---

After what felt like a while, Angélique slowly returned to consciousness. A pained groan escaping her lips signaled she was just about waking up, her mind struggling to shake off the fog veiling her senses. Her brain had most difficulty registering everything happening around her. Her vision was blurry, but she could feel the slight rocking of her body in motion.

What happened tonight? She could barely remember having spent the night drinking bottles after bottles of wine while staring at the ocean from the clifftops, before she blacked out. This sure was the worst hangover she ever felt in her life. Her whole body felt numb and sore. Her head felt as if it was in the clouds, a strange dizziness overtaking her. A throbbing ache in her head. A sensation that was even worse than that time she had inhaled the fumes of her bandmates’ smoking weed.

She didn’t know what was happening beyond being moved. And there was something that felt wrong. A dull aching in her lower body. She felt numb all over her body, but there was something missing, a sensation that should’ve been there.

Eventually, after a few minutes of her mind trying to puzzle itself back together, the raven-haired Aberration’s sight slowly began to clear and distinguish the shapes around her. It was still night, or at least early morning, for the darkness of the night hasn’t lifted yet, but the faint glimmer of sunlight over the oceanic horizons and the faint glow of red creeping up in the sky heralded the coming of a new day.

There were a few figures standing all around her, and she could now distinguish the rocking of her body up and down and wildly swinging around as she was being carried carelessly by a huge black creature. Was that Emma’s Determination? Had she found Angel and decided to bring her back to the estate? But then, why not use the car?

The more Angélique started questioning herself, the more her brain began to register every little detail. And with that, the strange and wrong sensations washing over her body. The feeling of trying to move her legs for balance to counter the momentum of swinging so wildly, to little avail because despite willing to move her lower limbs, nothing happened.

Because they weren’t there anymore.

W-what?

The first thing that her eyes saw very clearly was the missing part of her legs, down from her knees. Where her legs had been, there were stumps of flesh protruding from her torn black jeans.

How? When? Why?

Even as she willed her legs to move. As much as she desperately wished it wasn’t true, nothing happened. She could feel herself moving her limbs, but her lower body didn’t obey that command, or rather the physical sensation of her moving feet wasn’t there.

A creeping dread began to settle in on Angélique’s now-clearer mind. Her head moved around, catching sight of what was happening. She was being carried away indeed.

But that wasn’t Determination at all.

And those weren’t her classmates. Nameless faces. Strangers.

Then a flash of insight. She had slept earlier, in all of her drunken stupor. She had woken up to a sharp pain in her knees, then the cold sensation grabbing her neck just before blacking out.

“W-what’s happening?...” Angélique called out faintly, her magical voice reaching out to all of those strangers.

You are being held powerless… again...

“W-who are you?...” Her voice grew louder, more alarmed.

People wishing you harm, just like the whole world out there.

“M-my legs… how!?” the words were almost shouted directly in their ears.

You are going to be butchered up then killed!

The panic mixed with the Stigma pounding at her mind in light of this development gripped the Voice Mage’s heart. Instinctively, she trashed around to free herself from the creature holding her, trying in vain to kick the thing.

And she screamed at the top of her lungs a powerful "WHY", toned with a mixture of grief and anger. A desperate shriek that few had compared before to a banshee’s wail, but nowadays was referred to as the worst siren screech one would have the displeasure of hearing. The wrathful brain-pounding yell resonated all around her, with the force of a slight shove hitting those standing next to the screaming Aberration.

Angélique had no intention to stop, her mind stricken with the thoughts that she has just lost an important part of herself. The voices in her head reminding her that she was now powerless without legs and taunting her wih ill omens.

The heavy pulse of mental deadlock and force from the Aberration's screech knocked over several of the Amigos around her, including the group's apparent leader, who clutched his head with a sharp cry. Thi, however, remained mostly unfazed, staggering only slightly from the effects of the magic as her veins raced purple and black, her body modifications withstanding the force of the scream. Where her human muscles could not bear the brunt of the force, the mechanized joints and reinforced bones moved steadily forward according to signals from her brain, ignoring the tearing pain of flesh still pummeled by a the sonic force.

A metallic claw pushed out from the nail bed of her left index finger, tearing off the normal nail in the process. With a quick slice, she opened the girl's throat, ending the vocal menace as suddenly as it had begun. Inhuman dexterous fingers curved into more joints than possible, skin tearing to make way for the needle-thin spikes that pushed out from beneath muscle and bone.

Surgery was a quick process, the purple and black lines winding supernatural effects to every incision and stitch until the woman had cleanly removed the true vocal words, leaving behind bloody, but effective stitches across the horizontal of Angel's throat. She examined the carefully separated folds of flesh in her hands, then knelt down to her carrying case, tucking the bloody flesh into a small, zip-sealed plastic bag produced from the pocket of her coat before shoving everything into the briefcase.

Completely powerless. As a Regular, Angélique had felt it once in her life, which had prompted her into training physically to properly defend herself. Now, as a Subnatural, that dreadful feeling had crept in once again as her screamed stopped, replaced by a choked gurgle under the homicidal surgeon’s proceedings.

The Voice Mage’s eyes grew wide with horror as the flesh from her throat was torn open. The pain, it was unbearable. Despite the numbness that had overtaken her body and the mild hangover, the piercing of these claws tearing and cutting at her flesh and nerves went way beyond this veil of insensitivity. There probably never was a time Angel could remember having felt so much pain. It was alarming. It hurted so much. So much that her eyes began watering, piling up onto the pain of having lost her legs.

The young woman's screaming tantrum was replaced by a choked wheeze. As much as she pushed air out from her lungs in an attempt to shout, without vocal chords now there was no modulation for that outtake of air. Only a muted sigh. Now this was what true despair felt like. No voice to call out for help. No legs to run for her life or at least stand her ground. No magic to protect herself or the others. She was just lying there, a bloodied mess surrounded by people just as murderous as real monsters. And it terrified the young black-haired woman. Terribly so.

Was it a spiteful look of hatred that was reflected in her teary eyes, or wrathful pain? For as physically numb as she was, Angélique could feel the searing pain throughout her body, mainly at her throat and the stumps she had for legs. Her lips desperately formed words of sheer hatred, but it all came out simply as an unspoken breath out. One hand had reached out for her throat, clawing at the stitches holding her throat together as if she could alleviate the pain like scratching an itching rash.

Powerless. Useless. Helpless.

Despite all of the odds, the dread and her inabilities, the Aberration singer did not give up her assault. Whether it was because of sheer determination, fearful desperation or simply because she was driven mad by unprecedented anger, Angélique arms flailed around. Her arms were the only things functional at this point, and she’ll be damned if she wouldn’t use them to at least catch someone's face in her mindless numb frenzy. It hurt so much. She'll make them pay.

Recovered from the aftereffects of the scream, the dark-skinned man floated his orb above a palm again, waiting for it to beat like a heart before a surge of unseen power gripped at Angel's arms, twisting them round until the elbows snapped first. There had been no orders against maiming her, after all, and for failing to capture the main target, he was determined at least to procure this one. If they could please this particular client, even the Father would not mind the primary objective's failure.

Terrible pain jolted once more through her numb body as soon as Angel could feel the elbows snap from a an unseen force. Mouth agape, she let out another muted scream escape her throat while her arms stopped and fell motionlessly, dangling useless by her sides.

She really was done for, that much Angel realized. No legs, arms useless, no voice, no power. She had nowhere to go. She was at their mercy. The pain. So much pain. She felt like she was just about to blackout from the sheer intensity of it. Somehow, she didn’t.

Her body began quivering violently. Fear was paralyzing her. She couldn’t do anything anymore. All she could wish was for them to stop maiming her and kill her already. The raven-haired Mage hoped her friends would come and save her from this torment. But she couldn’t have them suffer the same as she was now.

Resigned, Angélique remained motionless, still trembling and tears running down her cheeks as she silently wheezed in pain and sobs.

"What if they're at the house--hey, Nate!" the tattooed girl snarled, speech jagged like she knew no other way to speak. Her dark curls were stiff and oily from days without bathing and too many attempts to hairspray it back into place, but right now the wild look in her eyes didn't show an inkling of the person beneath--just something rabid.

"Nate," the dark-skinned telekinetic who had broken Angel's arms looked his ally over, distaste sour on his tongue and face as he wrinkled his nose in response. "Do what you want, Isabelle. Just get out of my sight."

"Hah!" And with a rapturous cry she was off, racing towards the direction of the mansion while the rest of the group continued southward, towards the town's edge.

"I'm going!" a shorter boy followed in her clamor, but it only took him a single step to catch up to her, like distance didn't exist for him. He caught her by the elbow, blue-streaked hair unbefitting for the serious look on his face, but it was Isabelle who had dyed it for him. If there was cameraderie to be found in small things, he supposed that was it. Another step jumped them away, the distance increasing between the two and the group left behind.

The molten-eyed blond looked on, exasperation in his expression. After exchanging a brief, apologetic look with Nate he left too, calling after the wild-haired pair to wait up.

Their leader watched in silence, brows furrowed like he had something to say, but ultimately withheld comment. Once the three had disappeared from view, he turned away, nodding towards the shadow creature to continue following them to the town pier.

Rest was still hard to come by, even after Siena had abandoned her attempts to stop dreaming by cutting it off at the source. The nightmares were easier to deal with after so much exposure that the girl couldn’t quite feel at ease until something began to torment her with undesirable thoughts and memories. Part of her wondered, then, if they were really nightmares at that point.

It was the dreams that made her wake, heart pounding not in fear or dread, but in a dull, longing ache that dipped her conscious thoughts in something between a frustrating sense of fury and something distant that she could neither identify nor deny. Remaining in control of something that she didn’t recognize was significantly harder than it should have been at that point, and she knew it. Before the thoughts could spiral too far out of her grasp, a soft whine alerted Siena to the other presence in her room—right. Chief Tater Tot.

The dog had been surprisingly useful in keeping Siena grounded, always reminding her of his presence when her attention drifted too far—so long as he was in the room. The canine demanded nothing more than that, no truths, no sacrifices, no commitments. Just…acknowledgement.

“Sorry, Chief…did I wake you?” Speaking in a hushed whisper, Siena checked the time on her phone, a clear sense of awareness more than enough to tell the mage that she wouldn’t be returning to the realm of dreamers that night. Just short of 4 in the morning—a quick calculation in her head reminded her that she’d worked herself to exhaustion before midnight. More sleep than usual…she supposed she could take some solace in that. Pushing herself out of bed, Siena moved to perform her normal morning rituals.

A long day ahead, as usual.

---

Crimson light lit up the sky, its purpose far removed from the last time any colors had filled the sky. Flare. The identity of the radiance more than enough for Siena to abandon her task of carefully selecting an outfit—or any outfit at all, really. Still dressed in little more than undergarments and an ivory slip, the girl opted for more important items. Coat, phone, e-readers, booklet, shoes that she could move in, and with a quick scooping motion, Chief Tater Tot.

It had been happening too frequently, Siena thought, that she wasn’t surprised to be moving through the estate. By the time she’d reached the basement, her eyes were already seeking the ones that weren’t there. Couldn’t find a certain raven-haired Aberration, couldn’t quite count out the correct number of people in their class. At least two missing in the class, who knew how many among the staff? An attack in such a remote area was probably a byproduct of chance. A monster that happened to find its way to—

“Hostiles on the island. Amigos do Pai, if you know of them…”

--no.

Siena had looked into the name after her visit to the café with Zoe, and all she had managed to find was that they were dangerous. They didn’t hold back. They didn’t let anything get in their way—nothing that they’d allow to keep living, at least--and they were there. Subnaturals with a purpose far removed from the reason that their motley little unit existed. They were woefully outmatched. Siena thought her own team was filled with monsters, but their opposition this time was nothing short of demons.

Her grip tightened on her e-reader. Outmatched. They had at least two others out there.

’Acceptable sacrifices.’ Were they really? ’Necessary ones, at the least.’

As her peers trickled out, Siena couldn't help but feel a vague sense of relief that, as far as she knew, there was nobody to read her mind. How many would have hated her? How easily the thoughts ran toward sacrifice instead of salvation. Her gaze flicked toward Marcus briefly, reminded herself that there were certain sacrifices that had to be made, and certain ones that had to be avoided, her eyes turned back, e-reader still held in one hand, Chief Tater Tot still settled in the other.

If she had to talk Chris out o--

"'Ena. Teleportation range?"

'He's gotta be fucking with me.' Was the immediate thought before Siena even turned her attention to the familiar voice.

"A-are you serious?" Was the incredulous reaction that managed to wrench itself from her mouth.

"Not saying we should go pick up whatever pieces remain of Angelic," Brent replied, unbothered by her incredulity, "But Grego's heading to the manor on foot, going by my phone. What's the range?"

The pieces that remained of--oh. So Angel was gone...a hollow pang of something that should have been regret or guilt echoed softly in the pit of Siena's stomach, but it wasn't enough to take her focus away. Acceptable sacrifice. Couldn't be prevented--she'd have time enough to feel legitimate remorse when they escaped. If they escaped.

No time to linger on the thoughts.

