stood before her, well aware that he’s blocking her path with his own body. Rude as it may be, some things were necessary.

“Hello.” He started, not quite weary but respectful, or so he hoped. Given the time he would have thought out his words better. But he wasn’t given the time. “I’m sorry to spring this on you on the street but I’m in a bit of a rush here. I’m one of the Academy’s wielders.” He pulled his sleeve up to reveal the tattoo that served as a badge to the Wielders who couldn’t just display their Instruments on the street. It was an odd mixture of scarification and ink that could only be achieved by weaving essence into the skin during the process and although not entirely aesthetically pleasing, the authenticity of the mark was hard to argue or replicate. The shape itself vaguely resembled ripples in a lake: three rings interlocking in their middle and a round crescent surrounding them. It was a symbol that had become well-known over the years as the Academy’s signature crest.

“I was wondering if you had the time to join forces.” He tried to crack the seriousness of his face with a slight smile which could well have turned out to be a smirk. “I could really use your help in dealing with my newest target.”

Mel yawned. Navigating the streets of the city on autopilot this morning was easier than yesterday. Will tomorrow be harder? Elenei’s thoughts buzzed like the flies a street vendor might swat away from fruit. They were after something sweet, where all that existed was something so genetically altered it could hardly even be considered bio-organic in nature.

Waking up like this… it was insanely early for her. Something had pushed her out of bed, though, and she wasn’t one to ignore intuition-- she hated it. The city smelled like wet asphalt where somehow dew and moisture crept in while people slept. The busy bodies going to work looked like automatons, some of them assuredly were, but even the suits she recognized. Those of men who lived lives of leisure when the sun’s harsh gaze dampened to the moon’s soft embrace. Thieves light, it was-- an hour for those thieves, that’s what they were. Somehow the men headed to work or on some early lunch were fine, despite having nights full of debauchery. Mel couldn’t deal with it, she couldn’t pretend to be something at night and at day.

She only had so much energy.

Which, she supposed. Is why she could hardly focus on what the boy… the man before her was saying. Just that he wanted something that wasn’t money, and he had a pretty enough face that she didn’t want to rudely leave him. He was requesting her assistance--

Mel gave a loud yawn as he asked her to assist him, smirking with a boyish confidence. Was it faith in her or himself? She blinked, her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. She wasn’t ready to talk to people this early and spoke bluntly as a result of it. “Why?” That was about the size of it-- suddenly the fruit flies in her mind swirled with questions regarding her own fame and what it was he needed from her, was this some kind of test from her father? Or did people really just know who she was? They all compiled and became the single question. ‘Why?’

It took only a moment before enough of her wits had returned to her that she could actually form a sentence. She shook her head, summoning her manners, “What I mean is--” She gave a light smile, practiced, and a bit cold, “My apologies. I seem a bit out of sorts this morning-- I was actually on my way to get a cup of coffee just now. Perhaps you’d like to join me? I’m curious, but I need, umm…" Her eyes glazed his form, "more on what you'd like of me.”

“But of course.” Andri agreed easily. With this much adrenaline pumping through his body with each beat of his heart it was hard to remember that some people felt tired at this hour, and that he himself had been one of them just hours before. “There’s a nice coffee shop just around the corner of Raymond St. unless you have another one in mind.” As they started walking he half-turned towards her, explaining himself along the way. “You are a bit of a local celebrity, at least in our circles. I think your skills will be very valuable against my target, especially considering that he’s also a swordsman. But I’ll tell you about that in more detail in a bit.”

“Local celebrity?” She repeated softly, as if she was testing to see if she liked the sound of the words in her own voice. Had she really gotten that popular? “I’m really just an employee of my Father’s...” She trailed off, unsure of her own reassurance to him. “So I’m popular at the Academy, then?” A bit of a smirk grew on her face, “And is that what this is? Is the Academy making attempt at courting me-- perhaps making me an honest woman?” Mel gave a dry chuckle, “I was going to ask your name-- but are you just my envoy?”

His eyebrows rose at the suggestion of him being on official Academy business. It wasn't too far-fetched, he assumed, considering how wide its sphere of influence was, that they didn't always stick to the not noble individuals in the city. But what piqued his curiosity was the fact that Elenei implied at not being entirely pure herself. While he had heard very little to confirm that, if the girl had a rebellious streak in her it would certainly help with his mission.

The question of whether he was here on official business itself was so amusing he couldn't help a small scoff. It couldn't be much further from the truth, ridiculous as it was that he could be prosecuted for doing what should have been his job anyway. But then, he couldn't blame her for thinking that. Few people would imagine what lengths one had to go to to keep the balance. The law simply lost it's meaning at some point.

“Pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself. I was so scared you'd cut me off before I even got to the point that I rushed things a bit.” He opened the door to the coffee shop and let her enter before following after. It was a chain much unlike the small boutique shops around, in both decor and visitors. Here they were many, providing a natural veil for secrets uttered out loud. “My name is Andri Yrjyan and I'm a last year.” They chose a table and took a seat. “You were right to assume that many people at the Academy know you by name, even skill, but I'm not here on their behalf.. My reasons are more.. Personal.” He started, then cut off to ask what she'd like to drink. It was a self-service and it would obviously be his treat but he didn't want to keep the lady waiting for her much needed coffee any longer. Of course, that also meant she had to wait a few minutes more to hear the rest of the story. A few moments spent in private might make her that much more curious and inclined to help him. “In fact..” He added as he was getting up to fulfill her request. “..I'd rather the nature of this whole meeting stay between us no matter your decision.” He smiled apologetically and went to get her coffee.

Mel nodded as he left, chancing a few passing glances in the general direction he’d gone in. She almost felt bad for not paying, the generous stipends her father gave her for her service left her with more than she knew what to do with. She almost felt bad. Instead, she merely found herself yawning. How much sleep had she gotten last night? Elenei found she had been asking herself that question more and more lately-- a strange mixture of anxiety and orders kept her up later and later, and woke her up earlier and earlier… She loathed this, sleep was one of her greatest pleasures in life, and not getting enough was bound to make her sloppy sooner rather than later...

However… A smile creeped onto her face as she took in the air around her. She loved coffee-- the aroma calmed her senses, the bold heat could jolt you to life and fill one with energy for the day. It was like a stygian potion, coming from heart of darkness of some Amazonian witch. Coffee, to Mel, was a blunt friend-- or like, a tired mother waking their child with a splash of water. It could be bitter, sure-- but it all came from a place of love. To Mel, she supposed coffee tasted how love should feel.

She didn’t usually go to chains like this, but the roast filling the air smelled fine, and they had her drinks, so she couldn’t complain. Besides, she’d been raised better than to appear rude in the face of such a gentlemen. Her senses were coming back, just the air here was enough to stir her, and in her clarity, she realized that a handsome boy had just come up to her, asked for her help in fighting something, and then offered to buy her two turkish espresso shots and a thai double-shot macchiato. She couldn’t turn down Andri’s request. If not for her own growing curiosity, then at the very least for the aplomb with which he’d won her over. That he wasn’t some schmuck sent by the Academy, again, cemented it.

Elenei smiled with some amusement as he returned to the table, “I’m afraid you’ve asked Loom’s biggest caffeine addict out for coffee…” She said to Andri, grabbing the first shot, “On the plus side, this means I’ll basically go to the ends of the earth for you now.” She took a sip, savoring the bitter ambrosia for… probably more than a few seconds. “Damn good coffee…” she muttered, glancing back up to Andri, she spoke sheepishly with reddening cheeks, “S-sorry… So… I’m curious, what is it that makes this so personal?”

He laughed at her joke and pretended to be normal, light-hearted, pretended to feel flattered at her saying he’d won her over and tried to ground himself in the present moment.

The girl’s smile came as a pleasant surprise and put her face in a new perspective. One that was less hunting dog and more human. It suited her, he though as he took her in sitting here, sipping coffee and not next to her father, ready to stab someone to death. It embarrassed him slightly. Being in the same boat, he shouldn’t be the one to judge people who dealt in death. A grim streak crossed his expression as what was certainly a sweet atmosphere came to a sudden stop when she asked about the actual reason for this meeting.

He fell quiet and stared at his own cappuccino, trying to ignore the fact that he was possibly commissioning her to die in a battle that wasn’t her own. It would have been easier if she was the hardened criminal he’d thought and not a sweet girl who loved coffee enough to even remember TV references about it. Kanna’s face crossed his mind and guilt sliced through him for a moment.

He shook his head mentally, took a sip of his drink at last and rose his eyes to Mel’s.

