Waiting for the terrible flight to begin, Adam felt something tugging upon his hand. Were the whales nibbling at him already? Slowly, two of the fingers covering his eyes split apart, and he peered down through the slitted digits at… another female with red hair. Those glinting black golem eyes blinked. She was smiling at him. The corner of his lip twitched momentarily in response -- about the most the golem ever did for smiling back. Her touch was not as warm as the other red-headed woman, as Veti’s, but it was still just as strange to Adam.

“Oh,” replied Adam eloquently to the girl’s (Mila’s) reassurement. The tone of his rumbling reply was just detectably dubious, but some part of him could appreciate her effort to soothe his golem nerves.

When Isis’ wings began to close around them, Adam shut his fingers back tight. Not in the ocean, not in the ocean, not in the ocean…

The golem’s worries trailed off in his mind. Everything trailed off, truly. He drifted, warm and… and… fuzzy? Was it possible for a golem to feel… fuzzy? Like velvet curtains, like the pelt of Optimus the feline, like the mold that grew on the bread Adam never ate in his cupboard. A great giant cotton golem, how absurd, yet Adam could feel nothing except for humor at the thought, or what he supposed was humor…

“Hah hah hah…”

The sound of his slow, monotone, reverberating laughter echoed back to him. He split his fingers again to peer out, and he saw a monstrous room rife with texts of every variety. A lingering smile on his sculpted face faded to typical golem grimness. He lowered his hand from his eyes, slowly rotating his head to gather in his surroundings.

By the time his head had rotated one way and had started back the other, there was a bird upon his shoulder. Adam had been a perch for avians before during the many years he had sat in the park in Prague, but never since, and never for a bird of such pleasing plumage. Isis. He knew it was she without consciously making the connection. She had not dropped him into the ocean, or even a volcano. She was welcome to perch his shoulder, in Adam’s reckoning.

He listened as the goddess spoke. He followed her gaze as she directed it, assessing the massive columns, the pointed archway, the statues of dark-skinned canines. Golems like him? He wondered. Shifting his eyes back to Isis, Adam grimly digested the goddess’ warning. Many lives were at risk for the sake of one, but the cause was just. Or if not just… meaningful. Adam reflected upon Eve and wondered at the trials he would willingly face to recover her were she the one trapped beyond that dark space. The threat of Set or the Guardians of Alexandria paled then, and any budding doubts receded forever from the golem’s mind, other than hoping the Max they sought was worthy of red Veti’s devotion.

As others broke the silence and began to prepare themselves, Adam… simply stood there. As far as golems went, he was as prepared as he was going to get.

He… continued standing there, until a feminine creature with a dusty tome in her hands approached him. The golem blinked, a reaction borne of puzzlement rather than from the need to re-wet his eyes. As the icy female voice began to discuss Adam’s anatomy and… mating habits, the golem shifted his feet awkwardly. Dark and glossy on the outside, but he was certain his mystical body began to heat from the inside at the uncomfortable commentary.

“Er…” the golem started to reply with untested golem delicacy, but the approach of the one called Nestor interrupted him.

The interruption was a blessed interruption. Adam hastily agreed with a firm nod, for no other reason than to stifle further talk concerning his monumental golem apparatus. Adam’s witchy creator had been rather lecherously generous in her sculpting and proportioning of certain… parts. It was lamentable. A woeful curse to be so incredibly endowed. It was a sore topic for Adam. Don’t ask.

“A favor,” Adam rumbled agreeably, “yes.”

Subtly wincing at the shrieking female voice beside him, the golem did not even pause to wonder over Nestor’s plan or ask questions. The moment Nestor finished speaking, Adam gripped the smaller being by the harness he wore, cranked an arm back, and… threw him! This was no half-hearted underhanded lob, not even a hearty softball pitch. This was an extreme, wind-whistling, beeline, blurred type of throw, and the moment Nestor was out of Adam’s hand, Adam feared he had thrown too hard. His onyx eyebrows rose.

“Oops.”

The golem hastened to lumber himself in place to catch a falling statue.

The short trip from Ireland to Alexandria was... interesting.

Sensations Semyon couldn't quite describe filled his form for a moment, as if his body had touched upon something long forgotten. It was over in an instant, almost before he could start to wonder just what it was he had felt. Sweeping wings, a brief... something... then gone, and Isis opened her arms to reveal their destination.

Semyon took a moment to look it over, scanning the high shelves and grand columns. His eyes laid upon pages and pages of bound knowledge, knowing that even more lay on every side. He spent a moment to take it all in, then nodded, once.

It certainly did live up to rumor.

Any remnants of a smile faded once again, however, as the now-bird goddess spoke. Her words drew his gaze to the hulking statues flanking their destination, the comment on the Library's own custodians pulling his pale lips into an even deeper frown. The statues of Set stood tall and strong, their stone forms unlikely to feel much from mere pistol rounds. Those blades gleamed wickedly, but a simple stomp or punch from such a creature would likely do more harm. Their figures gave the illusion of sloth, but mere presence wouldn't be enough to guard against committed seekers. Perhaps they were just a front -which case the true foes lay inside- but just as likely they were faster than appeared...

...Peppering the eyes might work, blind or hamper their vision enough to slip past. Or perhaps suggest they all target the wrists and ankles, weaken them enough for gravity to do the constructs in... But there were the custodians too, so they should hit fast and keep moving, or else break past the guardians, luring them away to dispatch without the custodians interfering...

Semyon's thoughts paused for the moment, the Wight closing his eyes and growing very, very still.

The halls of the largest of Libraries. And combat is all I see.

He was soldier first and scholar second, and would be forever. A Pity.

"Not my first thought." Semyon opened his eyes to the sound of his comrade's suggestion, volunteering to serve as a living missile. He spoke the words quietly, not meaning judgment, simply thinking aloud. "But volunteers are ones to respect..."

Stepping to the back of their little group, he quietly drew his Stechkin from it's holster, raising his voice as he idly attached the weapon's suppressor.

"Hit them here, then duck in. Or run past them, and fight inside." Suppressor secure, Semyon drew the hammer back, holding the weapon calmly at his side- in time to see the one he thought was a golem hurl the volunteer straight for a construct.

They were ones to act fast. Admirable, in a way.

"... It seems we have little time to choose. Move quickly. I'll take rear."

Anselm Dunn - Giant of Albion

The transportation from Ardgroom to Alexandria had been... strange. Quick, effortless and soothing. Completely unlike the various portals Dunn had travelled through previously. Then again, he had never gotten a lift from a goddess before.
Now he stood in the great halls of the largest library of its kind. He had been there before. Several times, in fact, and every time for the same reason - researching his curse. Not even the damn near incomprehensibly vast knowledge gathered in the enormous library had been able to help him. He had gone through every lead, advice and idea he had to find books and documents that could possibly help him, but none of them had. He had learned a great many other things while spending his time in these halls, however, and valued its importance.