"The range doesn't matter if there's nowhere safe to land." Which meant both avoiding hostiles and keeping anyone from being cut in half by an unfortunately positioned tree branch upon materialization. An alarm continued to blare in the back of the girl's head. Of course he was serious. Of course. "Do you even have a plan if he's being left alive for bait?"

Brent tapped his night vision goggles. The beginnings of a smile reached his face, but he quashed it before it got farther than the tightening of his cheeks. "Visually sweep the area while verbally guiding him with cuff transmissions," the arbiter replied, dead serious and acting like it too, "We have the gear for that, and if he's heading in our direction, all the better."

No, there might be another limitation here.

"Or do you have a delay inbetween teleports? My thoughts were a quick in and out after confirming safety, but if you can't manage that..."

There was the out. An easy enough lie to make.

Christ. He was serious. The issue of getting the fuck out just got a lot more difficult. A cold, bitter voice in the back of her head chided her. If he wanted to sign his death warrant, then she should let him, right? Another sacrifice that should have been easy enough to accept. Except it wasn't because this was a senseless one that she might be able to prevent. Shit. If she'd had a free hand, she might have pinched the bridge of her nose, a poor imitation of frustration. Instead, Chief Tater Tot gave a rather audible pant--not quite what she was going for.

"Your thoughts sound like a death wish." But Siena gave nothing to confirm or deny her capabilities. Instead, a quiet sigh as thoughts continued to fill the girl's head, a sense of dread flooding her stomach. Her eyes drifted to the sound of something happening nearby--Zoe? It seemed like Lawrence had it handled. Not something that she could afford to have take her focus--it took less than a second to come to that conclusion. Better things to wonder about. She wouldn't want the answer, she knew, but Siena raised the appropriate question regardless. "How exactly is that sentence going to end? If I can't manage that, you'll figure out a way on your own?"

A shrug. A helpless smile. "Without you, I'd have to work out a way around them first."

With that, he began to walk off, down the tunnel. Setting a brisk pace, he delved into the depths. If Siena followed close, that was fine. If she didn't, that was also fine.

'Shit.'

Not nearly vulgar enough to express the cocktail of emotions being thrown over an open flame. As Brent's pace quickened, Siena found her own speeding up to keep the conversation from growing any louder.

"You realize both options are essentially suicide missions, right?"

"Mhmm," Brent nodded, slowing his steps, "But everything I've been involved in has been one, so...you know how it is."

Life or death was inconsequential, after all. He wasn't living a subnatural's life to live a long one. He wasn't the one deserving of living long anyways.

Unbelievable. Siena resisted the urge to bury her face into her dog's fur and let out a muffled groan, restraining the reaction to a quiet breath. Brent had a point. Most of their duties thus far had been borderline suicidal. She took another breath, held it, released it silently. This was a terrible idea. They were going to die out there if she let it happen. Siena knew that about as well as she knew that trying to convince Brent to leave was a futile endeavor. She'd probably have better luck trying to convince Chief Tater Tot that he was a bird. Unbelievable.

"First, nobody else comes or at least one of us won't make it back." Every rational part of her mind screamed in protest. Bad idea. Bad idea, bad idea, really, really bad idea. Something that might have been a mental roll of the eyes came up in response--as if she wasn't fully aware of what a horrendous idea it was to try and stick around longer than necessary. "Second, you are literally the worst library knight I have ever seen."

From where Marcus was anxiously leaning, there was a lot of conversation going around for him to catch anything but small keywords. 'Amigos' was the word of the day, clearly, but there was one other set of words that made his ears perk up, if only for the misfortune it brought whenever he heard it.

"...suicide missions, right?"

His head lifted up, looking to the source of the sound; Siena and Brent. He had no context for this, absolutely none at all, but it would be those two if the context was anything like what he imagined. He looked towards their direction trying to give his best 'oh you better not be' glance, and making no attempt to hide the fact that he was now trying to make himself aware of their conversation.

"A truly heinous one," Brent agreed, "To risk harm to the literary princess for the sake of a mere acquaintance. I'll accept the pillory and whip after this is done."

Eloquent and measured as it was, his blood was still quickening, as he slipped beside Siena, catching Marcus's gaze with a reassuring, genuine, reflexive smile.

"Roof of the estate first. I'll need to get my visuals, 'ena. Maybe let go of your dog."

"What the fuck. You can't be serious."

Ernie wasn't expecting this from Brent, asking someone who was meant to be a friend to put their ass in the open like that. A suicide run against the Amigos. A seething voice at the back of his head wondered if he was stupid or just didn't give a shit.

He'd been listening in since 'teleportation' was mentioned. It couldn't be a good idea.

"It's your power, Siena. Your call. If you think Gregory's a lost cause then we can all get the crap out of here without losing anyone else to these druggie fucks. Brent, can't you just send a cuff message Greg's way? Tell him to stay put?"

Grey eyes caught the look from her roommate, darted from him to whatever was happening behind them, then vanished behind her eyelids as Siena tried to reason out what was likely to happen in the situation--at least, she would have if Ernie's voice hadn't cut through the thoughts. She kept her eyes shut for a moment longer. If she wanted to be completely honest, without having a precise location on Gregory, even the strongest of teleporters wouldn't do much for them. That aside, she could think of countless combinations of names, but if even one hostile happened to be nearby when they landed...

Despite her best efforts, a minuscule shudder ran up her spine. She hid it by lowering Chief Tater Tot to the floor.

"If he's close enough, then there's a chance, but..." But Ernie was right in his immediate reaction. It wasn't a wise idea. The Amigos would probably slaughter them if she made a single misstep, had even a fraction of a second's worth of hesitation before making a jump. With Marcus evidently gearing to listen in, Siena knew better than to say any of those doubts out loud--the last thing she needed was for him to prevent the presence of her safety net by interfering. Memories of D.C. came to mind, of having a phone one moment and nothing the next--no. Couldn't afford that. The smallest delay between using her own abilities and using the powers of her mark was likely to prevent the plan from taking off at all. "...well, the usual risks, I guess."

"Your call indeed, 'ena," Brent replied. "Roof of the estate to get bearings. If he's getting chased, then we return. If he's alone, it's in and out. Not asking you to jump to him immediately."

A cursory gaze back. Were they getting suspicious? No, even if they were, the distance was against them, and Siena's own telegraph showed from the front, not the back. If the bookworm acted quickly, at least.

"Just be decisive. Won't hold it against you, honest."

Her call. It was hard to piece it together when it suddenly mattered what she chose to do. Siena paused, held back another shudder of apprehension, and felt the pressure bear down in full. Her call now whether Gregory was an acceptable sacrifice. 'He is,' thought the cold-hearted Santana. 'Getting yourself killed won't help him or anyone else.' Her eyes trailed over to her reader, one hand poised over the power button.

"Five minutes. That's all I can guarantee." It was startling to hear the words--hadn't she just decided that the Aberration was an acceptable sacrifice? A dim thought pulsed like a dying light. The issue wasn't whether she thought Gregory was an acceptable sacrifice--it was whether she could prevent another one. What good it it if I can't help you? A spike of cold irritation at the intruding thought. What good as it if she died in the process? "If I say we leave, then we leave."

"Five minutes is about all it takes." Marcus said, arms crossed. He had sauntered up beside Ernie, as if he was the one Marcus felt would back him up the most in all of this.

"Alright lets hurry up and get on with it then, the longer we wait the more dangerous it will get." Chris intervened in the conversation. "Be prepared for the worst."

Brent blinked. What? "Who's 'we'? You're not coming with us. 'ena, make the leap whenever you're ready."

The arbiter rolled his eyes. "Whatever, just get back as soon as you can, I aint leaving until you lot return in one piece."

"Jesus," Ernie hissed, glaring at all of them. Of course Chris would be the exact opposite of the voice of reason here. Fucking prick. "No one should be coming or leaving anywhere. We don't even know what the Amigos want here."

"And if we sit here arguing about it were all more likely to die. If Brent and Siena are going out there for a fast rescue mission then I want to be here to make sure they come back within five minutes. If you want to save your own skin or if there isn't much you can help with I recommend going to the lighthouse with the others, otherwise, zip it."

Ernie's eyes flared dangerously. It was stupid to get in a petty fight right now. Real stupid.

But fuck, this guy was an asshole.

"It's not my skin I'm worried about, Tiki Torch. I'm not the fucking dumbass about to charge into a fight with some souped-up mercs. Why the fuck do you care anyway? Scared of losing more victims to spitroast?"

Daggers shot from Marcus to Chris at that comment, but nothing was said by the Time Mage.

There was a sharp glare in the dragon arbiter's eyes. "I'll be damned if I let myself leave anyone else behind, I'm sick of running and I'd rather risk my own life then to just keep turning my back. I understand the danger, but if Brent wants to make a gamble to save a fellow comrade then I'm taking that gamble as well. Now either you shut up and get to the lighthouse or stay here with me and wait."

"It's more dangerous for us to land if there are people here. You'd do better making sure everyone's left." Siena said, flicking her e-reader on.

Brent nodded at that, really not a fan of the argument brewing here. "Seriously, Chris, get going with the others. No one needs to fight the Mexican Friends today."

There was hesitation in his response. He had already lost Angelique, and while he didn't knew Gregory all that well, losing a second subnatural in one night is just another crippled blow, and now Siena and Brent were risking their lives all the while Chris was left unable to do anything. From his experience, they'd probably fail, Brent and Siena just two more names added to the casualties all the while Chris continued to walk amidst a valley of death. "You better make it back here alive." He mumbled lowly. "Alright then, lets get moving then." He stood up and got ready to move, but waited for the rest of the students to take the lead as he wanted to be in the back; a mere thing of comfort, for if by chance they needed assistance or if something horrible came from behind, he'd be the first to answer it.

"Brazilian," Ernie corrected uselessly. There was really no talking them out of this?

The helplessness he'd felt at Wisford returned threefold, prompting a harsh grimace on his face. None of them knew how dangerous the Amigos could really be. He tried to reason it out. Siena was fast. Brent was smart and equipped. They were going to be fine.

Dread seeped further and the Aberration's mouth began moving, spouting advice like a stressed mother watching her kid leave into the night.

"Keep your cuff channels open. Don't try to beat them in even a three on one fight cos you will lose. If you see even a sign of an Amigo nearby, run. Don't bother looking for Greg if you haven't found him by then."

Sighing, he knelt down and picked up Siena's pet. Marcus couldn't do it and he sure as hell wasn't going to trust Chris with this. The canine squirmed slightly but the Aberration held on tight. Despite the goodwill, he couldn't help but cringe at the thought of dog hair on his clothes. Silly, thinking of that sort of thing when death was around the corner.

"Five minutes is too long, guys. I wish you didn't have to go at all."

Technically they didn't, but that was besides the point.

Listening to Ernie give advice--something in the back of her mind came to life like dim pinpricks. Something odd about the words--was more than enough to remind Siena that they were outmatched. Amigos. Killers. Another shudder tried to creep over the girl, but she didn't allow it to spread. Couldn't show what she was feeling in that situation, so Siena didn't. More reminders that it didn't matter how well prepared she was because the most she knew about what they might come across was the fact that they were wildly dangerous. Don't think about it so much. It was too hard not to. Instead, she focused on her peers, focused on replying to Ernie's final words.

"...yeah, I know." The words were quiet, more because it was hard to acknowledge that there was an astoundingly high chance that neither she nor Brent would be touching back down in the tunnel than anything else. As if it could hide that grim fact, Siena gave a half-hearted attempt at a reassuring smile, the emotion that she tried to convey failing to completely push through--not that it should have in that situation. Siena was anything but confident about the scenario. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to let on the most vocal words echoing in her head:

She was terrified.

"We should hurry. While the opportunity's still here."

Helplessness channeled itself as anger in Marcus's mind, and there was a moment when Marcus's eyes darted around the room. From Brent, to Ernie, to Siena. They were seriously going to let this happen. They were actually going to wander out into enemy territory with the high likelyhood of getting themselves killed. Because the two of them thought they were invincible or something? They thought they could defend themselves against subnaturals if they needed to?

They couldn't even defend themselves against normal people.

"Fine. Go save him." Marcus finally said. "Try not to make any uneccesary sacrifices out there." he said, looking to Siena.

"We're doing this to avoid making unnecessary sacrifices," Brent said, before sighing. Yeah, he was more or less pulling a DC-Ernie here, wasn't he? Running off from the rest of the group for no real clear reason. He scratched the back of his neck, before placing a hand on Marcus and Ernie's shoulders.

"Sorry 'bout this, guys. See ya both in five, eh? Also, stick around Grant. That dude knows what's up."

Ernie responded with a silent nod. Saying anything now would just end up with him lashing out.

Dont flinch. So she didn't at Marcus's words, at his gaze, at knowing exactly why he was looking directly at her. Siena kept her expression level, or at least as close to level as possible, as she flashed an apologetic look to her roommate, sources flicking by on her screen. With the storm outside, a traditional teleportation was out of the question unless she wanted both her and Brent to be dead upon materialization...but that was where a wide pool became such a powerful ally, wasn't it? More than one jump, she thought. It would be too much risk to try and make one massive one, and beyond that, she'd need a place to stop before they reached the roof--a way to create a small safe-zone for their imminent materialization...