“I’d rather you hear me out first before you commit to anything, Miss Kiều. Signing a contract without understanding it can be dangerous, and especially in this case.” He was all business now, the remains of his smile turned upside-down. “The reason I approached you is because I lost a friend to a monster just a few hours ago and I have no more than…” He checked his watch fearfully. “…four hours to take my shot at him. At noon today he’ll be taken out of my reach. I was forbidden from involving anyone I know so I’m forced to look for help on the streets, in people such as yourself.” He paused for another sip and gave her a moment to consider what he’d said so far. He would have smiled and apologized for starting her morning in such an unpleasant way if there was anything to smile about. “The monster in question is extremely powerful and he won’t be an easy mark. We’ll need more people and we’ll have to play our cards just right to even make it out alive in case we fail.” Another sip. Was cappuccino always this bitter? Or was it his words. “What I’m suggesting is extremely dangerous. I’m ashamed to even ask you without any guarantee for your life. But for what it’s worth, I’ll do everything I can to protect you, and everyone else involved.” He let out a small sigh and his lips quirked slightly. “Are you ready for the rest?”

Mel nodded, “Sure. Of course.” She finished a cup of joe and began on another. With her renewed energy came a perception-- she noticed his tone, his posture changed as he spoke, he wasn’t breaking eye contact save to blink. He seemed so serious, so caught up in what it was he was talking about that he wasn’t even really here, like he was in a place of nerves, and planning for… whatever it was he was planning. Mel felt her lips twitch as he had mentioned her life, the possibility that it might need protecting, however stopped herself from breaking into a full smirk. His concern was genuine, she was able to pick that up, at least-- How gentlemanly-- but aside from the sincere emotion he put into his words, he wasn’t giving much away. She wondered if this is what it was like for other people when they talked to her?

“And uh, I am sorry for your loss…” Mel blurted, breaking the small silence between the two. “Don’t be ashamed,” She spoke without thinking, “You’re an Academy kid, but it’s the same type of work-- you get how it is. Everyone dies and we do what needs to be done-- there’s no shame in that.” She shrugged, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “Even if that means buying some strange, one winged weirdo some expensive coffee, and listening to her go on about what you already know.” She rolled her eyes, “Apologies for interrupting...”

That did make him smile. It was true, he knew, but it didn't make things any less dangerous and it didn't make it easier to juggle with someone else's life. He always hated that. “You are a weirdo,” He admitted, “by virtue of the fact that you're still here.” His own smile widened a bit and it seemed like some weight came off his shoulders. “So, to get to the point.. My target is a famous renegade, an angel by the name of Lucien. He’s well over 5 000 years old and he's had plenty of time to learn how to butcher anything that moves. You might have heard of him but if you haven't it's because he’s not insane and he doesn't just kill anybody. He only targets demons most of the time but purging the world of them seems like more of a hobby than his actual aim. That seems to be an angel called Alucia, the last archangel whom he's sworn vengeance to. The problem is, nobody knows where she is and Lucien doesn't mind torturing and killing to find out. We're unclear as to how he thinks but we do know that his last target was a Clairvoyant.” He paused for a sip of hot liquid and to check Mel’s expression before continuing. She seemed calm and attentive which was reassuring. “The good news is he lacks the ability to sense essence and he still uses a sword. Despite being an insanely good warrior, if we play dirty we should have a chance.”

“Is it even really playing if you don’t get dirty?” Mel looked down at the second cup before her-- now also empty. She started sipping on the latte without thinking much of whatever symbolism there was to be had in this discussion, and witnessing two empty vessels that previously gave her life and energy. “I’ve only heard the name in passing-- my father has a colleague, I think, who does business with him sometimes. I’m not privy to much information-- but I know he goes through weapons and armor very quickly.” Mel traced a finger along the rim of the mug, lowering her voice as a couple passed the table. “What I didn’t know is that he predated modern culture by several millennia…” Her lips quivered, heart began to race at the thought. 5,000 years? He had to have been alive during times when he’d see more battles in a day than Mel had been in her whole life! This wasn’t just a challenge, this was...

Mel shook the thoughts from her head. It was getting her far too excited. She leveled herself and finished, “5,000 years is more than all the memories in my feathers combined. Living that long means he’s good at adapting, he’s got to be… But that also means he’s… alone.” Mel paused, “Completely. It’s the only way to adapt. Which means he’s probably got some kind of tunnel vision we could exploit…” Mel looked away, taking another sip-- had she gotten in his head this fast? Or was she merely projecting? “He’s comfortable hurting people to get what he wants because he doesn’t have anyone he’s worried about losing. There are vulnerabilities we can strike there.”

Andri was watching her carefully slowly getting to terms with the fact that this young woman was indeed capable of murder and of the worst kind. “Isn't not having people to care about what makes this more difficult for us? A hostage situation would be ideal if we had anyone to actually use as a hostage. But what you said was interesting, I didn't know he swaps weapons and armor at all. It means he is getting hurt. ..is there a way we can use that weapon dealer? Maybe set up a trap somewhere?”