Dunn eyed the other members of the group. There were seven of them, as different from one another in thinking and ability as his own two selfs. The goddess led them to an archway, and spoke about their mission. Anselm looked at the two stone statues as Isis introduced them to the group. Guardians. Grand creatures of stone, capable of feats as impressive as they looked. Could they match him? Maybe. Could they match him and the others? Doubt it. Abruptly ending Anselm's thoughts was a sudden movement, as the black, sleek golem suddenly and with great force threw the maniac Dunn knew only as "Nestor" towards one of the statues.

Dunn never saw Nestor hit the statue, as his vision had already blurred. He heard commotion around him, but his hearing grew as inept as his vision. He was turning. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, steeling himself against the forthcoming pain, and embracing it as it hit him. Slowly but yet suddenly and at an unsteady pace, he felt his body grow. He fell down to his knees, ending up on all fours. He heard bones snap, and could feel his nerve endings upend themselves, his limbs twist and twirl as they detached and reattached themselves to one another. His breathing became unsteady, and he realized he wasn't able to inhale as much oxygen as he suddenly needed, as his lungs didn't grow at the same pace as his limbs, this time. Every time was different, and every time brought entirely new, inexperienced pains along with the old ones. Everything in his body stretched out itself. It didn't only make him grow in size and mass exponentially, but proportionally as well. His muscles grew denser, more compact and powerful, while at the same time increasing in size many times over. And just as the pain was at its worst, and Dunn felt his spine almost jumping clean off his back, it ended as precipitously as it had begun. He let out a heavy breath, inhaling an even larger one as his lungs was suddenly capable of storing the air he needed. The corners of his huge mouth twisted upwards. He let out a deep, short laugh, sounding like thunder rumbling down the backside of a mountain.

He opened his blood shot eyes, and slowly stood up, still unaware of the commotion around him. With a voice so deep and powerful it reverberated on the insides of the creatures closest to him - much like standing close to the bass speakers at a night club - he spoke;
"I am myself yet again." And with that, he clenched his fists.

Henry - Näck/Siren

The fire encircled them as ancient words were spoken by the demon they all reffered to as Atticus and who Henry considered his foremost confidant and greastest friend. Ok so, maybe he and Atticus had a unhealthy rivalry when it came to the art of seduction and there was a reason why they banned both of them from the Boston clubscene 3 years in a row. But that was only natural! At the moment, Henry more concerned with whatever reason Atticus and Hoyle may have to want Henry to come with them specifically. A intricate web of burning leylines seemed to web together in the form of a giant wolf and suddenly the roar of a wind came bursting out the ground. Suddenly Henry felt a strange stillness envelop him as if the winds were a blanket around him and he knew instinctively what manner of power carried them. He had never experienced the Deep Wind before, It was quite something. It gave him some time to ponder over the past year. A lot had happened, and he had thought the branch scattered. Yet here most of them had been, showing up when called. And now there was the possibility to get Max back, something had to go wrong somewhere. It always did.

The wind subsided, and the Siren stood on North American soil for the first time in a full year. Alaska was a gorgeous place Henry had visited before, not far removed from his own home in feel and appearence. The mountains were larger, the snow a little more insistent and the woods more fern then Pines. The cold itself had never bothered Henry, not the natural and northern kind of cold at least. He was immune to it as spirit born of a northern river himself. In fact, the snow wasn't all unpleasant, he had not seen a real winter in so long that he was positively thriving. But even if it felt deceptively like home, the spirits were completely different then the Scandinavian ones. Here no Huldra would lure men into the forest, no Mares would lure in your dreams and no trolls would slumber in the mountains. He had once met a Qalupalik from Alaska, they were kindred spirits to the näck in a way, living and singing from the watery shores. Of course, Henry had been forced to make the Qualapik relinquish a mortal child, but that was simply details. Tornits also lived here, although he had never met the alleged Alaskan bushmen. Indeed, this was familiar yet alien territory for the Näck. But they found themselves inside a mountain from the looks of it, a deep cavern provided them with a roof and walls of massive rock.

Henry was not a fan of caves, not in the slightest. He counted his blessing this was not Norway. Last thing he wanted was to meet a cave troll in the Troll Kings service. Worse hosts were hard to find. Instead their host was a somewhat weathered looking Hoyle and Henry felt a mixed well of emotion flare inside him. This was the man who Henry had saved the life of a year earlier. But Hoyle had been the man who long before that, helped Henry out of a fate worse then death. Still, Henry had not forgotten the price he had payed to save Hoyles life once before, and yet here he was again. It was a good thing the Näck wasn't as a craven and foul as many of his kind. He was well in his rights to refuse helping the old werewolf. Yet, the thought didn't pass his mind even once. The company he realized, was all he had. The thought hit him like a truck and for a second his entire being seemed to falter into a pained stagger.

Luckily for him there was entertainment to be had and it seemed to be just cure for his impromptu case of mind numbing self reflection. The Dryad had foregone clothing it seemed and the Siren busted into a melodic fit of laughter. He kept the warning from before in mind however, quelling the innate magic within his voice. Luckily for the Driad, Henry had brought clothes with him on the trip, mainly because Atticus tended to ruin his clothes with sulfur fueled hellfire. Henry wasn't the incubus assistant without a reason.

“And here I thought it was Atticus who would end up ruin his clothes.” He said as he tossed the polo shirt and pants to the dryad.” The shirt goes well with scarf” He added with a chuckle before following Atticus and Hoyle into the cave.

Nestor Grimsley -- Demonspawn

The Demonspawn unleashes a surprised grunt as the Golem – apparently in no mood to waste time – takes his request as a stony literal, swoops one massive hand down and hoists him up by his harness. Nestor's first instinct is to swat (quite ineffectively) at the massive hand, gasping out as he does so:

“Oi! Adam! Half a second, don't you think? (Other hand gesticulates madly, indicating the others nearby) I mean to say, this is only -our- half... (Another grunt as the indomitable creature cocks his arm back, so sloooowly back)... perhaps we let the others... oh bugger... If you've gone and offended him, I'll flay your demonic hide alive”. An agonizing pause. A spate of chittering laughter as the Demoness vanishes into a swirl of cloudy blue – a calm before the hurl – and just moments left as Nestor remarks quite calmly, quite sincerely, as he ceases his struggle and stares the inevitable straight in the eye:

“Fuck it.”

And then the Golem throws. Hurls. Chucks. Launches – launches the Demonspawn into a deadly trajectory toward the awaiting statue; the swirling cloud of blue goes streaming after him, catching up to Nestor before the hapless man has made it a quarter of the way to the target, envelopes him in an icy haze – vanishes within him as his skin takes on at first a pale blue pallour, frost forming rapidly on the fringe of his jacket and trailing edges of his limbs. Another brief instant passes. Somehow he has managed to produce a sword – though it would appear painfully insignificant in scale when measured against his foe.