So a teleporter and a barrier generator. Preferably in that order. Sending her glance back, Siena measured the distance in her head. From here to the floor up, two floors up, from the highest level she'd physically reached to the roof. From where she was standing to the nearest people that might try to interfere--'Assume Marcus and Ernie will both step aside if you are rushed. Assume that anyone in front of you may attempt to stop you.--and acknowledged that she had to act quickly. The Arbiter released a soft breath, and then sent her gaze to the sources. At least with a shield at her disposal, they might have some protection against certain death. A soft purple light, a faint pink that seemed to grow more vibrant as it took over her eyes, and an oddly fitting presence. Too weak to do anything on her own. Again.

The preparations were done. He could tell by that shift in her eye color, the iridescence of her irises. Nodding once more at his friends, Brent walked back to Siena. There were no words needed now, huh? The silver blood that pumped thickly through his veins thrummed beneath his skin, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

One hand rested on his machete, while another was offered to Siena, unsure of whether or not physical contact was necessary for the teleport.

Time.

God, this was a bad idea. Standing at a metaphorical cliff and looking straight down to the jagged rocks, and the carefully stitched curtain was starting to come apart. Siena didn't release the reader from her hand, let her gaze sweep over the group, settling on Brent. One hand offered to her, one hand resting on a weapon. He seemed more confident than her, seemed as though he didn't realize how afraid he should be of the situation. Should she have said something? The thoughts rambled on and on, trying to cover up the one that lurked beneath the surface, whispering in her ear with a repetitive chant to remind the girl what she was feeling.

God, she was scared.

No. Not the right words. Another thought that masqueraded as the truth.

'I don't want to die.'

Siena didn't trust her voice not to waver. So don't use it. She didn't. She stepped past the offered hand--too much distance, too much space. The less area they took up, the less risk there was. She dug her fingers into the fabric of his coat, took half a step closer, and felt it again. A shudder of fear that managed to pass through her, spreading like a chill from her gut to everything else. A soft, carefully restrained breath to control it did nothing, so Siena let the tremor take it too, squeezed her eyes shut, and felt the brave mask come apart for an instant. She was going to die.

And then, like smoke, they were gone.

For his part, Lawrence took the evacuation of procedure, it was far from his first emergency wakeup since joining USARILN East. Not that it made things any less of a pain in the ass. Not bothering to put them on yet- there'd be time for that when his life wasn't immediately at risk- Lawrence grabbed the pants he wore yesterday off of the floor and his jacket hanging by the door. With a quick motion for Lizzy to follow, he opened the door only to find someone already waiting on the other side, poised mid-knock to get his attention. With a sigh, starting to button his shirt with his free hand, Lawrence and Lizzy walked past him into the hallway.

“So where are we going?”

*****

Unsurprisingly, Zoe was a little off-balance after the sudden evacuation - not to mention that she looked like a goddamn mess. Being dragged out of bed at this time wasn't good for anyone, and it had taken her a while to try and figure out what's going on. But one particular statement had caught her attention, a panicked shout. A quick glance around the room confirmed it. We're missing people. But they were in the middle of being evacuated, so she'd held on and waited in the hopes that they'd turn up.

It didn't happen. As Aldrich finally arrived, his words didn't do much more than make her certain it wouldn't. Hostiles on the island - the Amigos, even. Hadn't the guy in town mentioned them? Regardless, it left very little doubt in Zoe's mind as to the situation. Whatever had happened to their teammates, they weren't coming. The order to leave said as much, but she wouldn't accept that they were dead. Angel and Gregory were out there somewhere.

And these guys wanted them to just up and leave. To 'evacuate'-- more accurate to say they'd be running away like cowards. Fleeing while their teammates were exposed to who-knows-what. It didn't take her long to make the decision, hell, it was hardly a decision at all. The expression on her face was resolute, cold anger the overriding emotion in her gaze as she nodded to herself. Instead of following their plans and leaving like they were supposed to, she turned to run straight towards the hatch that led outside, even as several of the staff members shouted after her to stop.

She didn't get far. Almost immediately her right leg was enveloped in a white light and went entirely rigid- throwing the aberration to the ground mid sprint with more force than Lawrence (Now fully dressed) would have preferred. Still, he hardly cared at the moment, a few bruises were preferable to a suicide charge. An insanely stupid suicide charge. To say he was annoyed would be an understatement, but at the moment he had to try to push those thoughts back the way he always had. It'd be too much of a pain in the ass to transfer irritation into Zoe at the moment.

As soon as the redhead hit the ground the glowing around her leg stopped, and was replaced by the familiar aura of Lawrence's power. The mild irritation was still present, but it was a minor element of what he was transferring at the moment. For the most part there was simply... calm, rational calm that was slowly forcing its way into his teammate's psych. He was not going to be taking any chances today with two members already dead, or most likely dead.

“Zoe, what the Hell do you think you're doing?”

Taken off guard and winded by her sudden crash to the floor, Zoe didn't even have time to try and stand before a sense of calm set in. Feeling the effects of the power, it wasn't exactly hard to figure out who had been responsible for prematurely ending her flight. She had an idea how pissed she'd be if he wasn't messing with her thoughts, but for now she was forced into being mostly reasonable. So, as it was, she got to her feet slowly, turning to look back at Lawrence.

It would have been logical to assume the lack of panic might bring her to her senses, but her voice was firm.

"I'm going out there. If nothing else, I can do some damage in the forest, and there's no point wasting time."

“And what point is there in doing damage? We've been here for over an hour, most of us are accounted for. You're going to run off and... what exactly? Did you tell me everyone needs to know what the priorities are? The team is here and at any moment The Amigos might be too.”

It was one thing to lose Gregory and Angel- even if he had never spoken much with the former- but right now everyone else was alive and accounted for- and potentially surrounded by enemies that were more capable than most of the team. If they had found Angel and Gregory by this point with the intent to kill them, he was 100% sure that they were already dead. If for some reason they wanted the two alive, then they were still alive anyone. If neither had been caught yet- well it wasn't a scenario that was worth throwing away everybody's life over.

“We know everyone here is still alive. What do you think is going to happen if they get attacked and you've run off?”

"Well, I could kill the fuckers. Amigos can't come for any of you if they're dead. Simple enough." Zoe shrugged, seeming almost uncharacteristically dismissive of Lawrence's reasoning - but then, it wasn't like she had no ulterior motive here. A cowardly one, perhaps, a selfish one, and certainly not something she'd ever reveal to the rest of them. But a motive all the same.

"Besides, you can handle yourselves--" she frowned before correcting herself, "you should be able to handle yourselves without me. It's not like I can babysit forever." Though she couldn't help but be aware of her hypocrisy, being cocky was as good a defence mechanism as any. "And even if I don't win, I can be a hell of a distraction while you guys get out."

“I seem to remember you telling me that you don't trust them to keep each other alive, Zoe. So where the hell is this newfound confidence coming from- because I don't recall this team winning any fights in the meantime.”

Irritation was beginning to pick at him more strongly now, and he drew closer to Zoe as he spoke, trying to at least keep some privacy to the argument, even if that was a far secondary priority. His intention right now was to keep her- and by extension probably everyone else- alive. If it meant airing some dirty laundry in the process they could settle that when their lives weren't in imminent danger.

“If Angel and Gregory are out there, you're abandoning more than a dozen people to go after two. If you 'don't win' then we've just lost three people, including one of the only ones that can help everyone else stay alive right now.”

Zoe was beginning to get the distinct feeling that she would have punched Lawrence if he wasn't zapping her; her brow furrowing into a scowl at his first comment, which only added to the number of things that would have set her off by now. Like him, she lowered her voice slightly, but subtlety wasn't exactly her strong point. "So I'm supposed to leave them to die? I doubt I'm the only one that plans on staying."

What she wanted was to run - to go out there and do whatever it took to not lose people again. Even if it meant her own life, Zoe knew she'd make that sacrifice gladly for a chance that one of her own wouldn't fall.

But thanks to the arbiter's power, her head could rule over her heart, and that clarity changed her decision. It wasn't like she hadn't made necessary sacrifices before - wasn't like she hadn't agreed to make more even while on this island. She looked towards Callan, appearing to think something over before nodding. Pragmatism. Necessity. Somebody has to. Even if she hated what she was about to say, she had a role to fill and promises to keep. I hate that you're right about this.

"If we're going, everyone here comes with us whether they like it or not. I'm not leaving anyone behind that we don't need to. I don't care if that means I have to cripple these dumbasses and drag 'em down that tunnel myself - no-one else gets left behind." Zoe sighed, forcing herself to lock eyes with Lawrence. "If that's not something that can be done, then I'm going out of that hatch even if that means taking you down to do it."

“I'm trying to keep everyone alive Zoe- including you. I don't really care how injured we get in the process as long as Christmas and Lily are there at the end of the day to patch us up.”

He answered her gaze with a shrug. Of course he didn't want any of the team injured, but there was the bigger picture to focus on. The Amigos would probably do far worse to them than Zoe, although dealing with the ill will generated would be... troubling. Still, death was a far more permanent problem than distrust, and he was willing to take on some of the former in exchange for avoiding the latter.

“I want to keep my power on you until we're out of danger. This isn't really asking permission, just- You can sort it out with me afterwards all right?”

"You..." Don't trust me. Zoe looked faintly hurt. While it was more than justified from her track record, the implications that she couldn't help but read into weren't exactly fun to confront. Concerns for later though. A tentative nod, knowing he'd probably do it regardless. "Fine. You can keep using it. This time's fine." She really wasn't okay with it, but also had enough sense not to start a fight with Lawrence right now.

Like he said, she could talk to him about it later, though it was clear that part of her wanted to argue as she looked away. For now, the main priority was securing their escape. After a moment's thought, she gestured towards the tunnel, speaking quietly. "Think we could block it somehow? Don't want to risk any attackers getting through." Of course, that'd remove the servants' escape route as well, but she didn't particularly care.

“Maybe, but I think getting a head start on moving would be a better use of our time. We're taking a big enough risk just standing here and talking.”

With that he turned away from the door, and checked his pocket for the flare gun he usually kept in his jacket. Any other gun would have been appreciated at that time, but bitching wouldn't change what he had to work with. Silently he did a quick head count, forgetting Zoe for the moment. Then with a frown he did another.

And a third.

“Speaking of, we might be getting left behind as it is. Am I going blind or there fewer of us now?”

Eyes widening, Zoe looked around the group, double-checking Lawrence's count. She hadn't seen anyone flee, but it didn't take her long to join him in realising there were definitely people gone who shouldn't have been. As for who... as she caught sight of the dog in Ernie's arms, the pieces came together all too quickly. "Shit."

But that wasn't right, was it? No-one had tried to exit through the hatches, she knew that. So how--

Of course. "Siena can fucking teleport." And why the hell hadn't Zoe thought of it sooner? Because she'd been too caught up in her own suicide run, probably. Great going - not only was she still around, her actions had let her classmate zap off somewhere to be killed. Shaking her head guiltily, Zoe sighed. "Should've shut her down before she had the chance."

“... Looks like Brent hopped along with her.”

Right, the guy he had tied up and stolen from during that flag match ages ago. Siena he'd never had much interaction with, but her teleportation abilities rang a bell. Still, were they teleporting out of, or into danger? It was callous to leave the rest of them behind if they were just heading to the boat, but utterly stupid to take on The Amigos with just the two of them.

Cowards or idiots? He didn't know either well enough to judge.

“All the more reason to get moving now. With any luck they've gone to the ferry ahead of us.”

"Maybe. Waiting around here won't do shit either way, but still..." Zoe sounded unconvinced. There'd be no reason for them to warp over to the lighthouse - if anything, it would be taking a risk for no reason. If it turned out their secret escape wasn't so secret after all, walking into an ambush with the whole class on-side seemed way better odds.

"You can stop anyone else that tries to run, right? I'm gonna have a word with those two about this," nodding towards Ernie and Marcus, "see if they know what happened."

“I think you've seen that I can stop running, Zoe. Teleporting is a bit out of my league though if anyone else has that up their sleeve.”

"Just seemed worth asking." Zoe shrugged. "But I haven't ever seen anyone else teleport, so unless somebody's got a new trick, you're good."

At the very least, Lawrence's insistence on keeping her artificially calm meant that she was taking this remarkably well - relative to her usual behaviour, anyway. At the very least, she wouldn't blow up on anyone right now. Glancing down at the light that coated her hand, she smiled drily, a momentary hint of warmth entering her tone. "Just yell if anyone's giving you trouble, alright?" And without another word, she turned to walk away.

At 5am, just as she should have been, Sophia was in bed and asleep. The night had been a surprisingly good one for the lucky girl, her sleep unplagued by blood and death. But the blaring alarm woke her quickly, and though still sleepy she was quick to grasp the simple meaning. Alarms meant everything bad. Pushing back the covers, she was only beginning to get out of bed, however, when a staff member rushed into her room.