“That’s what I’m saying…” Mel smiled, “He relies on people, he has things he needs that only others can get for him. But they aren’t actually--” She paused, “I’m willing to bet he gets loyalty in one of two ways.” Mel help up a hand, holding up a peace sign tipped with two, toxic blue manicured nails, “Through silver, or lead. Money, or fear. You know.” Mel glanced to see a chimera with gray wings ordering a colorful beverage. She looked familiar.

Shaking her head, she allowed her attention to return to the conversation, “Hostages are all fine and good-- but that he’s got is the support of mercenaries means we can make him exponentially weaker without him even knowing.” Mel sighed, “I don’t know her all that well, the arms dealer, but her name is Tatiana Kuznetsova. She’s little known, but her business has major sway in certain circles. My father is one of her oldest business partners.”

Andri was listening with intrigue, his brain flapping feverishly between scenarios. If they had the luxury of time her plan would definitely be a good way to go, especially considering that they had a lead on where to start. On the other hand, they did [I]not[] have the time.. At least not if he wanted everything to be clean and legal. He did. But at the same time, unless they were sure they had a chance against Lucien, maybe it would be reckless to take a shot at him. The archangel wasn't somebody they should underestimate.

He shared all that with Mel and the fact that with the right set of people, be thought they could still launch a successful ambush. The biggest problem would be actually finding him. When it came to facing him head on, it was probably a bad idea. “Maybe we should try talking to this weapon dealer and see what she can tell us. Depending on her answer we can see if it's better to take our chances now or proceed with caution.”

Mel nodded, “It shouldn’t be too difficult to get in contact with her-- just a word from her secretary, I just need to make a call to my Father to get her number...” Mel stretched for a moment, catlike in her subtlety of her muscle and grace, and the coquettish expression that creeped its way onto her face. Taking in the sun streaming in through the cafe window-- filtered through band fliers and advertisements for things that would make you sick-- she finished her coffee. “Aww….” Mel frowned. She tilted her head at Andri’s half finished cup. “You know…” She brushed hair from her eyes, “Are you hungry?”

Andri gave a nod to conclude the conversation. His eyes fell to the half-finished coffee with a hint of guilt only to rise her way again once a tiny moan escaped her lips at the stretch. A lazy smile on his end revealed a mood that was picking up, however slightly. He wasn't giving up on the idea of hunting Lucien down right now but the itch was subsiding. If it was anyone else, if it wasn't for the recent failure that might be his undoing and if there was any chance for him to make it by himself, he probably would have dashed off head-first. But in all honesty, whoever Elenei was on the inside (and he had no doubt that there was more to her than this apparent sweetness), she didn't deserve to die because of stupid mistakes and miscalculations. His own life might be dispensable in the grand scheme but hers was another story and not something he would give up so easily.

Her question brought him back to awareness at the same time as his phone buzzing. “I'm not really.” He responded distractedly, pulling out his phone and checking the screen. Kanna. Again. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd both gotten bitten. That was cruel but he could only afford it because she knew he was safe.. More or less. Now, though, he had to wonder if oni or Ein hadn't ratted out his plans and made her worry sick. That was something he didn't want.

He silenced the call and smiled at Mel. “But I have the feeling that you are. I'll let you go find something to eat and deal with some personal matters in the meantime, is that okay?”

Mel nodded, “Of course!” And stood up without thinking, “I can try to contact Miss Kuznetsova if you’d like…” Her eyes flashed toward where Andri had hidden away his phone, “Either way, I think you’ll need my number, right?”

“Ah, yes, I would really appreciate that. Both really.” His lips twitched sheepishly as he took out the apparatus, keying in her number, taking notice of the battery in the meantime. 87%, Hopefully it’d last. Lifting his head he smiled at Mel and there was something warm about it at long last. “And Miss Kiều… Thank you. For everything.”

Her eyes widened at that word, she was used to being called miss… but, something about it bothered her coming from this stranger, “Ahh…” She glanced away, an unconscious attempt at hiding a scarcely visible pink blush, “You don’t have to call me Miss-- Mel works fine.” With a quick nod, she turned to leave, probably quicker than she needed to... “Thanks for the coffee, Andri! I’ll call to touch base if I can get in touch with her!”

“Okay.” Andri got up, politely pretending not to spot her blushing. “Sounds good.“