Halfway to the statue now, and the frost has turned to ice, a seething mass of crystalline shards all but encasing his form, a trail of ice and scattered crystals spewing behind him as he surges onward. Headfirst. Reckless as he allows some kind of grimace caught between a smile and a snarl to force its way onto his lips.

Three quarters of the way, and what was once Nestor has become all but unrecognizable beneath the encasing of Hellish ice. A veritable missile. The dozing statue finally seems to become aware of its fate. A deep grumbling and grinding from somewhere within heralds a shower of dust and old debris as the thing comes to life. Fast, terrifyingly fast for something so large – and drowsy to boot – but the creature's blade only manages to shear the top half of the ice, cleaving it clean away before the entire mass hurtles directly into its face.

To those standing below, it might be difficult to make out what happens next. A blinding flash. A bursting crash, as though a thousand bricks had been hurled in the same instant through as many windows. And as the shower of ice and bits of hailstone go rippling in every direction, Nestor might finally be made out – clinging to dear life, as it were, one hand wrapped around a massive canine, dangling an uncomfortable distance above the stone floor – the cavernous maw kept open by a monstrous shard of ice that has lodge itself between upper and lower jaw. With a gasping cry, the Demonspawn clenches his blade tightly in one hand, screws both eyes up into a narrow squint – a sickly blue light begins to pulse from within the blade, ice again forming down the length of his hand as he surges upward with seeming inhuman strength, sends the cold blue dart drilling through the roof of the creature's mouth.

“Brainfreeze, Motherfucker!” Echoes the vaguely distant voice of the Demoness.

There is no sound to follow the action, just the anticlimactic swiveling of his opponent's onyx eyes, rolling back toward its brow as it begins a slow descent toward the floor, keeling over like a felled tree.

It is only then that Nestor happens to notice his harness has become quite firmly stuck in a crevice beneath the monster's teeth -- not only that, but the grinding and whirring from deep within the creature has begun again, both obsidian eyes snapping open. The muzzle begins to twitch -- as though caught in an attempt to determine just what it had gotten lodged between its lips -- perhaps a bit less concerned with its toppling state than might have been hoped. Glancing from his predicament to the fast approaching floor, the Demonspawn might be heard to make an entirely human observation in an entirely surprised voice:

“Oh Shit...”

The journey to Alexandria was unbelievable, unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It felt amazing as if she was bathing in the clouds, pleasantly soft and.....it was over before she realized it. They had arrived in the library of Alexandria and again like the journey the destination was astonishing. Mila was stunned, she had never seen this many books, scrolls and everything else one would use to document in one place. It was immense and she felt her jaw drop which she had to close with her hand. Just unbelievable. If there was one place who had the information she needed it would be here. Though the Rusalka didn't have time to take in the magnificence of the library and the possibilities it held. Isis was perched upon the shoulder of the stone man in the shape of a beautiful bird, her divine voice sounding through their minds. Their journey was beginning. Faster than she'd expected to. Before she had any time to take in the guardians they were to face, one of the team members already launched himself at them, thrown by the man made of shining onyx.

Mila shrieked and covered her head with her arms as the statue came to life, not a very smart move if you were wanting to stay alive. For Gods sake. She thought peeking up cautiously to see what was happening. I'm a lover not a fighter, I'm not cut out for this kind of thing. She saw a shadow on the ground steadily growing larger. It wasn't hers nor anybody else's. At least no one could have a shadow of that size, unless...... The statue was coming down!

"Watch out!" She screamed. She didn't know if the team member who launched himself at the statue was hurt, she hoped he had survived his crazy dive. The guardians of Alexandria were immense. Mila knew she didn't have the kind of juice to even scratch their stony surface. Besides she doubted they could be drowned and if that wasn't the case she was pretty useless, at least it felt that way. Lucky for her, the team had some heavy hitters along. However it didn't stop her from taking part in the action. She quickly threw off her trenchcoat, since one it was too hot and two it would be easier to move around.

In absence of Henry she turned to the second most familiar face, the red wolf Veti.

"What do we do?" She called out. Mila kept a close eye on each team member, making sure to warn them when they got in sweeping distance of the stone guardians. If there was one thing she could do from the sidelines it was to be the eyes and ears. The Rusalka knew a pair of extra eyes watching out for you while fighting against something a tenth your size could keep you from ending up like a pancake.

As captivated as the woman had been by Isis' undeniable magnetism, the wolf had been utterly enthralled. The woman thrilled to the goddess' undeniable grace, but the wolf recognized home, her birthplace in divine flesh. For all her supernatural strength and energy, she fell gladly into the goddess' embrace, as trusting as a babe in her mother's own arms.

And what landed in the Library, that gorgeous, magnificent, indescribably beautiful hoard of humanity's combined knowledge through the millenia, was something, somewhere between the woman and the wolf. Amber wolf eyes glowed subtly in Veti's face as she listened to the goddess kite's warnings, black-tipped nails curling into her palms, ready to be underway despite the undeniable temptation laid out all around them. She caught the vaguely wistful look in Semyon's eyes - not that many others would have, but you simply had to know the wight to see it - and she understood his longing to the depth of her soul.

Not, of course, that everyone was all about 'denied satisfaction,' it seemed. Veti's over-long tongue flicked in annoyance over the fangs that remained in her mouth, sucking it quickly back into her mouth as she eyeballed the living mummy. The werewolf had no illusions that everyone's volunteering to join them was even remotely 'altruistic' in their intentions, but the unbridled arrogance of this creature - even before the eyes of a goddess - galled her.

She strode to Sethan when he returned, wrapping one arm around him almost affectionately, like a dear friend, a brother even, before she leaned in to whisper in his ear, those black-tipped finger tips wrapped oh-so-lightly about the back of his neck.

"Let us have a few things straight between us," she whispered in his ear with a wide fang-filled smile, "I give not a good damn why you came here today. Oh, and your 'glamour' is nothing to me at all - I can smell what you are, as undead to me as the wight or the rusalka."

"The only thing I do give a damn about? Are the lives - or un-lives - of the others here, and the man we've come to retrieve. If you've been stupid enough to do anything - anything at all - to put them, or the mission of finding my Max in any danger? If something else doesn't do it for me first, I'm going to graduate your ass to 'full dead' myself."

Veti stepped back with an even wider grin, something not fully humanly possible, but all the brighter nonetheless for the number of teeth to be found, and slapped the mummy on the back with a snorting growl of a laugh. "Good, good - glad we got that out of the way!"