Awake but perhaps not the most alert, she grabbed whatever was nearest in her reach before she was ushered out of the room: the black cardigan hanging over her chair that still contained her phone, pen and pencil, and sheet of paper half filled with scribbles from the day before. Why she bothered to grab anything she wasn't quite sure, but being able to hold onto something felt... better.

She didn't know what was wrong this time, but it was definitely serious. The ball of panic and worry that had already formed grew larger as a conversation revealed that two of her classmates and others were not with them, and the rumbling of the building didn't help. The pen fell out of her pocket as she clutched the balled up sweater closer to her chest, but she paid no attention to it as her mind began to leap to conclusions.

But no.

They were going to get off the island. It was going to be okay. They would escape whatever-- whoever had caused the alarm to be sounded.

It was going to be okay, right?

Right?

---

By the time that the male staff member entered the room, Sophia had donned her cardigan and was sitting against the wall, head resting on her knees. Though she had been trying to stay as alert as possible, everything had a hazy, disorienting feel to it.

"Hostiles... Amigos do Paí... not pulling their punches..."

She stood up, pushing her uncombed hair back from her face. Wondered if tying it back somehow would help her feel more alert.

"...attack the house... attack the town... destroy that ferry..." Too many possibilities. If the ferry they were to head towards was to be attacked, that would be... bad. But the house might also be attacked, or the town...

But there were instructions, and she could follow instructions. No decision making required. Just follow. Silently, she headed into the passage.

Marcus watched as Siena cast one last glance over the group, trying to meet her eyes as they simply went by him. The thought that this might be the last time he saw his roommate wouldn't even hit until a few seconds after she vanished. He just wanted her to be safe, despite their argument and the terrible thing he'd done without realizing it. They were still roommates, and somewhere Marcus hoped they were still friends too, and he was worried for her safety.

What was he supposed to do as she grabbed Brent? Wave goodbye, like she was going on some sort of cruise or something? Wish her well? 'Oh, I know you're going out to do a suicidal rescue, but have fun!'. All he could do was watch.

Watch as something seemed to go wrong. Watch as the fear and uncertainty seemed to spread throughout her. Watch as, for a moment, just before she vanished, everything seemed completely fall apart.

He'd stumbled once getting teleported by Siena and had almost gotten his arm sheared clean off. His stomach flipped at the thought of what else could happen if she wasn't prepared. Uncertainty turned to panic, and Marcus found himself fumbling for the satellite phone he didn't have.

"Shit!" the single word that escaped his mouth as he checked himself over. All he had was the cuff and his own phone. His mind was beginning to race and become hasty. "God- Transm- no!" Marcus stammered out, stopping himself and quickly shouting out an "Over!" just in case.

He couldn't use the cuffs; Anyone hearing that through Angel or Missing Guy's cuff would know about them. Bad choices. Bad reactions. Think clearer.

Siena had a normal phone! Her source backup; so she'd definitely have it on her. The best solution he could think of. He whipped it out quickly, nervously tapping his foot as he pulled her from the contacts.

No Service.

"Goddammit!" he muttered sharply, resisting the urge to throw the device.

"Ernie. You got your satellite phone?" Marcus asked, head quickly turning to the boy. There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and an even bigger hint of it in his eyes.

Definitely a mistake.

Ernie wondered if a battle would ever pass without him majorly fucking up somehow. As Siena's veneer shattered before the jump, he could only watch as the realisation of what he'd just let pass hit him like a freight train. Big mistake. They were just some rookie kids. They knew they couldn't handle these seasoned mercenaries. He knew that.

What have you done?

The Aberration remained stock still as Marcus stammered and shook. God, he wanted to break down and do the same so badly. But panic would only draw attention. Instead, he took his mind off the teleport team. Kept his gaze locked on the Arbiter, his model of exactly how not to react. Not with the classmates so near, anyway.

He shook his head apologetically. "Hazel poofed it at Wisford."

His eyes darted furiously. Ernie wasn't an option, and the closest other student was...

"Scales. Sat Phone." Marcus barked, making his request clear.

Without hesitation, Chris took out his phone and offered it to Marcus, His care was placed more so on Brent and Siena then their current situation, and his solemn expression made that clear. "Right." He had said with a flat tone.

Marcus took the phone with no further dialogue. Navigating to the contacts menu, he was just about to tap Siena's name when another caught his eye. Right above hers; Roless, Brent.

Siena wouldn't tell him even if anything was wrong. Maybe Brent would be a little more forthcoming. They were Team SAP after all, and Marcus was willing to take advantage of any emotional connection he could if needed. He tapped Brent's name, bringing the phone to his ear.

But only silence accompanied the rings.

To be honest, Marcus didn't know if he preferred screams over silence. At least with screams you knew what was happening.

Once again resisting the urge to throw the phone, Marcus calmly handed it back to Chris, only offering a muted "Thanks." as he continued past and leaned against the wall, running his hands through his hair again. The satellite phone probably just hadn't picked up the call, that was it. It was storming, they were underground. It was probably fine.

It was getting harder to lie to himself.

Ernie reached a hand to the Arbiter's shoulder but thought against it in the end. They didn't need emotion right now, they needed to move.

Still, he hated seeing such pain on a friend's face. As the call went unanswered, he thought up a quick remedy.

"It's supposed to be a quick operation," Ernie attempted some reassurance, "They won't have time for distractions."

"Right." Marcus said, running his hands over his face. There was still a sickening sense of panic in his stomach that threatened to well over, but at least Ernie was actually giving something that he could believe. Siena and Brent were hot headed, they were probably just focused on the mission. The least they could do was wait and do their part.

He brought himself back to standing position. He could try and fix the one mistake he'd already made tonight, and probably fix some others as well.

"Mysterious cuff listener, if you're there: This is Marcus Howell of Experimental Group B. We have an enemy subnatural threat, and several missing pieces of equipment. I'm requesting that you turn off the GPS tracking features of the Satellite Phones for myself, Lachance, and one other student who has been separated from the rest of us; to prevent this tracking capability from falling into hostile hands. Over."

A subtle beep from the communicator was the only indication that the request had been received.

Marcus turned back to the rest of them, giving a terribly pieced together smile. "Guess we wait now, huh?"

Ernie gulped. A brief pat on the back accompanied his words. "We wait. And we move. C'mon, we shouldn't stay down here any longer than we have to."

Marcus nodded, staring off into space for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Agreed."

"Make sure you've got that stupid dog with you. Siena will kick both our asses if Chief goes missing." Marcus said, attempting to give a light smile.

"Missing? You need to have more faith in our canine superior's navigation skills," Ernie tried a quip but something felt off about the delivery. Something was off about Marcus' smile too, as it did nothing to assuage their fears. Adjusting his hold on the dog, he asked, "Are you gonna be okay, buddy?"

"No." came Marcus's blunt reply. "One of my friends is out there presumed dead, one of my roommates has gone off with another one of my friends to get them both murdered by a literal army of abberations, I'm about five seconds and one light breeze away from having another meltdown, and we might all very well be dead before dawn."

He sighed, giving a light shrug and another broken smile. "But hey; Mondays, you know?"

The Aberration didn't know what to focus on. The urge to tell him that this was probably very far from an actual aberration army. The pathetic hope that the Amigos' objectives had nothing to do with the class. The fact that it was actually a Wednesday.

In the end, he did the only thing he was good at. Lies and speculation.

"Siena's smart. Brent too. I know they'll make the right call to retreat when it's needed."

So far, so good.

"We're not gonna die here, Marc. The Amigos are assholes but if they were really going after the mansion then we'd probably already be dead."

...That probably wasn't smart.

"Man, you sure know how to make a guy feel better." Marcus said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It was certainly helpful to know that if the Amigos wanted them dead, he wouldn't have even woken up. Really made him feel better about his lot in life.

The Aberration visibly deflated. "A for effort, at least?"

"A for effort." Marcus smirked, his smile at least a little more geniune as he patted his friend on the back. "But we should get going. Don't want people gossiping about us or anything."

Ernie paled at the mention of gossip about the two, though it was hard to catch in the dim tunnel light. This wasn't the time to think about the tabloid headlines he'd seen during his internet time. "Y-yeah..."

"So, you guys mind explaining where the hell Siena and Brent disappeared to?" Although stern, the voice that cut through the air was uncharacteristically measured for Zoe considering the subject matter. Still, a couple seconds' observation would find an easy explanation in the faint shimmer of white light that surrounded her - a sign of Lawrence's power, more noticeable in the darkness of the tunnel. Despite seeming relatively levelheaded, though, she didn't exactly look happy either.

"And if it's where I think they've gone, I hope you've got a very good explanation for why, instead of keeping them here, you're holding the fucking dog while they run off to commit suicide."

Ernie blinked and turned slowly. Real slowly. God knows he needed the time to come up with a decent excuse. As if sensing the sudden discomfort in the air, Chief Tater Tot whined and squirmed in his arms.

"Scouting ahead," Ernie lied, a reflexive reaction that prompted a barely noticable stiffness to his voice, "Kusari made a fair point about being careful of the only way out of here."

"...that's not much better." While she failed to catch on to the lie, Zoe still didn't seem happy with the explanation. "If there is an ambush, we've only got one route; we're gonna have to push through it anyway. Two of them aren't gonna hit harder than the whole damn unit, which brings us back to them warping into a potential death-trap." It appeared that the wider benefits of recon were lost on her - or at least that she didn't think they were relevant. If there was a roadblock waiting for them, they couldn't do much else but smash it to bits, scouting or no scouting.

"Yeah, uh, Brent said he could do some x-ray thingy with his goggles so they wanted to use it," the fabricated story was steadily gaining momentum, though Ernie knew it could be dispelled in an instant, "It's just a recon mission. No fighting. A-and they said five minutes tops. Right, Marcus?"

"That so, huh? In that case..." Zoe narrowed her eyes at the pair before breaking into a smile that was anything but friendly - like a lion who'd just spotted a wounded gazelle. The eerie calm in her eyes, while a lot safer than the usual, wasn't making her behaviour much less unnerving. "I guess you won't mind if I stick around for those five minutes, just to make sure everyone's safe. Wouldn't want any misunderstandings, right, Marcus?"

'What!? Why I am suddenly invo-'

"Oh yeah. Not a problem. No problemo. It makes sense. You'd want to make sure nothing bad happens. Five minutes tops and they'll be back safe and sound!" Marcus rambled, the strain of earlier panic and Zoe-induced fear making his lie slightly more noticable than Ernie's. He wasn't good at lying under pressure, especially not to his teammates. Why did everyone keep going to him for this stuff?

"Fine by me. Although, say those five minutes pass and they don't come back, I'm gonna have to assume you've been lying." Marcus' panic had brought her doubts back with a vengeance. "Don't know if you know this, Marcus, but I don't like liars. Especially ones who don't admit it. If it turns out you're one of those, well..."

While she had no intention of actually harming either of them, they didn't have to know that. "Own up to it now, and we have a friendly discussion. Don't, and we might have an interrogation on our hands." She looked at Ernie, well aware that he'd seen her interrogation methods in person before. "I'd prefer not to do that to you, though. Teammates and all."

'Interrogation'. Ah, that word brought back some memories. Some of Reno and those stern instructions from Liam, but mostly those of Wisford and the unfortunate Arbiter. All at once a sharp grimace painted Ernie's face but he remained steadfast. Number one rule: even if all the evidence is staring you in the face, don't admit to shit.

"You'd really send us into battle missing some ears? That's just mean, man," Ernie chuckled nervously, "Alright. Five minutes then we can all head to the ferry for that sweet ocean cruise."

All he had to do now was pray for the duo to come back in time. And that his stupid rookie accomplice would keep his cool.

Missing ears!?

Marcus shot a worried look at Ernie, who seemed to be keeping his cool better than he was. Between the worrying that Siena and Brent were already dead and the worrying that he was about to follow them because of his own teammate, it was almost too much to handle. But Ernie seemed to be handling it well enough.

And Marcus knew Ernie; if he cracked now, they'd both tear him to pieces.

"Yeah, that's little rude and all. We're all friends here. No need for anything more than a nice conversation between classmates! Nothing drastic, or anything." Marcus said, trying his best to follow Ernie's lead.

"Like I said, I'd rather not. David wasn't one of us, and Wisford was a different situation." Zoe said, deciding not to bring up Ernie's part in the torture. As the conversation continued, she couldn't help but feel conflicted. Was this really what she wanted to be doing? She'd come here for an answer, not to try and intimidate them, but it hadn't exactly gone to plan.

In the end, she just shrugged. "You need your ears if we're at risk of a fight. I'm not weakening the group 'cause you pissed me off." But a little pain went a long way sometimes, and she certainly wasn't above that.

Relieved that the bluff had somewhat been called, Ernie allowed himself a small smirk. Part of him wanted to dwell on how she was the kind of person that always had to use threats and violence to get what she wanted. Was she too stupid to use another method? A lot of Senators he'd known were like that so he knew well that pointing that shit out definitely would end up with lost body parts. Keeping his head down was always the better option.

"Good. Cos I've only got two of them and Christmas is quite a walk away."

Who the hell was David?