The werewolf rolled her shoulders as she stalked away, forcing that intense irritation back into its proper place, to channel the pumping adrenaline where it'd do the most good and -

Oh.

Shit.

The golem decided to use Nestor as a missile it seemed, the logic behind that move going right past her apparently while she 'chatted' with the overreaching mummy.

Veti instinctively moved to put the rusalka behind her, suddenly sure to her gut that something very, very ungood was about to go down. "Just stay with us, Mila," was all the werewolf had before she nodded toward Semyon, drawing her Desert Eagle and chambering one of her 'special' rounds as she stepped forward, taking as close to point as she could possibly call - the Nestor-missile aside, of course.

So, apparently, Egypt had zero knowledge on the concept of subtlety.

The Reaper, like the mummy, had been none too keen on this method of travel, at least not in comparison to more normal, less sexy B&H fare. Isis was hot, sure, but she was, first and foremost a god. One of those creatures who sort of screamed 'fuck you, Daisy' by virtue of her mere existence. Basking in her olive-toned glory was one thing; being wrapped in a power that was antithetical to everything Daisy was...well, that was a different ball game entirely.

Daisy stepped away from the small assembled group as soon as she was able, a small shiver ripping up her spine. She felt neither heat nor cold, or at least not in the normal sense, but if she'd been capable of goosebumps, she'd have been coated in that shit just now.

Egyptian what-the-actual-fuckery part two (or three, if you counted the mummy; he certainly seemed to. Daisy was trying very hard not to) came in the form of the library itself, which would have also been the second time Daisy was very reluctantly impressed with something that night. Day. Whatever.

It wasn't that she was particularly into reading. The last time she'd been to a library had been as a high school student named Sarah, who was trying to get into this kid's pants. He'd been kind of a geek, knee-deep into that Hobbit shit. Daisy had gotten two pages in then 'lost' her library card. She was pretty sure she owed, like, $80 in library fines now. "Sarah" was on the run.

Her attention was torn away from the library by the mummy, yet a-fucking-gain. Though this time, it was less his ass, more his strange transformation. In her eyes, it glowed so bright it almost hurt, and set her teeth on edge. Even Artie, who'd broken off to go mark one of those giant stone pillars, turned his head, sniffing the air suspiciously, and letting off a low, warning growl from the back of his throat. She wasn't quite sure what he'd done. But she really, really, really didn't like it.

"Um...," she started to no one in particular. "Is he gonna fucking share with the class, or -- "

"Watch out!"

Daisy made a point of avoiding and ignoring such general imperative commands -- "Watch out!", "Look at this!", "Daisy, stop doing that!" -- and might have continued to do so on this occasion, had said interjection not been nearly overlapped by a very familiar, entirely too joyous, bark.

Expecting the absolute worst, Daisy turned to see several things that went on to base her conclusion that Egypt was a subtle as a troupe of Cirque du Soleil members on LSD. One of the two giant statue things was moving. Falling, more accurately, pitching forward with all the grace of a bus on ice skates. And clutched in its little statuesque teeth, Old Dude. For whatever reason, Daisy was completely unsurprised. For all the bullshit she represented, Daisy had always liked that ghost chick who hung out with him. If she wasn't so dead, and Daisy wasn't so Death, they'd probably be best friends.

The Reaper idly wondered if the Demoness had a Twitter handle.

Meanwhile, Artie, apparently thrilled for some action, or just acclimating to Egypt much faster than she was, had changed again. Where he had been a largish black wolf before, he now appeared at the far edge of glamour and truth, leaving him an ugly, hulking beast of a bear-hound with patchy fur. He barked again as he used immense muscles of supernatural strength to catapult himself up the not-so-gentle incline the statue made with its body, bound for its muzzle, and for Old Guy.

Scurrying (if 'scurrying' could be used for a creature that size) around the statue's jaw, Artie panted happily to himself, another thrilled bark/roar leaving flayed lips, timing his jump, before leaping off the statue's nose to nap Old Guy's weird harness belt thing between teeth like razors. And successfully leaving old guy dangling from the jaws of a hellhound like a puppy in its mother's mouth.

Daisy rolled her eyes as Artie let off another muffled bark of elation and excitement, charred tail wagging so hard, it shook his whole body.

"Well, this is shitty," she grumbled under her breath, drawing the intangible version of the Scythe. "If we're always going to end up where things are trying to kill us anyway, I'd much rather have a vampire sex dungeon than a fuck ton of dusty scrolls and their babysitters."

Library of Alexadria

Thousands of years had passed within the walls of the Library, and the Anubi had not once been challenged at their post. Ancient magic, dormant since the very day the god Set had sung the spell upon the giant stonework demons, came to life in an instant. A shower of dust rained down from the Anubi’s bodies as they their limbs became fluid, and for a time their menacing forms were obscured by the cloud. The curved Khopesh blades flashed from their sheaths with a speed unnatural for their size.

One of the Anubi rocked back with the sudden blow of hellish ice as it danced across his muzzle and face. A rumbling growl filled the library, and the creature moved with preternatural deftness to right his fall, managing to stop himself with a firm planting of a clawed foot. Anger flashed in the now burning eyes of the Anubi, and it reached out to grasp the hell hound and ice-demon firmly in his hand before flinging them like so much chaff into the library stacks.

The second creature took up a stance of readiness, the giant sword curving across his head like the tail of a scorpion. Glowing orange eyes assessed the attackers, affixing almost instantly upon the hulking figure of a Giant, ugly and menacing amidst the others. The Anubi lunged ahead, the deadly sword swinging in wide arcs before him.

Atticus looked over his shoulder at the naked and resplendent Raleigh, watching with growing irritation as the dryad received a scarf from the delicate hands of Siya. “Fucking tree-hugger,” he muttered to himself, his eyes glowing dully in the darkness of the cave. Perhaps it had not been such a keen idea to invite Raleigh onto this excursion. Atticus had long thought that what had transpired between them belonged in the past, but in truth he realized that perhaps he was the one whose emotions were still raw. This realization did nothing to improve his sudden change in mood, and the tattooed creatures on his body laughed and mocked his discomfort, with even a few of the angels breaking their stoic demeanor to jeer at him.

Turning back to look to the small figure of Reginald Hoyle walking before him, Atticus tried to thrust his unusual pettiness from his mind. He tried to focus on controlling his emotion before being introduced to Hoyle’s only living relative. From what the werewolf had told him, his sister had been in hiding for hundreds of years following the last hunting of the Teachglach Mac Tíre. She was a creature unaccustomed to the ways of the humanistic interaction that characterized much of the Veiled World, and she adhered to the more ancient and animalistic natural laws of the werewolf tribes; laws that stated that if one was offended, that individual was within their right to rip out the throat of the offender. Atticus felt himself rub at his neck involuntarily.

He was just about to ask a question of Hoyle when they turned a corner into a anteroom, similarly cut and adorned as the one they had first appeared in. What he saw inside of the room froze him cold in his tracks. There, standing unnaturally still, was an elderly woman, adorned in a patchwork of rough furs and animal skins. Her silver hair fell in two long braids down either side of her neck, and though she was of advanced age, she still exuded an aura of strength and prowess. It was not the woman that froze Atticus in place however, rather the two creatures that flanked her.

On either side of the elderly woman stood two other female figures, both unnaturally beautiful, with fair skin, and long, tangled wet hair that hung to their ankles. They wore sheer dresses of blue silk, and their large green eyes looked with a sense of mischief towards the arriving group. One of the creatures held a hand to the old woman’s ear, and was silently whispering or singing into it, while the other held a long, thin knife to the woman’s throat.

Atticus’ eyes widened. These creatures were most assuredly Nixie, water spirits of the north, and recognizable to him through Henry’s own stories and descriptions. What they were doing here was beyond reckoning to him, and he could not but stand and stare at the unusual sight.

“Aislinn…?” Reginald Hoyle said, his voice cracking with fear as he looked to his sister.

A menacing smile crept across the angelic face of the Nixie that held the knife to Aislinn’s throat. Her mouth opened, and the voice that came forth was both equally delicious and revolting to Atticus’ ears.

“You will pay for your sins, wolf-father,” she said to Hoyle before shifting her emerald eyes to Henry. “And you, Näck, will pay for yours as well.”

Without another word, the girl drew the blade across Aislinn’s throat.

Anastasia - Necromancer

Anastasia looked at the she wolf a bit surprised at her words. This was good though, she was already talking to her and it may give her an opening to finally converse with the ever so popular redhead bombshell. She would not argue that this long legged, beauty of a beast was actually attractive. She smiled lightly , the comfort and yet also interesting fact that she knew Icelandic was inviting. Not many people were she was from left ice land, let alone knew of it or spoke any of it's languages. She had a feeling that would come in nicely.

Gathering with everyone else she looked around nervously, the people surrounding her were all so put together or at-least they didn't show their nerves. She clutched onto the bottom of her jacket pulling it down nervously as Isis opened up her large majestic wings. She closed her eyes tightly as her body stiffened she could suddenly feel a flooding of calmness of her body and a smile spread lightly on her lips. Unsure of what came over her it was taken away from her as they arrived at the library.

Anastasia looked around at the walls to walls of books. Her eyes widened ... now here was something she enjoyed. Books...books were always her friends, filling her mind with adventure, excitement and some times death. She loved reading books on old history, languages and anything pertaining to death. She could hear talking in the distance but she was distracted by all the literature.

Slowly walking over she reached her hand out genitally , touching the spine of a few old books. stroking down the spine on one book she wiped the dust off the aged leather. She looked up a large smile on her face. She slowly moved down the shelves looking at the different titles and texts. Looking up briefly she saw the golum grabbing at Nestor. Cocking her head to the side a bit confused watching to see what thous two we--

"holy spirits"

she muttered under her breath as she watched the golum fling Nestor like he was a sack of flour. She watched him hit the large statue, and in turn pissed him off. Stepping away from the books she called upon her necromancer powers her body engulfing in a fiery green mist. Her eyes black as they narrowed on Nestor seeing him get caught in the mouth of the giant she was about to take a step but she had a vision.

One of the Anubi rocked back with the sudden blow of hellish ice as it danced across his muzzle and face. A rumbling growl filled the library, and the creature moved with preternatural deftness to right his fall, managing to stop himself with a firm planting of a clawed foot. Anger flashed in the now burning eyes of the Anubi, and it reached out to grasp the hell hound and ice-demon firmly in his hand before flinging them like so much chaff into the library stacks.

she pulled out of her vision as fast as it came to her, She searched around frantically trying to think of something " Thinkthinkthinkthink " Thinking on her feet she ran towards the stack of books while the others were watching the giant. She cleared out the stack of books moving them out of the way. With the speed and velocity that the giant would throw them at would cause serious harm to Nestor, unsure about the hound since we was...well dead. She ran over to a table that had some form of cloth covering it , possibly to protect the books from dust or other things. either way, she grabbed it from the table, there was a lot of it and it was quite thick. Running back over she tossed it on the spot where the books were. It would at least be nicer to land on then a stack of hard and rather dirty tomes.

She stood at the exact spot and watched as the large stone statue toss them in her direction, taking a chance she pulled her powers from inside grounding them to her feet in-case of any lash back. " Deprimo" she muttered as a gust of wind from her hand shot towards the two large objects heading towards her. The wind wrapping around their bodies as they continued to move she stood there stretching out of arms as she grunted trying to slow down their speed. She succeeded but not soon enough. As she opened her eyes to see if they arrived safe she was hit by the failing Artie, Nestor landing on the softened pad only a few seconds after artie.

"Ow"

Anastasia muttered as she pushed Artie off of her rubbing her hand gently on her head. She accidentally hit her head on some part of artie, and he was not soft to say the least.

’Well that went to shit pretty damn quick.’ A thought, a feeling, a goddamned conviction to the bottom of Veti’s soul. There wasn’t a thing in this world - even that self-same disbelieving soul - the werewolf wouldn’t give to have Siya with her at this moment. The number of clandestine missions the two had performed flawlessly together - too many to count. Siya could read the cant of her head, the pitch of her frown; and in turn Veti could discern the target in her best friend’s ebony eyes, trust that the tiny killer in the shadows would know where to strike…

This was a shit storm, a genuine shit storm and the regret she got to wallow in lasted a whole of a split-second and no more. Her amber eyes instantly scanning the heads of the massed professionals of Bain & Hoyle in the path of the largest damn sword she’d ever seen, swinging to cleave the mass of the group in half -

- And caught her breath with a slow, small smile. Semyon.

...Impressive

The volunteer’s plan had worked, it seemed, one statue stumbling over in a crash of… ice? The echo catching Semyon momentarily off-guard. Rare was the mage who preferred to tackle problems in such a direct manner. The volunteer was an interesting person, indeed.

Semyon filed the thought away under ‘things to consider later’. When there wasn’t a stone statue charging through his comrades, seemingly straight for him.

“Clear the charge!”

The words bellowed themselves from his rotted throat as the Wight moved to follow his own advice. Ducking to the side of the hall, he brought his pistol to bear against the stone creature, gaze darting across it’s form to pick the best shot he could… before catching Tamarind’s own.

“Miss Tamarind! Eyes!” He punctuated the shout with a muted report of his own firearm, the quick burst of rounds raising a small cloud of dust upon the construct’s face. “Blind it! Then we can take it down!”