It didn't matter. What did matter was that he and Ernie were going to be in deep trouble if Brent and Siena weren't back by the sudden time limit. Marcus doubted Zoe actually believed either of them, which meant that she was probably going to spend the next five-ish minutes simmering until they either showed up, or everything started to go wrong.

He doubted things would be very pleasant if Zoe had the time to actually think about how she wanted to absolutely destroy the two boys.

There was a short silence, which Marcus filled by giving a nervous shrug and forced smile. "Mondays, huh?"

"It's Wednesday, and don't push your luck." Zoe grumbled, though genuine anger firmly refused to come into her mind. That worried her, knowing how subdued she was - knowing that this probably had nothing to do with her stigma.

"I'll give you a couple more minutes." Her smile remained, but obviously forced as the deadline approached. Without her usual urges, she really didn't want to do this. "Clock's ticking."

Roused from his sleep immediately by the sound of alarms blaring, Grant sat up quickly. The moment his head was up in the air, the dizziness set in as he tried to work out what was going on around him. After only a few moments of recovery, he got up from his bed and quickly switched out his already plain sleeping outfit to a plain outing outfit. He was also sure to grab Her knife before the escorts would lead him down to where the others would be.

Within the room, Grant tried to make sense of what was happening at the time. He scanned the faces around. Familiar faces, Brent... S..iena. Everyone else he has either not learned their name or... he has just forgotten. In his mind, he apologized before returning to counting out the faces and he noticed that one person that he has associated with was not around. Angel. Dread filled his mind at the thought that yet another friend has been killed. Friend. Her. Her? Everything crumbled and-

---

He was greeted with infinity once again. But there was something there with him. Or a person. It was an entity. Far away. Somewhere. Everywhere. Without a place and with a place. He tried to walk toward it. Whatever it was, he has seen it before. Has he? He has. But strangely, he remember who or what it was. But he realized.

It was anything. Anything he wanted. That’s what it told him. It’s what it promised. As if something that was just so big, so large. Yet it was shrunk down into it’s own concept. It was so hard to know or tell what it could be. The words were hard to find. It was hard to...

Define.

---

He took in a breath and looked all around the room again. No. He couldn’t give up just because of this. It was even possible that she was alive. All the people around him had to live. Despite any losses that may have already occurred, he had to act. When the order to move and leave came, Grant began to head down into the passageway to follow that order.

---

Allison Revel didn't sleep that night. Her mind was too busy with thoughts to allow her even the idea of rest. Her stigma had gone unsated for much too long, and her nights with Angel hadn't exactly helped. If anything, the frustrating lack of relief sent Allison spiraling further into her rut. She had half a mind to wreck the room, hoping that the destruction would give her some sort of release from her mental hell. She was, at least, still sensible enough to avoid that course of action, instead finding herself mindlessly grinding against pillows, attempting to play the guitar, and even talking to Angel's bird to keep her mind off of the brutal lust that pounded in her skull and radiated through her body.

Angel was supposed to get back at midnight. Though Angel couldn't truly relieve the poor girl of her burden, she was definitely capable of exhausting Allison enough so that they could both at least get some sleep. Without Angel, Allison was likely doomed to a sleepless night. The Abberation had hoped that her girlfriend had simply stayed out later than usual, and would eventually come back, but no. It was 5 AM before Allison knew it, and they were under attack.

---

A disheveled Allison Revel stood as close to a corner in the basement as she could get with a guitar strapped to her back and Pavrotti's birdcage in her hands. There were too many people around her, too much going on. She stared at the ground, keeping her gaze off even the bird in her hands. She kept her mind on her breathing, staying virtually motionless. It was the only way to keep herself stable.

A shout from one of the staff about there still being missing people pulled Allison out of her focus, drawing her panicked eyes across the crowd around her. Angel was still gone. What happened? She was fine, right? She'd probably be there soon. She's perfectly fine. Allison wasn't going to lose anyone else, it just wasn't going to happen. Her hands gripped the cage much too tightly, her knuckles white.

Allison looked down at the small bird in the cage, clearly they were both equally unhappy about the situation. The bird certainly didn't like her cage being carried around like that, at least by Allison. hopefully this was only a temporary arrangement. Allison didn't exactly know how to care for a bird, and she definitely didn't have the mental capacity to do it at the moment. Though she could at least consider her surroundings, her mind was gripped by much less important things.

"Angel will be here soon," Allison told herself repeatedly, though that sentiment was mostly ruled by a vain hope for relief, even though Angel couldn't bring such a thing. Slowly, an hour and a half passed, and Allison somehow managed to avoid pinning down the nearest person. There was still no Angel, and Allison was close to giving up hope. Angel wasn't coming. She was stuck out there somewhere, but she was definitely still out there, alive.

Aldritch rushed into the basement, and his words almost drowned in Allison's thoughts, though she caught the gist. They were to abandon the mansion, and go off to a ferry. Anyone left behind was dead untiil proven otherwise. Of course, Allison's first thought was to throw herself at the rain-soaked man, but her second was to stay behind and go after Angel. Allison wasn't just going to leave Angel for dead, especially if she wasn't yet. Just the hope that Angelique was still alive was enough to push Allison towards another suicide mission.

Allison's last conversation with Zoe repeated in her head, somewhere between thoughts of the length of Brent's member, and Emma's cup size. No suicide missions, or something to that effect at least. Rushing out against a group of murderous psychopaths definitely counted as a suicide mission.

Allison's eyes floated across her allies, her ears catching vague snippets of conversations. She stayed where she was, awkwardly holding a bird cage in the corner of the basement for what felt like much too long before she noticed a difference in headcount. A few had gone ahead down the tunnel, but Allison was sure, even in her foggy mental state, that Siena and Brent hadn't left yet. There was only one explanation, though from the conversations Allison overheard, they were going after Greg, not Angel. Angel had to be alive, she had to be. If no one else was going after her...

No, Allison couldn't just run off now. That would be foolish, she'd get herself killed, or succumb to her stigma. She'd have to convince the others to help her, and she certainly wasn't in the state for that. There was only one option, then. There were others staying behind, apparently to wait for Brent and Siena. Allison could have stayed behind with them, there was a chance that things would go wrong and people would need to rush back to the mansion to rescue the others. It was certainly enticing to the girl's stigma, and that's exactly why Allison forced herself to walk down the tunnel.

---

---

---

The sea-laden air on the island was colder than inland temperatures at that time of year, when the seasons trudged through their transitions and especially in a downpour. Nathaniel sighed into a palm cupped over his mouth, using the sudden outward breath to cut off another threat of shivering throughout his soaked body. A light sweater was hardly enough for autumn storms and water ran in rivulets down his face. His orb pulsed rhythmically as he walked, suspended over his shoulder while at rest and lagging ever so slightly behind him, like the other six people making up the remainder of the group. Despite the storm, they kept a quick and steady pace, harsh circumstances something all were too familiar with.

Despite his confidence, Nathaniel hardly knew what to make of the mission, having preferred solo work until then with jobs large enough for US dollars instead of Brazilian reais, but small enough to prevent any notable figure from caring. Extortion and racketeering was good pay, until he ran afoul of the Amigos and the “Father” himself in a territorial dispute. The rumors were true that the leader of the Amigos was an Arbiter, but no underground gossip had readied him for the man’s ability to create powers at will. They had fought and the revelation that the Amigos’s leader could only create and use a certain power once was supposed to be gratifying; it only made the fight all the more unpredictable. Nathaniel had given in when darkness had settled around him like a vise, cutting off sounds and light and even the sensations of direction and gravity. He thought death was coming for him, but in the end the Father spared him—to use him, of course, as was the way of the dog-eat-dog world in the favela.

He didn’t expect a happy end. No one in their line of work did, save for the stupid, and every fight and skirmish he came out of alive only nagged at the back of his mind with the inevitability of defeat and, subsequently, death. Mercy was a child’s fever dream in his country, and he had long outgrown it. Letting Isabelle run off to certain death while they abandoned her for the town’s ferry wasn’t his first time deciding someone’s life and it wouldn’t be the last. And he would keep making the decision to kill until someone stronger killed him instead. None of them would or could articulate it in so many words, but the recklessness of the Amigos wasn’t born from a callous disregard for the context of situations. They were all looking for places to die, and every one of them wanted it on their terms. In their own ways.

But the game was to never define it so. Never explain the how’s and why’s of apparent insanity from children who had grown up in hell and learned to play with fire hoping for the glory of being consumed by it. Isabelle took her drugs to avoid thinking about that reality. Synthetic nightmares instead of real ones. If she died, it would only end her misery sooner.

The tired thoughts creaked and groaned through his mind on their walk towards the town, a trek that would have been much shorter had their main transportation method not run off to try and save the girl he had a puppy crush on. Even for Nathaniel, stopping the gap-closer’s movements was almost impossible and he hoped Chuck would have the presence of mind to leave if things went wrong at the mansion.

In the distance the lighthouse marked their endpoint, energy supplied by a converter in the form of a particularly useful mage that Zhang kept hidden on the island, providing the location with the required electricity without alerting suspicion. They had thought the capture would be easy once their tracker had identified the mark and his movements, but the sly bastard had eluded them, retreating to the underground caves that spanned a labyrinth beneath the island and collapsing entire areas, solid bedrock turning into sludge and deadly dust at a touch of the converter’s hand. They had lost three to the dust and one to a wave of liquefied rock before Nathaniel called for a retreat. Capturing someone who could convert states of matter on touch was far too deadly when the entire island proved a source of material for the target mage. Capturing him within the cave system was borderline suicide and the Amigos were known for brazen destruction, not stupidity—and certainly not for collapsing an entire cave on themselves. The rest of the group had taken the retreat order well, especially when it wasn’t their lives on the line for failure.

And that was the Father’s personal mission failed, something Nathaniel would be paying dearly for. But in return they had acquired one of a set of mages that a particular client had paid the Amigos a great deal to procure (legs or not), having caught wind of a strike group ready to deploy to the island. One of the gang’s main investors, the man had enough weight to negotiate with the Father directly. Lose one, gain one, and he could only hope the client’s sway would temper their leader’s wrath.

---

---

“Hold your fire!” an officer barked as a figure stumbled towards the soldiers. Long, blond hair made itself seen in the nick of time: a teenager soaked to the bone emerging from the woods. Gregory staggered forward, arms raised and shivering as widened eyes ogled the weapons in his face. The barrel, 37cm. Total length, 83.75cm.

The sudden complication prompted an inward curse from the head butler. Time was running out. He waved to shoo the student into the mansion before a blood-curdling scream pierced the pattering of the rain. Manic cackling accompanied the soldier’s throes.

Gregory was too late.

Twin whips of red flicked in and out of focus, systematically severing heads and limbs as the source of the whips was rushed around by an electric blue blur. A molten orange beam struck the mansion, hitting a wall below the sniper’s perch before it carved a scorching path towards them. Rendered concrete and tiles proved to be of no resistance to the laser. ‘A hot knife through butter’ was a severe understatement here. Just as the beam destroyed the nest it swerved violently, crackling gunfire forcing the mage’s attack off-path before his blue-haired ally rushed him out of the line of fire.

Gregory couldn’t even turn the whole way back to the enemy before the flash of red whipped by his vision. Suddenly his system was seized by agony, blazing sawblades blending his innards followed by a dangerous, unnerving cold. The Aberration plummeted to his side. His hands weakly reached to where his lower body should have been, blood leaking to meet the relentless rain. 267mL per second. Gregory could do nothing but curse the calculation with a furious, wordless whimper. Even with the end in sight, his Stigma was a diligent affliction.

The angle of depression of the laser striking the soldiers, 46.8 degrees. The barrel length of the butler’s pistol, 10.2cm. The number of soldiers still standing on this side of the manor, twenty-three. There was some solace in that last number at least. His screams would easily be blanketed by theirs.

As his consciousness began fading, a flash on the manor’s roof briefly distracted from the searing pain in his abdomen. Translucent pink cloaked the two figures and, though he could not identify them at first glance, Gregory felt leaden dread sink to the spilled pit of his stomach as carbines pointed skyward. 13.68m above ground. More yelling as soldiers rushed to face the sudden arrivals. But none had the chance to fire before the laser struck once again, collapsing the roof beneath the teleporters’ feet. Blurs of red and blue gratefully seized the opportunity provided by Siena and Brent’s entrance. More and more blood. More screaming. The slaughter went on, though Gregory only caught a few lingering seconds of it before his eyes finally shut, his last thought a prediction from his Stigma about how many minutes of brain activity he had left given current oxygen supply and failing blood flow—5 minutes and 21 seconds.

---

Above the transected Gregory, Brent and Siena fell into the usually locked attic, landing on the broken, smoking timbers of the collapsed roof and tumbling onto the ruined desk and floor, respectively, where rain-smeared folders had spilled their contents out across the floor: dossiers on Unit A, margin notes in careful cursive, an open binder with population charts, demographics, and meaningless numbers interspersed with circles, cross-outs, and question marks. Water swept into the room along with the roof’s cave in, a gutter pipe broken off in an angle that sloshed the remainder of its contents across the floor, catching up the scattered sheets and drenching them entirely.