Veti had gone full wolf the instant the word “blind” left Semyon’s mouth. She’d needed no order at all though, to handily toss the rusalka Mila away before diving out of the way herself, without so much as a “by your leave.” If they survived, Veti’d apologize ‘til she was blue in the face.

But that remained a very big “if,” and the giant Anselm remained very much the target of those dire orange eyes.

”GOING RIGHT!” the werewolf shouted, her supernatural voice booming over even the rumbling cacophany of the charging behemoths. She never doubted for a moment Semyon would understand her intent. In a flash of crimson, the werewolf scaled the Anubus, powerful claws of one hand and her feet buried deeply in its stone hide as she climbed, the Desert Eagle still drawn. No way the pistol had the range she needed to make this on-the-spot plan happen - there was really only ever one way it was going to work.

Up close and personal.

Corded muscles straining as she hauled herself furiously up the onyx hide, Veti growled as she leapt from one massive shoulder to its jackal face, burying her claws in its snout as she twisted desperately, opening fire directly into that one burning, glaring orange orb.

Semyon found no surprise watching the sight before him. Tamarind could always be trusted to tackle a problem head-on… and to great effect.

“We’ll blind it- Anslem!” Settling his aim as he watched Tamarind scale the statue, Semyon aimed his next words at the giant nearby. “Can you trip it up?”

Answer or none, the Wight settled down on one knee, arms locking the machine pistol in place as he took aim. It fired off in startled, muffled cracks, each careful pull on the trigger pulling up more and more dust about the construct’s left eye. He used them to correct his aim, always ensuring the firearm’s error wouldn’t place Tamarind in danger. With luck, even pistol rounds would pockmark it’s eye and ruin it’s sight. If not, the dust and flying lead should block it’s vision enough for the giant to duck it’s guard. His strength would be the deciding factor here, all Semyon had to do was help present an opening.

Adjusting his aim another fraction of a centimeter, the Wight continued attempting to do just that.

Raleigh watched closely as the young vampiress prowled towards him. The way she moved was entrancing, almost hypnotic. His eyes wandered to her lips, plush and delicate as her fang sank deeper and deeper into their soft flesh. He looked into her eyes, pools of blue ambrosia. They held him as she drew close and looped and fastened her scarf around his bare neck. It was soft and smelt of flowers, lilacs. They were his favourite.

“Thank you,” he responded, watching as Siya skulked away, devilry in the sway of her feminine hips. His stare lingered as she shifted into the shadows.

Laughter sobered Raleigh from the trance. He turned to see Henry kindly toss him some clothes. He knew the siren’s name, which he’d overheard during the Ardgroom meeting, from the Company, wasn’t he second-in-command at the Boston Branch? Raleigh caught the clothes in his arms and smiled to his saviour. “Cheers, mate. I owe you one.”

As the others went off to follow Atticus, Raleigh quickly dressed. Henry was right; the shirt did go with the scarf. He readjusted it over the top, getting a fresh waft of flowers, reminding him of Siya.

He walked after the group. He could only pray Mr. Hoyle’s sister wouldn’t mind his bare feet. They slapped against the cold stone of the cave, echoing off the walls.

The walk was short and they soon turned the corner into the antechamber. He was on guard in credence to Atticus’ advice. But little could prepare him for the scene before them.

Raleigh’s spirit bristled in the presence of the Nixies. There was something deeply sinister about them, even before he noticed the knife at the elderly shewolf’s throat. The other was certainly weaving magic against the poor woman.

Mr. Hoyle’s wavering voice added a heart-wrenching pitch to the deathly melody. Raleigh edged forward.

The water spirit’s voice was sickening to Raleigh’s ears, stirring up the bile in the pit of his stomach.

He sprung without thought, pure instinct taking hold. He transformed—taking care this time to ward his clothes first—mid-air in a regal bound, lowering his antlered head towards the Nixie with the knife. The blade slid as he inched closer.

Adam moved to catch the failing Anubi, but events were happening so swiftly. The Bain & Hoyle members were erupting into action all around. The icy drama and rescue attempt of Nestor went on above the golem’s head, and Adam skidded to a halt as the Anubi caught his balance just in time. Well. No need for Adam to catch the monstrous guardian, then. While the second Anubi charged off for other quarry, the golem faced the conundrum of what to do with the guardian that had survived Nestor’s icy kiss.

The golem was still puzzling it out when said guardian’s khopesh came whistling down.

DONG! (Not quite the right sound effect, but I couldn’t resist typing dong. No, I’m not childish at all.)

The monstrous sword had stopped in mid-air… but only because Adam had caught it, clutching the massive blade in between two large dark hands ninja-style above his head. The golem was shockingly, supernaturally strong, but even he had limits, and the guardian of Alexandria had the definite advantage in size. Adam’s arms began to tremble, then the golem thudded heavily to a knee. The ground beneath him shuddered and began to buckle in a concentric series of cracks while the Anubi began to bear its full weight down upon the blade… A blade that inched closer and closer to Adam’s face.

The golem searched his mind, searched all that he had learned and seen since living among humans. Surely there must be something to leverage against the dark canine Anubi, something to defeat them. Adam could only think of one thing.

“Will you,” the golem grated hopefully, casting his rumbling voice up at the enraged Anubi, “let us go free… for a Scooby snack?” It always worked on the television… but seemed to have little effect here. Adam frowned, wondering where the flaw in his logic was. If anything, the golem’s query seemed to make the guardian madder. The edge of the sword was cutting into Adam’s fedora by then.

“I … require some assistance,” Adam called to whoever was near enough and focused enough to hear. Might’ve been hard to hear with all the gunshots and whatnot going on elsewhere in the area.

A product of...well, actually Daisy had no idea when or where or why or how or to whom she'd been born, but she could guess.

So. A product of that generation so prone to distractibility, Daisy (or perhaps the elf, or, more likely the both of them), was fortunate in that she was watching Veti work with the Wight (surprise, surprise, another traitorous move) instead of whatever the fuck it was the necromancer had done to her dog. She turned her attention to her otherwise markedly independent hellhound, just in time to see him roll to overlarge, soot-black paws and bounce over to her, tongue lolling in what was undoubtedly a toothy grin. He'd left Old Guy and the elf -- the hell was she doing there? -- behind him, clearly quite pleased in whatever part of the rescue he'd had.

Daisy rolled her eyes.

"I suppose you'll be expecting a belly rub and a new toy?" she said drily. "Well, I've got news for you. Your best bet at that is playing with Dead Thing #2," Daisy hurled an accusing finger at Veti and her new partner in crime, "so we are giving her the silent treatment. Now -- "

DONG

Daisy winced at the sudden, somewhat out-of-place sound, and only then seem to realized she stood just slightly off-center of a vortex of sand, noise, and gunfire she'd chosen not to take part it. God(dess)Bird, Part Deux had told them that all was required was sneaking past the giant dog statues, and as both were reasonably occupied, she figured she could be in and gone again before this absurd game of dog-and-wolf-and-mouse-and-other was half finished.

And she might have, too, were it not for the Graphite Giant playing the martyr, like everyone in this stupid group seemed apt to do.

She stared idly for a minute, while Artie sat beside her on giant haunches, scratching at a balding, bloody patch of fur, wondering what would happen if the rock monster crushed the silver guy. An image filled her head of a little girl drawing a picture, sharing colored pencils with friends or classmates.

No one ever used the black pencil.

She was moving before she really knew what was happening, Artie loping along beside her, looking for all the world like he was chasing after one of Veti's tennis balls. He skidded to a stop beside the Graphite Giant, stooping slightly to wriggle a massively muscled beneath the wrong edge of the blade, before offering up his own impressive strength against the statue. Fur and flesh began to smoke at once, eliciting a low, warning growl from the hellhound. Daisy kept her face impassive as her gut twisted with something dangerously close to concern.

"Hey, C-3PO," she called to the Aluminum Asshole, as the ducked to plant herself behind the statue, "if you get my dog killed, I will fucking end you."

Then, invisible Scythe in hand, she tucked herself under the leg the statue had used to catch itself. 'Decay' would not be nearly so useful here as it was in Death. But catching the dog-thing off balance had worked pretty nicely the first time, and if it wasn't broke, there was no reason to fix.

She touched the tip of the Scythe, still invisible to anyone but herself and Artie...and maybe the Wight, to the sandstone interior of the statue's leg. There was a single, scalding flash of light, and then the stone began to crumble into dust.

The rest of the group was indeed arriving at the gate as Sethan rejoined them, as predicted. His timing was as flawless as ever. They were apparently sizing up the pair of "guardians" that flanked the passageway when the dead king was quite rudely accosted and pulled aside by the werewolf woman. She apparently did not take kindly to Sethan fulfilling his personal obligations while on their excursion, and considered him to be a threat to the group. Funny, he thought, considering that she was the far more threatening individual so far. Sethan's expression remained stony, his eyebrows knitted together in a look of veiled contempt. The nerve she had in trying to intimidate him was one thing, but her idea that she actually posed any kind of threat to him was quite another entirely. Hers were the petty concerns of small people, and Sethan considered the she-wolf to be no more dangerous than any other growling bitch.

As she broke away, Sethan said nothing, but did look to what she had left behind. Dog hair, thick and crimson, all over his suit. How deplorable. He regretted not bringing a lint-roller with him, or perhaps a spray bottle to keep unruly animals at bay. Paranoia and a lack of manners were the two most common traits Sethan had noted among the people of this age, and this woman carried both quite proudly. A lack of taste, too, he noted. What was with that jacket? The Eighties ended thirty years ago, honey. Nice knockoff jeans, too. Where did she get those, Kohls? Sethan audibly scoffed.

But there would be time for more fashion-policing later. At that moment, the scene was descending into chaos as the guardian statues moved into action and B&H personnel were flung every which-way. Sethan strolled into the chaos with his hands in his pockets as though he were in a park rather than a battlefield, casually side-stepping the great stomping feet of the guardians and whatever streams of bullets were being sown about. He took note of the man of ebony, one of the statues' khopeshes locked in his grip over his head.

Sidling up to the golem, Sethan patted him on the shoulder and said, "Keep up the good work, my man," in a tone that in no way suggested the the immediacy of a massive blade inching toward his head.

It then came time for Sethan himself to spring into action, he supposed. Continuing his offensively unconcerned walk into the heat of combat, he positioned himself so that he could easily reach out to touch both statues at once, as one was locked into place by his much smaller and shapelier brethren, and the other he was able to glace as it charged past him. Two fingers, like the fangs of a viper, extended at tapped both of them simultaneously, and at that moment, Sethan gave his Proclamation. He spoke not with his lips, but with his soul. Sekhem flared from the dead king's form, an essence of such great potency and potential that sorcerers of later eras would attempt to replicate it, fail, and name the shallow imitation "mana." Words did not echo from Sethan's Proclamation, but the universe acknowledged him all the same. His was the kiss of Apep, Lord of Serpents. It was the foul blood of the Hydra, the life-sucking bite of the Naja.

It mattered nothing that the guardians were cast from earth rather than flesh, as the Proclamation of the God-King was not bound by such petty rules as logic. Both thoroughly envenomed, their strength was sapped and their constitutions weakened. Their "bite wounds" festered and decayed as the necrosis of Sethan's venom rapidly spread through them, rotting their bodies from the inside out. Stepping out of the way of their trembling forms, Sethan turned his attention back to his suit and tried to brush off some of the dust and hair that had gotten onto it. His dry-cleaning costs were going to be ridiculous.

The Library of Alexandria

The onslaught upon the Anubi was proving to be overwhelming. With the collective might of their assailants, the mammoths of onyx stone were being whittled down like a great oak being riven by termites. The first, the one that been knocked off balance by the initial strike of the hurtling ice-demon, was the first to fall. The fiery sconces of its eyes were mutilated by supernatural lead, and its roar of pain shook a millennia’s worth of dust and sand from the ceiling of the library.

Its arms flailed in an attempt to shake off the werewolf that leapt across its head and body, but without its sight, the Anubi’s remarkable speed was for naught. Disoriented, and already off balance, the stonework ogre tried to step back, only to find that its leg had been struck by an invisible blade of great power, and one that channeled the very essence of death itself. In a shatter of obsidian splinters, the ankle burst, and the Anubi fell with it. As the massive figure descended towards the sandstone floor, its body continued to fragment, splintering into large and razor sharp daggers of black-rock that now fell towards the attackers below. With its last thought, the Anubi longed for his crumbling body to crush those beneath him, and send their souls for their final judgment.

Though his brethren had fallen before him, the second Anubi did not retreat nor cower. The pair had been reckless, and overconfident in the face of their foes. Even with the touch of ancient venom from the god-king, the remaining Anubi did not flinch. The decay and rot that passed up from the bite was followed by an instantaneous wave of bubbling orange, like that of molten glass, that brought the damaged stone flesh back to its polished sheen. What the vain creature had failed to realize was that the Anubi had been wrought from the very will of Set, the god of storms and chaos, and a true god, not one that had to equivocate his name with some egocentric hyphenated title like that of “god-king.”

The enormous eyes of the jackal-headed monster swept down to the creature that had tried to poison him. The man, so distracted by his egoistic blustering, did not see the mighty strike that then befell him. With a force that defied the laws of physics, the Anubi landed the back of a massive hand against the god-king, and thusly sent him hurtling back into the depths of the library. With the minor annoyance gone, the giant leapt back apace, and when he landed he buried the point of his blade into the stone floor with a thundering crack and flash of light.