The room was nothing but a simple bed, desk, and dresser, its occupant clearly not a common presence. But the information wasn’t the sort to take in at the moment, especially not when the laser-scarred floor threatened to collapse underneath the injured duo, groaning ominously with the weight of the roof’s timbers and the heavy damage to the mansion as a whole.

Another beam of light flashed through in a single shot, fired randomly in a Hail Mary to catch Brent and Siena, though the guess went wide, slicing through the bed in the corner instead of the two students and sending more unkempt sheets of paper fluttering into the air only to be caught by the rain and pummeled back to the ground, water already blotting out the ink.

Siena’s left ankle had twisted from the fall, the muscle there already swelling with the sprain while her left shoulder, having taken the brunt of the impact, had dislocated entirely. Where the humerus was supposed to articulate with the shoulder joint, a stiff, bony bulge protruded instead.

Brent’s raincoat protected him from the lighter cuts and scrapes to the torso, but that was a paltry reassurance in contrast to the heavy bruising on his back and along his spine where he had landed on the desk against the wall, with his lower body unlucky enough to catch the edge of the wooden desk and his upper body sprawled across the floor, nearly upside down. The impact against the wooden edge sparked a sudden flare of agony along the Arbiter’s lower back that quickly faded into a dull, almost numb throbbing. But if he tried to move his legs, he would quickly find out that they would no longer obey.

---

---

In the tunnels, the students who had wisely—or not so wisely—chosen to run away were near the end of the path thanks to the frantic pace set by the seven staff members behind them, leaving the less athletic winded and gasping for breath by the time they reached a set of metal rungs that led up to a trapdoor on the bottom floor of the lighthouse.

White paint flecked off the walls and left behind patches of dark gray concrete along the interior of the lighthouse while various metal barrels and empty tables stood unattended, rusting and aged. The stone floor, however, was swept clean and small utensils and bowls were stashed in a pile within a bucket near the door, still wet from a recent cleaning. The smell of damp earth and rain lingered inside the structure and watery shoeprints led up the winding staircase that spiraled to the lighthouse top. Shoeprints, and droplets of blood, light enough and sparsely enough that the injury seemed only minor.

Outside, the island’s official ferry waited, the old decoration on its hull long washed away by sand and surf. The vessel bobbed rapidly, buffeted by the storm winds and the simmering ocean waves while water streamed off the deck. Despite its lonesome look, the boat was constantly supplied with fuel and ready to use on a moment’s notice, though who would commandeer it remained to be seen.

---

---

---

His heart beat loud in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, Sander felt clear, undiluted fear. Fighting was what he did, but he had never entered a situation like this without the blood high. He never thought they would let him. After all, what was the point of an empty gun?

But here he was, and here they were, running with killers hot on their heels. He had never felt more powerless. So much for being independent of his power. In the end, he was still nothing without it.

Sander breathed out slowly, trying to keep his Stigma in check. He focused on his steps instead, keeping his feet steady and the rhythm of his strides constant. Suddenly, there was blood. Just splash of it, cold and drying, staining the concrete. Ahead, there was something like…nutmeg. Someone was hurt, too. Nothing too serious, but the beating of his heart hitched up a notch. He wanted. Further out, there was another group too. They were injured? He could smell blood on them too, a plethora of scents closing in from a distance. Who were they? Friend or foe? He couldn’t be sure.

“Someone’s out there.” -He warned, because they needed to know this. They were stronger than him right now. Maybe they could do better –“There’s one person ahead, too.”

Hazel Baker

---

The end of the tunnel, finally.

“Someone’s out there. There’s one person ahead, too.”

With them taking such a brisk pace to reach here so fast, she felt a little winded, but far from being tired. There wasn't much in the lighthouse that interests her, thus she simply moved outside, pushing open the door to the sight of the seas roiling, her guards up and muscles tensed. Just for a moment, there was an unpleasant feeling that she was once again stepping into that angry black ocean reaching out to drown her.

Thunk.

Everything fell apart before they had fully materialized, two bodies tumbling and striking the smoking, sizzling floor the instant the effects of teleportation had worn off. Underprepared. Always underprepared. Like toy soldiers they tumbled down, bouncing against objects, flashes of pain sprouting as arms instinctively raised, head naturally tucking inwards until the backbone struck the corner of the table. Sunburst and starburst, agony that numbed too quickly like a firework that disappeared, scorching a thoughtless afterimage as cowardly words drowned themselves in the echoing aftermath. And then the boom-boom of his heart, drowning out the numbing rain splattering against his helmet. Waterproof. Goggles were waterproof and floated too. A miniature Ark when God drowned out the world, unleashing the reservoirs of the deep. Gotta prepare. A pair. No, just George. He envisioned moving, abdominal muscles pulling himself upwards, fresh numbness like too much aesthetic causing him no pain and only regrets. Wisdom teeth were still there, digging into the baby molars torn out. He wanted to taste them. No. His legs had to go first. Focus. The big toe. Twitch the big toe. But it was more sandy numbness, nothing working like it was supposed to. Should have prepared better. Shouldn’t have wasted his time. Not with relationships. Requests forms. He kept forgetting, kept putting it off, but if they could move things from DC to Balled Island, then they could do it with the USA of East. Brent rolled his eyes. More regrets, piling up like a town of twitching corpses. This was better than that. He still had his upper body. Could crawl? But would crawling let him dodge? Just crawl anyways. Worms and humans alike crawled. People who didn’t prepare for everything ahead of time, who didn’t even come to a dangerous place armed to the teeth, could just crawl. Silver lightning ran down his legs, sparking uselessly when he lost focus an instant later. Invertebrate. That’s what he was. That’s what you’ll always be. Pushing shit in and pushing shit out at the same steady rate, the slightest tinge of moistness dying his lower torso as a wonderfully personal stench erupted. He was losing control. He never had control. Just impulses that he followed without meeting the proper criteria. DPS check? Not high enough. Rarity check? Not high enough. Heal check? Not high enough. All that versatility meant nothing if he didn’t have plans upon plans, if it was ruined just with an injury like this. All those skills, wasted with a singular, shitty suggestion. Ah, good time to give up, right? Suicide missions all around, and Marco and Emerson and Chloe and Danielle and Maria and Jesse and Eun and and and. Disconnected and discovered and this illusion. He laughed and he got sent seven feet down the smooth hallway like an amusement park ride he didn’t know he signed up for and everything span and spun and spoon while hiccups hiccupped his cup. Dishes were still there. Clean the sink as well. Sink? No, ink everywhere, a soggy mess jammed down his throat as colors span and chest compressed. Depressed. Unpressed? Not a word. Not a privilege. Right. It was not a right. Everything was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong crosses and xes and red marks everywhere, bludgeoning him with imperfections as it continued to decay, stale cookies mixing into a slurry of milk and crumbs. Something had to be done and he could do nothing. Only chatterboxes infected with opinions and memes, regurgitating the virus and swallowing the infection.
He was there to save someone.
But that someone didn’t matter.
He was there to kill someone.
But that someone didn’t matter.
So if it wasn’t save, and it wasn’t kill, then what was it?
It was…
Sour drops for rewards, cyanide drops for punishments, when they masticated both and spat out both because they didn’t want either, since the elusive third was universally better and molecularly worse and yet they never got it at all when spirits flew at the speed of light but clouds were standstill guardians that consumed it all with vaporous stomachs that only grew and grew until they spewed everything out in transparent music notes over broken ceilings so they could shower.

The unkind delusion was still missing pieces, a feverish morning daze in light that was still more like night, amethyst eyes boring intensely upon fleshy appendages that were better off amputated.

---

---

Thanks to her athleticism, Zoe managed not to tire much at all on the way to the lighthouse. The knowledge provided little comfort as they reached their destination, finding it empty of their disappeared classmates and confirming her worst suspicions. Sander's words only reinforced that the teleporting idiots had, in fact, gone back to the mansion - if he could tell, he'd surely have said the others were nearby, right?

Which meant they weren't coming. How many was that, then? Four. Four classmates dead if they completed their escape now. Of course, she knew fine well that staying could well increase that number - hell, Lawrence had told her as much, it was why she'd stayed with the fleeing group in the first place. But what was a necessary sacrifice, what was acceptable... this wasn't it.

This was too many.

No-one else gets left behind. That was the deal.

Her emotions were muted at the moment, but she knew she'd be furious the moment that ended. Possibly dangerous. She'd almost definitely want to kill something, to tear someone apart slowly and hear the slow rip of flesh, the popping and cracking of tendons, of bone. Maybe that was what was happening to the others right now. She could imagine it, Brent with an ear hanging on by a thread, Siena with shattered bones protruding from her arm, Gregory screaming as--

Don't fucking smile.

So maybe things weren't exactly looking fantastic on the mental stability front. Maybe she really needed the calm-down aura right now from a purely logical standpoint. Nonetheless, if Lawrence tried to stop her from fighting this time, she'd keep to her earlier promise and take him down one way or another. That was something she'd made clear enough when it came to the change in circumstances. Getting on that ferry would mean abandoning the others for real, and she couldn't do that.

Pretty selfless, wasn't it? Or did she just want an excuse to go out there and hurt people? Get hurt herself?

It wouldn't make a difference. The actions were what mattered, not the motives behind them. Besides, the others weren't vicious enough to win this fight without her taking the lead, that much seemed certain. Sander's words had only confirmed that they weren't alone, and her gaze wandered over to the staircase. A lookout point - someone up there too, maybe, if the blood and footprints were any indication. A possible ally? That, or just ammunition for a ranged attack depending on how useful they were. Either way, it'd be a good start.

That being said, there was another issue to deal with first. Namely, the two assholes who'd decided the middle of a subnatural attack with their teammates' lives on the line was the right time to lie to her fucking face. Suddenly she felt a lot less bad about the earlier threats, not that she could properly follow up on them right now. Instead, with absolutely no warning she chose one of the two at random, span around, and launched a full-force kick right between Marcus' legs. Okay, she hadn't strictly been aiming there, but...

Well, it certainly made her point.

Barrier was up, movement was steady...the unease and anxiety had started to even out into a level feeling, no longer jagged spikes that drove into the girl's head in erratic movements. One moment a spot of hope, the next a chilling sensation of understanding that she was making a mistake. She visualized the dome of pink safety, murmured the hushed incantation, knew that if they appeared, they could be safe from the wind and rain. If a hostile was there, at least they would have a enough time to make a quick escape with the barrier in place. Protection. Warmth that didn't belong to her, and the brunette understood it.

She understood that even when the world fell apart.

Countless thoughts of what could go wrong and how to fix them, and Siena knew that none of them mattered as she felt herself falling. Falling again. The Arbiter didn't have time to gasp, didn't have enough surprise in her body to take in a sharp breath as things fell apart, and she knew--she knew--something was wrong as a harsh jerk ripped the feeling of fabric away from her fingers. As her eyes widened and a battalion of thoughts and fears rose with banners raised high through the haze of pink and purple. She could make a jump, save herself, but the girl knew that what her mind demanded and what she would do had a clear divide in that instant. She could save herself, but in that exact moment, there was no way that she could save--

"Bre--!"

Her voice shredded the thoughts, a wild beast that reminded the girl why she was there before her vision suddenly shattered into starlight and fireworks.

Hurt. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt.

Where are you now?

Eyes opened, still pink, still running on the names that she had drawn, a need to protect rooting itself deep, tearing through things like survival and rational thought, but it did not last and

It hurts.

she felt bitter, brutal pain try to rip that away as her fight or flight responses started to come up like weeds through concrete. Another flash of light tore through the room and Siena knew they could not stay. Move. Move, move, move! But her shoulder screeched in agony, her ankle bellowed in protest, and everything was hurting and it as pain and

The fifth time she'd taken his name, Siena had come to realize that she was clinging to pain the same way a child clung to a blanket. A level of security in its presence around her, near her, on her, and the brunette understood that something was inherently wrong with it, with her. She didn't know how to explain it, only understood that when things hurt, when she hurt, when someone was in pain, it wove a beautiful tapestry of sensations that she wanted to feel, to pick apart and recreate, even if it had to be from her own body. Again. And again. And again.

it was not right, so she grimaced, knew she could not afford to do things slowly as she stayed low to the ground, the disgustingly calm part of her head running through the reality of the situation. She was injured, enemies knew where they were, even if they could not see. Hostiles present, it hurts, her shoulder felt wrong--separated? Dislocated? Gerwulf had shown her how to reduce a shoulder before, his own joints easier to disfigure than they should have been. Could she do that alone?--and her ankle was swelling, a throbbing discomfort that threatened to grow into something more. Too many things at once, but they all pointed to the same thing.

Rescuing Gregory couldn't be their priority.

---

---

---

---

Glancing into the stormy weather outside the lighthouse window as the he emerged from the trapdoor, Sander felt a cold dread crawling up his spine. Had this been a wise choice? He didn’t know. With another group fast approaching and an unknown somewhere above them, he wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe they would have had better luck bunkering down at the mansion?

Doubts brewed at the back of his mind, and Sander turned to Christmas, pulling the healer into his arms.

“Maybe we should just…stay here.” -He whispered into golden hair, eyes still glued to the cold morning outside.

Shivering in the cold, Christmas stayed in Sander’s hold and hoped a solution would magically appear before them—well, even more magically than the powers they had at their disposal. Instead he rubbed his cheek against the soft gray of Sander’s shirt.

”…Do you…n-need blood?” An old question, and so different now.

“I do.” -Sander managed to keep his voice neutral, if only just.

”Can take…m-mine.”

“Not yours.” -A cold hand gripped the nape of Christmas’ neck, pressing the blond boy’s face against Sander’s chest –“Remember the first day? You are important. You must be protected.”

It didn’t feel good this time, to be held by Sander like he was treasuring an object instead of the measly boy Christmas was. He blinked, wondering when he had started to think that he deserved more and feeling instead the cool fingertips against the back of neck and the thudding heartbeat against his cheek.

”I want…you to be protected, too,” he mumbled into the folds of fabric, trying to insist.

“I’m fine.” -Flashes of past defeats and near deaths and mistakes told him that he wasn’t, but for Christmas, he would do anything. So he lied –“I’ll be fine, okay? I promise. You should stay where’s it safe.”

”N-near you,” the blonde insisted.

“I’ll be alright.” -And Sander insisted right back -”Really.”

”Please…” Because no matter what happened, he wanted to be near.

“It’ll be fine. Cmon.”

The healer’s grip on Sander’s shirt tightened through shaking hands and he stopped trying to argue with words, instead holding fast, afraid Sander would leave him there. With no other option, the blood mage only sighed before allowing himself to absorb a paltry amount of blood through the bare skin of Christmas’ neck. Though little, the blood was flash fire in his veins, and Sander gritted his teeth, taking a few moments to calm himself.

“Look.” -He held out his hand and tried to summon the armor. It worked. The heat crawled up and enveloped the skin of his left arm, wrapping it in the physical manifestation of his power. The jagged, dark red plates had an almost metallic shine, and even though it looked crude and rough, he knew he could depend on it. He tapped the armored hand against the back of Christmas’ neck -”Here.”

Christmas turned to look, surprise on his face as he stared at the tessellated plates of gleaming red on Sander’s hand.

”M-More?”

“It’s enough.”

”Is—Is it really?”

Sander did not answer. Instead, he kept his bare hand on Christmas’ back, rubbing soothing motions there. With a small shudder, Christmas let go reluctantly, knowing he, especially, had no way of helping Sander in a fight other than healing.

”If you…n-need healing…” he trailed off, looking up expectantly.

“I won’t.” -Sander brought a hand to the healer’s cheek -”My power heals too, remember? And it protects. I’ll be alright.”

”But…what if—”

Sander didn’t let the blond boy finish his rumination. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Christmas’ forehead.

“Don’t worry.” -He said as he pulled away -”Please.”

It wasn’t much assurance and Christmas only worried more at the faint red glow of Sander’s eyes. He felt the thrum of his own power waiting to heal on command, its effect still circulating through Sander’s body, but not currently active, the usual white veil around the torso missing. With a slow drop of his head, Christmas stared at the ground, lips trembling with the fear that he couldn’t do much more than this.

There was no agreement for Sander to go, only the flare of the healer’s magic finally appearing around both of them, one for the source and the other lasting for the target’s next few moments. It was all he manage as permission to go, because he couldn’t bring himself to say it was okay this time.

With a last lingering touch on the side of Christmas’ face, Sander turned and once again focused on the scents around him, trying to to get a handle of the situation. One thing needed to be addressed first. He needed blood, and he needed it now. He was starving.

But who?

---

Chris didn't bother to take his phone back from Ernie; Something like that was the last thing running through his mind. His worries for Siena and Brent had lessened as Ernie had informed the group that they are now in the tunnels. Still, they were away from the group, and Gregory couldn't make it. The very thought that these weren't monsters, but people that were doing this to them pissed him off. It shouldn't, after all, people always do shitty things; the massacre that was their first day at the school was a grim reminder of such an example; Yet he couldn't help quell his rage. Regardless of how aware how foolish and impossible the task may be, he desired revenge for this whole ordeal.

Having made up his mind, Chris separated from the tunnel group and slowly crept out the door. He kept close to the wall of the lighthouse as he tried to move as stealthy as he could, around the lighthouse and towards the rocky cliff area. He wanted to transform, but first he needed a proper place to do so, and thus he made his way and crawled into a nearby nook on the cliffside.

The quick pace that was set forced Sophia to focus on her breathing and on keeping up with the group, somehow helping to make her feel a bit more awake and alert. It was still far from optimal as she found it hard to focus, but there had only been one instruction: to go into the passage. Nothing more to occupy her attention and focus it in one place. When they finally reached the ladder and emerged into the lighthouse, she scanned the room, heart and breathing quick from the impromptu exercise.

Blood. Blood? Not much, but still... And prints from shoes. Was someone...?

"Someone’s out there. There’s one person ahead, too." What did that mean? Moving closer to the edge of the room but not yet leaning on anything, it seemed that all could be done now was to wait. Again. Not knowing what to do. Her gaze darted from trapdoor to the lighthouse door to the stairs, thoughts and theories constantly being formed and pushed down.

The "team" was arguing, shouting, and somewhere in between she caught the words that Siena and Brent were in the tunnels--she hadn't even noticed they were gone--but Gregory hadn't made it? That didn't mean... no, it meant...

Zoe left. Marcus and Emma went upstairs. Chris left, not escaping her attention. She didn't get what everyone was doing, why so many people seemed to have some sort of a purpose while she didn't. Had she missed an instruction? No.

So she did what she did best. Nothing.

Another swell of emotion was beaten down by a series of rational thoughts in a desperate bid for Siena to remain in control. Repairing the damage to her body with Tia's name was an option, but it would drain her, and she couldn't afford that. Escape. They had to escape.

But she'd let go of Brent during the fall, was certain that somewhere in the rubble, her original source was lost. It seemed like a hopeless endeavor to try and escape with two people, especially in her current condition. What about his condition? He'd been wearing clothes to defend against the weather, but would that be enough to protect against a fall? Too many thoughts again.

'Leave him.' The thought, Siena understood, did not refer to Gregory, and a vile repulsion pushed the thought away. That wasn't why she'd come. This was why she had agreed. This was why, because the bookish mage knew that he would have come alone. Because he would have come alone, and he would have died, and she was only here to ensure that he came back. A heated reminder she chanted in her head as Siena turned her gaze to the rest of the room, grisly thoughts of what if in her head.

What if he was dead? What if that laser had caught him while she hadn't been able to call a barrier? What if the laser was able to shatter a stronger one? What if? What if? What if? What if?

"Ngh...shitshitshit..." The words were little more than a quiet breath as her eyes fell on the boy, body sprawled across the floor. Images of a faraway memory, no, a dream, a hazy dream that didn't belong to her came to mind. Broken, shattered, failures. Another surge of emotion, a blend that she recognized, and did not recognize and--gold eyes, staring lifeless. No response even when Siena had tried to weave pain into the limbs--not again, not again, not again.

'Oh my god, oh god, no. No, no, no, shit. Get up, get up, get up, get up, getupgetupgetup.'

Siena dragged herself in a half-effective crawl--Stay low to the ground if it happens. People are always trying to take a shot.--the pain searing through each motion that moved the injuries wrong. It took a back seat in the wake of Tia's overwhelming need to fix, heal, protect...she was supposed to protect him. Another three thousand thoughts, too many of them as the brunette dragged herself to close the distance. Another pulse of pain, her senses seemed to sharpen. Real. Disgustingly real.

"Brent." Something else lingered behind the name. A black, twisting feeling that writhed in the pit of her stomach like a coiled serpent. What if it was the same? Thoughts of Victor's name pulled at the corners of Siena's consciousness, thoughts of digging her phone out and trying in vain to take a third name when she knew it wouldn't work. Gold eyes, no response. Listless, empty, gone. No response even when she'd increased the pain beyond what she would have used on herself. Another jolt of pain, another barrage of colorful bursts in front of her eyes.

A voice. A little girl, calling out as her flesh blackened and melted like overcooked meat in a vat of boiling water. No, the unintelligible groans of a man as he tried to make sense of the impossible changes his flesh was undergoing. No, the last whispers of the already-dead, mouths puckered out like gasping fish, frozen to entirety until they were cremated where they...no, not that either. Further down? Higher up? He strained against the haze that clouded and mix-matched his realities. A voice. Familiar. Calling who?

"That's not..." Brent strained, legs still awkwardly sprawled out on the floor, even the coldness of the storm unable to stimulate them. "...no, that is."

Deep breaths against lungs with an anvil pressed against it. Bad. Very bad. Had prepared for the coming of the enemy. Hadn't prepared for jumping into a warzone. Invisibility. No, even scouting everything out before deciding to make the jump. Too rushed. How many were out there? Gregory was...who?

"Go."

Alive.

Something between relief and terror washed over Siena as she heard acknowledgement. Not the same, then, but that much worse. The first words struck odd. What wasn't? What was? Her mind filled in gaps, or at least it tried to. Hallucinations? Auditory ones, visual ones...it didn't matter. What was and what wasn't didn't matter, what did was that he was still there. Leave him. Again, the cold, merciless thought surfaced. It was right. Siena had little choice but to acknowledge that her chances of survival were significantly higher if she left him behind as a sacrifice.

"Seriously?" A single word hissed through grit teeth and mounting pain. Something more that lingered beneath the surface, and Siena knew what it was. Desperately had to remain in control of it, and opened countless other floodgates to drown it out.

beatbreakruinfleshbloodbone

Hers. Not hers. Protect, fix, heal. Her muscles tensed, spasmed lightly and drew a softer, inaudible hiss as she moved closer. Shield. She should shield, protect them while she prayed that she could hold onto the teleporter for long enough to escape. Up and down was more difficult, had always been more difficult. Took more time to calculate, and time was something they sorely lacked...but if she called a shield, they would see. They would see, and they would come, and that laser, the same one that had torn through the room...

She willed herself closer, pushed through the flashes of pain that threatened to let instinct overwhelm her. Hold on. Just a little longer. She had this. Had to have it--no pulse, skin still warm. Her fault again--because what would she do if she didn't? Her mind almost gave out again under the strain of the chaos. Too many thoughts. Too much pain. Too much, too much, too much.

"Hand." The demand was strained. A distant part of the girl scolded her for not being clear, but the fewer words, the better.

Hand. Stand. Demand. Wand? No, that looked similar but was definitely wrong. A thousand pins lightly pricked him with every movement, but he still pushed his hand outwards. Towards her. Go. But where? So little time, and his senses were pulling back to him now, ears finally registering the world outside the dissected, flooded, smouldering attic. Gunfire, screams, and laughter.

So underprepared. So eager to avoid a small loss and so eager to incur a greater one.

One hand out to her, that made things easier. Siena grimaced, knew she would regret it, and let more weight than she should have land on the bad arm. The pain was blinding, almost shut her down again, but the brunette managed to reach, vision blurred, head spinning, why wasn't she shielding? The first attempt missed, drew a hushed swear, and the second one managed to touch flesh, couldn't keep herself from gripping tighter than she needed to.

But she could barely...couldn't quite...the name was already starting to dribble away, draining at a steady pace. LEAVE HIM.

She couldn't.

"C'mon, c'mon...!" Quiet desperation seeped into the mutter, and Siena felt her grip faltering. One attempt. Two attempts. But she'd held on for longer before, hadn't she? She just needed to hold it for a little longer. Just one jump...! Three attempts. Her grip tightened on Brent's hand, and she felt it take.

Gunfire cracked outside, the remaining soldiers still fighting against the deadly trio. Haphazard whips of red laser swung and hissed through the rain as the two jumped around, movements overwhelmingly impossible to follow. Whenever they could get a moment to stand still, more orange beams of light shot towards the soldiers and the mansion, alternating while curving red lines cut clean through more of the guards. In the attic, another stray orange beam seared away much of the roof before it snapped away and flickered into nothing, the enemy group outside dodging gunfire once more.

Gunfire, wind, rain, the acrid smell of her own fear trying to clog her throat...and everything shifted. A careful leap from one spot to another, the jump further than she'd gone on the way up. Not more than one jump, she wouldn't make it if there was more than one jump. Her mind rattled off thoughts, covered up the feeling of stomach-churning nausea as they reappeared, her body twisting slightly as they reappeared, orientation seemed off. That wasn't such a big--

Crunch.

White hot, black ice, she didn't know what it was, but it cut through her without remorse, made her eyes water, her mind go blank. A pristine, chaotic tapestry that wove itself with mismatched threads of silk as the bad shoulder struck the ground, did not pop back into place. A cross between a pathetic yelp and a strangled cry managed to pull free from her, lungs trying desperately to keep the voice restrained. It did little when the tunnels were eager to mock her with a distorted version of her own voice.

The names fled from her then, left her with their hearts, but not with their abilities, and Siena took carefully measured breaths. Another cautious breath as she tried to ignore the throbbing that pulsed in her ankle, a dim, distant sensation compared to the pain in her arm. Another deep breath to try and numb the pain as her vision cleared.