An immediate and tremendous wave of cascading rock and fire erupted from the contact point of the sword, sweeping in a deadly ring towards the attackers positioned around the library.

Nixie, beautiful shape shifting creatures from the rivers of Germany and Scandinavia. Deadly, with voices to rival any sea siren and with a taste for children and foolish men. They were the female equivalent of a Näck in a way and far less solitary then their male counterparts. Kindred to Henry, they caused nothing but revulsion. For better or worse, the powers behind his birth had seen it fit to let him develop a mind more human and less morally repugnant. His people had never enjoyed sharing the forests with others, they were wicked and selfish things. And here they were, in all their gorgeous, deadly glory and they filled the Näck with dread. Because if the sirens of the north were here, other, even worse things might be involved. He recoiled as if punched, eyes wide and teeth bared like that of a rabid dog. Of all the unfortunate things to happen, of all the being to face. Why this, why now? He clenched his fists almost as if his arms were spasming. He had to focus, had to prepare to fight back the magic that undoubtedly was about to be unleashed from them. He hand to counter the magic that held the Werewolf matriarch in check. Had to save her. Nobody was going to die here today. Not this time. Not again.

“Hoyle. What is going on?” He inquired, the tenseness in his voice could clearly be heard as it almost seemed to crack. There was panic and anger. Henry was filled with cold fury bur worse then that, he was filled to the brink with fear. He felt as if he had unwittingly walked into a trap. “Why are Nixies here!?” He inquired in bewilderment.

That's when they spoke. Their voices was thick with magic, he could feel it. What was worse, it called to his own magic and part of him wanted to sing with them. Most likely that was the intention considering what Hoyles words from before. But then again, Hoyle seemed as surprised as Henry. And that's when they acted. That knife slid across the womans throat, silver rendering the skin open, forcing blood to seep out. The scene was so alike that fatefull day so many years ago. The same kind of cruel execution. But this time it would end differently, Henry was going to make sure of that.

And then Henrys entire being seemingly exploded out from its glamor. It was no use keeping human form anymore. He was certain, this was not a big coincidence. The Blue Lady, the one who once took everything from him had to have a hand in this. There was just no way she wasn't. And even if she wasn't part of this, these women knew who he was. Masks had no use anymore. His hair grew in length and lightened to the point it almost shone white. His features grew sharper, his ears elongated and his eyes seemed to narrow slightly as he became a being that clearly, did not belong to this world. The intense blue shine in his eyes grew in force until they were brimming with the magic that made the water spirit who he was. His body seemed to grow a few inches taller and his muscles seemed to grow even more fit. He stared at the two Nixies with contempt. He moved in tandem with the Centaur, letting him lead the charge. They were nixies, not hulks. Direct combat should not be their forte. He hoped he was right in this.

Siya’s bright, naughty mood was cooled nearly as swiftly as it began. She rounded a bend in the cave just behind Atticus, still pleased at having assisted the Red-head, and froze even as Atticus did. That the incubus was so big and broad meant that she couldn’t see what had frozen him. She resisted stomping her foot in frustration, instead rectified the problem by stepping to the side and peering around him. Her eyes narrowed at the scene. The two young women clearly holding the elder woman ensorcelled were the threat, only a fool would need to be told that, and Siya was no fool. She heard Henry’s words and though Nixie was a familiar word, she did room with Veti who knew such things, it mattered not too much in the overall scheme of things.

Her pupils, already huge in the dim cave seemed to grow even more, growing impossibly large until they eclipsed the small band of bright blue, continuing to grow until her eyes were two black spheres that glittered as she took in the scene. Even as that wickedly sharp knife moved, sliding across the paper-fine skin of the elderly woman, Siya was moving. Her dancer’s limbs blurred as she slipped between, moving impossibly fast. That she didn’t move before the knife had, would trouble her afterwards but it was done she could only move forward, she’d yet to discover if she could indeed, move back. She had hope that someday, she might. For now she moved forward with speed fueled by her ancient bloodline, power she’d taken on when the eldest of her line had fallen in the battle that had also taken Max from them. She had not had the time or the attention she’d needed to master this new power, only slowly working her way into it around tending to Veti but it was considerable and frightening to the young Vampire. That others knew more about it troubled her, but so far none of her inquiries had met with answers or help. She was on her own. She was young for all the ancient power of her blood and youth was what held her back. Youth was an affliction only cured with time, no matter the power the body contained. It was with that power that she moved, eating up the space between them faster than thought.

She slid through space feeling reality brushing up against her like cobwebs and just as likely to stop her. She was small, but small things at great speed had a great impact so when she slipped back into reality, out from between she did so at considerable speed and hoped that the impact of slamming into the whispering, Wet Bitch would break her, sending her flying with a considerable, Siya-sized exit wound allowing the ancient she-wolf to defend herself in the absence of the ensorcelled whispers.

With a flexing of her growing will she popped back out from between, grinning and ready for the impact.

Dr Kinnon Blair- Druid

Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Both the Raleigh and Henry had transformed, their humanity dropping faster than the temperature in the cave. The young vampires blurred, that was the only way Kinn could describe it, and one of the Nixie holding Mr Hoyle's sister captive dropped to the floor.
Kinnon looked around, he had seen the knife flash, the ancient she-wolf's skin had been parted and the wound showed no sign of healing. The Nixie blade had been silver, Kinn needed something to help overcome the Lycan poison, the blade would have cauterised the skin but instead of drawing the wound shut it would remain open and the old wolf's lifesblood would remain pouring from the life threatening wound.

Kinn, keeping out of his combative companions way, managed to get close to the wounded women. He had no medical kit, no supplies and nothing that could counteract the silver's grip. He had one idea however, a theory he had developed from studying Succubi. Turning to Atticus, Kinn called out to the demon, hoping that the feeding powers of both the male and female species of lust demon's were similar.

"I need to know if you can channel chi energy into a healing form for others. Succubi I have met were able to expel their own lifeforce into a steam of energy, this they could pass on to another person, you can feed from me afterwards if the process is too draining, I wont die so you can take as much as you want."

Kinn was not sure if his plan would work, the theory behind it was that the extra energy flowing into the injured women's body would kickstart the healing powers and bypass te silver's toxins.If not he hoped Mr Hoyle had said all he needed to before they arrived. Other than a medical kit appearing out of nowhere. Kinn could not see this ending in any other outcome than the she-wolf's death and the subsequent revenge his companions would exact on the remaining Nixie.

Whilst waiting for a reply from Atticus, Kinn felt for the pulse of Hoyle's sister, it was surprisingly strong and steady for one with a mortal wound. Kinn wondered if this was because of how advanced the woman's age was and the fact that she was a true blood Lycan and not on turned by bite or magic.