"S-sorry." A strained apology, still through grit teeth, pushing aside pain like a curtain as Siena tried to sit up. She needed to fix her arm, but they had to leave. "C-c'mon, let's go."

Gone. They were back here again, in the secret room of the mansion, the sounds of combat muted. The afterimage of that final orange beam still burned itself in his eyes, and slowly, in the silence, Brent gathered himself up again. Last name: Roless. Hobbies: everything and nothing. Power: Overclock. Equipment: machete, night vision goggles, pepper spray, gas mask. State: a miserable excuse of a human being.

He should be the one apologizing, not her. He should be the only one here, not her. Goddamnit, and his legs were still numb, unmoving nothings. The helplessness of his very first fight flooded back. The disappointment of his very first shot flooded back. The failure of his very first plan flooded back. For a moment, everything flooded back, murky, shallow depths that drowned him regardless.

Wishes wouldn't turn white to black. Prayers wouldn't turn the weak to the strong. Determination wouldn't reverse spinal damage. He knew what he had to do. But he still disliked it.

"Legs not working." Keep it simple. "Need a cart. Something that rolls." She wouldn't bury him. "Don't think about carrying me." He wouldn't burden her further. "Just help." They can't fold now.

At any given moment, simple words and phrases could make everything fall apart. It was all just a matter of finding the correct words.

"Legs not working" were certainly the right words at that exact moment.

'Did I--' A riptide of thoughts threatened to drown Siena in the blink of an eye, sweeping away the pain and fear with an overwhelming volume of helplessness. Her fault. She should have stopped it from getting this far. Should have found some way to avoid the entire situation. Should have, should have, should have, but didn't. The expression on her face failed to falter, remained the cautious, combat-fueled mask even when the cracks widened beneath the surface. Another current, softer and cooler trickled through. Plans, courses of action for escape.

'Leave him.' Wouldn't. Couldn't.

"Shit..." The Arbiter breathed, grey eyes going straight up, back toward the estate, thoughts of gunfire and burning streaks of color still fresh in her mind. Going back up wasn't an option, but even if she pulled a name to create a cart, the construct wouldn't last forever. Summoning one from the mansion...? No, she didn't know where to begin finding one, and taking a name to try and scout one safely would only dampen her ability to bring it back down. Shit. "'s not really much of an option. Going back up is a terrible idea." Siena took another carefully measured breath, winced when she felt her shoulder protest, then dug into her pocket with her good arm, drawing her phone from its place. Another grimace at the fine, web-like crack that snaked its way halfway across the screen, but it was still working. That was enough. She flicked through sources as quickly as her mind could process them, still trying to create a new plan. Each had pitfalls worse than the last. "Not that the other options are much better."

'Orphic blood, maybe?'

That would drain her. It would probably take everything out of her, and even then, it might not be enough.

...

Fuck.

"I...may need your machete."

A breath. Did they have time for this? To ask questions, to discuss things? No, not after hearing all those screams, watching those beams, feeling everything...shit, he hated being wrong. They should have left immediately. He didn't even have a gun, for God's sake.

"Take it."

No time at all for reasonable actions.

"Right." Quickly, then.

The screen of her phone flickered to life, unfamiliar characters whispering meanings directly into her head. This was a bad idea. This was a terrible idea, but it was the fastest one, and that was far more important than all of Siena's usual precautions at that moment. The brunette didn't let the abundance of probable consequences stop her when she reached for the blade with her good arm, mind twisting things into place as quickly as it could. No healing. Healing would take too much, and she couldn't be sure that it would hold. If it was just a cart made of what was available, even if it didn't hold, she'd have enough in her to manage it a second time--assuming she didn't pass out first. A hopeful, optimistic assumption.

Dim purple light came to life, amber overtaking Siena's eyes, everything feeling...almost the same. Right. The bastard Orphic wasn't too far off from what she was used to, was it? But there was something more, and Siena understood that.

She understood that fully as she let the machete bite into the flesh of her injured arm, holding back discomfort with a stoic expression. She wasn't of that land, but she could bridge the gap. Orphic magic, Orphic blood--they were almost one and the same. The first droplets were more than enough to close the distance between her abilities and what the land could give her, the excess nothing more than a stronger support for the pathway as a murky green fog twisted the earth around her into shape. Magic in the veins to create magic in the world.

Siena continued to bleed, continued to support the connection as she felt her stamina draining, the fog fading out, leaving nothing but the crudely shaped "cart" of stone in its place. Not something that the magic maintained, only something that the magic shaped...it was easier to work with the world outside than directly on a person, after all. The name faltered and Siena gripped it tighter, masked the uncertainty with a quiet breath. "It...should hold."

He wanted to support her, to help her. If the cost of her magic was blood this time, so be it, but he wanted to at least be able to dress up that wound. But it was always like this. For all the knowledge he had, all the facts he knew, all the useless things he carried with him, he never considered what was most important. He assumed that if they were injured, they were dead. That first aid kits weren't necessary when they had magic healers. That pointless little interactions were more important than learning combat-applicable skills.

Christ, even though he knew, he never applied.

"You could have done better."

Old words came back to haunt him as he crawled towards the stone cart, hands scraping against the rough sides as Brent pulled himself upwards, useless legs flopping about like the arms of airdancers. More effort than expected, more of that pinprickly numbness. He crawled, pulled, grasped the edge and brought himself over, a mess of limbs before managing to orientate himself. A quick jolt of power sparked into the cart and remained. He could use it.

"Get in," the arbiter managed, fighting the reflex to check the battle phone. "Going pedalling."

Two sides that refused to meet surged in response to the command. Instinctive need to obey, a wary caution that didn't belong to her that flared up in response to that desire, both twisting into each other despite the quiet nod before Siena hobbled her way to the cart herself. Her vision alternated between flashes of white and wavering darkness, first pain, then exhaustion, a return to the former--the inconsistency kept her moving, let her drag herself into the cart with only a few grimaces and new teeth marks on the inside of her lip to show for the pain.

'Leaving would have been easier.' It wouldn't have been, but in the heat of the moment, it certainly seemed like it.

"...sorry I can't do more." ...no, not quite. More sorry that she couldn't do more before. Could never do enough. She kept the machete firm in her grip, a faint sense of security in its presence despite knowing it had done its job already. "I'll...try to speed us up."

As Siena climbed in, Brent's arms and face lit up, both his night vision goggles and the cart beneath them bursting and reforming, separate overclocks occuring simultaneously. Locked over his amethyst eyes like a stylish visor rather than a clunky set of goggles, it altered what he saw before him as if they were in broad daylight instead, while the material that made up the cart changed as well. Though still as hard and clunky as the stone it was made of, much of the excess stone was gone, rudimentary wheels becoming round, perfect circles. Not enough yet. Another joly of silver circuitry manifested a system that allowed him to pedal, stone groaning as handlebars connected to gears and chains, the cart getting another pointless cosmetic upgrade as it pulsated with blue light.

It was complete, but he almost lost that connection when Siena spoke up, apologizing once more for a situation that was his own fault. Goddamnit, he was broken, she was bleeding, they were both isolated and alone, and they had gained nothing due to it, outside of antagonizing their classmates with the stupid bullshit he kept getting people dragged into.

"No," Brent said, eyes narrowing beneath the black visor, "Stop. Rest up as much as you can. I'll handle at least this much."

Was this all he wanted to say? All just half-measures?

"It's my fault for being useless. Stop apologizing."

The wheels squeaked as he began turning the handlebars, propelling the cart forwards down the tunnel. At least his arms worked.

Stop apologizing--she could imagine Maya saying the same words, but apologies were the best that Siena could offer when things went wrong. 'You've never been the best at mistakes.' Again, the brunette almost responded to the demand with another apology, caught herself this time only because they started to move, stopping the words in her throat. She could still help, and again a need to fix, protect, heal rose. Not hers, but she wanted it to be hers, didn't she?

"It's not--" The words stopped, the thought cut apart by a harsher one. Not his fault, but words were empty when there were things that could be done. So the girl swallowed the words, let them drop back until they were gone, and replaced them with different ones. Ones that weren't quite so empty. "...I'll be fine. The sooner we get back to the others, the better."

Not the words she wanted to say, but they weren't facing each other. No real concerns over being seen through. One hand on the phone, instinctively flicking through sources and names again. Nothing off the top of her head, but that was all occupied with physical pain and worthless regrets. The motion was only some simulation of comfort in the midst of thoughts of orange beams, broken bodies, and gunfire. Siena hesitated over a source briefly. It wouldn't speed them along, but it was...safer, wasn't it? Another thought of the laser that had seared the roof brought images of being torn through, vaporized, annihilated... A cold chill gripped her stomach, and she lingered longer. Just in case.

Up down, up down. The momentum built up and pedalling the cart became slightly easier as it went down the tunnel, wheels churning against the dimly lit path. There was nothing fine here, not really, not when both of them had two non-functioning limbs and gained nothing out of it. Not when Siena was hellbent on burning herself out while his own reserves remained uselessly full, no marvel of technology available for him to boost that could change the situation in the blink of an eye.

It was never through power usage that he exhausted himself.

"Don't use it all," he said, back turned, stomach turning at her statements. "We'll need everything you have later, 'ena."

Ah, like this, he was better off being a magical battery instead.

Up down, up down.

"Cuff transmit," Brent said, a calm tone veiling how horrible their states were, "We're coming."

Kusari let out a heavy sigh as she watched Chris leave. Looks like they were going to end up fighting after all. She couldn't see them making it to the ferry in time now, not with people missing. She rubbed the surface of the gun she'd taken with her thumb, her mind forcing her to think about Gregory. She didn't even get to know him, and just like that he was gone. Ah... I really can't take this. She could feel herself starting to become numb to the notion of death, as if it were bad enough that she felt numb to living.

She didn't want to die, no, more like she was starting to not care either way. The good in life was meant to offset how terrible things could be, but it seemed as if justice was blind and therefore had no idea that the scales had long since tipped far off balance.

Kusari grinded her teeth in irritation, this wasn't the time to be thinking so much. She stood from the bottom of the lighthouse's staircase and looked up. She was tempted to follow after Emma and Marcus, but she didn't want to leave the front entrance unattended. She was curious about the blood as well, but indulging curiosity for curiosity's sake seemed like a foolish thing to do in this circumstance. "If you two see anything bad, call out to us!" She yelled just loud enough for the two of them to hear her.

---

It hurts.

Her world was pain.

With every movement, it felt as if lightning bolts crossed her vision. Each movement of her legs, her arms and her neck caused horrible suffering and an ever-increasing obscure blanketing her sight. A change of direction, her arms swung abruptly to one side, another jolt of pain flaring from her elbows making its way to her throat in a muted groan, which caused even more pain to her freshy torn and stitched throat. More than once, Angel wanted to bring a hand to her neck and rub and scratch at the aching there, but she couldn’t.

At that moment, there wasn’t any second this pitiful ragdoll swung over the giant shadow creature wouldn’t feel pain. Her glassy eyes stared blankly at her unmoving arms. No matter how much she tried, she could not move a single finger. It pained her doing so as well. Angel had given up on trying to move her limbs, as it only provoked more suffering and threatened her already-fading consciousness to black out entirely.

How did things come to be this way? What did they even want from her? Why did they do all this to her? Why her? Those were questions among many that Angélique kept asking herself internally. Questions to take her mind away from the pain, as little good as it did to her. But the agonizing young woman was left unsatisfied with her shortcomings, and damning her lack of means to communicate.

Oh, the Irony. Angel had cursed herself so much for having this deadly voice of hers. A voice that was meant to kill or bring pain. So much at times she wished she would be mute and stop hurting others. A very contrast view of her situation compared to before when she was grateful to have such a voice that captivated the hearts of thousands.

But right now, just how much she longed she still had a voice. Even if it had been for a few missed, the raven-haired Aberration already missed that voice. To call out the terrible power she had begun to loathe. To protect herself. To call out for the others to help her.

As much as she had tried, she could feel that familiar warmth of her magic working her throat, but it soon grew to be cold as nothing came out. Not only her screams, but deep inside she could feel that even her voice projections couldn’t reach for the others, or the surrounding area. She was effectively speechless, a powerless Mage. Just how fucking good her power as an Aberration was without a voice?

As much as she missed her voice, Angélique also began cursing her powers. So weak and so pathetic, again. Was it her fate as a Mage to be held helpless and useless? What if she had Callan or Sander’s strength? What if she was as powerful as Hazel or Zoe? Would she be like this right now?

Up until now, Angel was squirming, either in pain or in attempts to get off from the giant’s shoulders. But with increasing fatigue and weakness, her adrenaline had somewhat settled down after she realized she could do nothing. As minutes went by, the aching and the haze of her hangover were slowly replaced by more pain and a dreadful damp cold washing over her body.

So cold. She could feel it now. The cold October rain falling mercilessly onto her mangled body. Her clothes were drenched, her skin was dripping wet with cold droplets. It felt like ice. Her still body began quivering slightly in response to that heat loss. Was it because she had lost a lot of blood? Or was it because she was dying? So many questions to distract her mind from all this pain.

It hurts.

So much suffering.

How she wished she could just fade out already.