The sun had lost its war with the rain clouds and retreated from the sky hours ago. In their victory, the cloud had wept with glee for a time, leaving the concrete jungle below damp and the air humid. Night time was when Duncaster truly came alive. It's denizens came out in full, no longer having to be wary of nature's vengeful glare from above. The constant hum of vehicular engines that overpopulated the streets, the pitter patter of pedestrians strolling along the puddled sidewalks, voices from several species of citizen rising up in a chorus of conversation that could be painted with aggression, joviality or emotionally muted entirely... This was Duncaster.

A melting pot of culture, Duncaster was home to a variety of intelligent species, all of whom put their mark on the vast metropolis. There were social spots that catered to specific to the most humane as well as the most controversial. Tension among the diverse inhabitants of the city were always high, everyone harboring their own sense of righteousness as well as their own prejudices. Crime was no stranger to the area, either. Be it organized or petty, the devious intentions made themselves known in a variety of ways. Duncaster's police force was a fairly common sight to behold as they patrolled the streets on foot and in their squad cars, and the creatures wearing the badge were as diverse as the people who weren't.

Indeed, Duncaster has seen its fair share of the strange and bizarre. Tonight, however, the city would host a sight it hadn't seen in a very long time...



"Pllleeeaaassseee!" The little girl sat up in her bed, waving her arms dramatically as if trying to fly away, a move performed to magically coax sympathy out of her victims so she could get what she wanted. The effort had completely ruined the blanket tucking that the man had just perfected moments before. The tiny girl looked at the behemoth standing before her, bathing in his shadow that seemed to encompass the entire room. His eyes were black holes that starred down upon her. If there was emotion behind them, she couldn't tell. She used both hands to brush a few strands of her long dark hair out of her own face before pleading again. "Mr. Zeke, just one more time! It can be short! This will be the last time, I promise!"

"You made that promise the last time. And the time before." The voice that came out of the giant's mouth was unnaturally deep. As he looked upon her, he already knew he was going to give in. He was a legendary force to be reckoned with, a beast born of darkness and savagery walking around in a man suit. And yet, somehow, this little girl could completely disarm him with merely a look. "Fine."

The little girl clapped excitedly and laid her head back down in her pillow, a massive grin decorating her face. "The one about the Hoods and the wizard guy," she insisted with glee. "The final battle!" Zeke raised a single eyebrow at her as if trying to analyze what the appeal of this story was to her. Regardless he grabbed a nearby chair from her desk, pulled it over and sat in it awkwardly. It was like an elephant trying to sit on a barstool.

"Long, long ago there was an organization started by the incomparable Blanchette Rouge...

...the undead horde was merciless. The Red Hoods used everything they had at their disposal to pierce the army of the undead, trying with all their might to get to the foul magician, Samael, but their numbers were infinite. Man, vampire, wolf, fae... even those who didnt don a hood took up arms to put a stop to the menace. As soon as you destroyed one of the ghouls, two more came out of the ground in that vast graveyard. He had as many soulless troops as he could ever desire and he sent them at us in waves. He even rose up our dead to fight against us. We would cut them down, employ our magics, rip them apart, but it was as though we were walking uphill in mud. We had to stop and regroup. We had to accept that this would be our last stand. There was no way we could destroy them all, but perhaps if we just destroyed the one... Perhaps we could make our sacrifice mean something. And so I did something I swore I would never do again. I let out the beast and did my best to clear a path while the other Hoods charged. We broke through, but not without casualties, and as soon as we made our way to the dark wizard, he became desperate."

"Because you guys were going to kill him?" she asked, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, completely entranced with the story. Zeke gave her a small, single nod.

"He had nowhere to run and he certainly couldn't defeat the Red Hoods who were now within arm's reach. It was a circle of death with Samael in the center, the Red Hoods surrounding him, ready to make their move, and the undead horde closing in around us... This was our last stand and we all knew it. Then, in a surprising demonstration of cowardice, Samael decided it was time to retreat. With a wave of his hand and a chant from his lips, a portal was summoned. He cried out some crazed thing like 'You won't get me next time' or 'Time is on my side'... To this day, I'm not quite sure what the words were. Even with my ears, it was hard to understand through the moaning of the zombies, the clashing of the weapons and the wailing of the vortex. Regardless, he jumped in. The yellow pissant jumped in to try and escape.

"Well, the Red Hoods were not known for being quitters. This had to end and it had to end tonight. As I held off the horde with the help of some of my fellows, a few of the Hoods jumped in after the wizard. Several of them, in fact. And then the portal closed. In that same moment, the ghouls fell in unison leaving us survivors surrounded by death and confusion."

"Did you ever find him? Samael?" Her eyes were becoming glassy, giving evidence to her sleepiness. She let a small yawn escape as she continued to listen.

"I never did. I looked and looked, but I've never found that human stain nor did I ever manage to find the lost Hoods." Zeke's gaze drifted off, the memories playing out in his mind as if they'd happened yesterday. It was one of his major failures in life. One of many.

"And then what happened?" she asked through a second, more audible yawn. Zeke stood up and readjusted her blanket, pulling it up to her neck and clicking off the lamp on her nightstand.

"Then, it gets complicated. The Red Hoods were broken up, alliances were made, provinces were self-governing, politicians sought more power as they are wont to do, and through several centuries we have ended up where we are today in Duncaster, the heart of the Red Hoods' history where the organization's story started and also where it ended. And now it's time for you to sleep." In the darkness, Zeke's eyes still had an unnatural sheen to them. While the little girl could only make out his silhouette, he could perfectly see the pores on her skin. He turned, finally, and grabbed the doorknob.

"Mr. Zeke?" she asked in a groggy whisper.

"Yes?" came the rumble from the behemoth.

"You're not really hundreds of year old, are you?" Zeke turned his head slightly as if he was prepare to explain further but he stopped himself before his voice could escape his lips. With a calm exhalation through his nostrils, Zeke chose different words.

"Goodnight, Claire."

"G'night, Mr. Zeke," she yawned. He slowly turned the knob and existed the little girl's room before shutting the door back as quietly as he could. He walked down the dim hallway, each step hitting the ground as a stick would hit a drum as he made his way into the living room. A middle aged woman with dark bags under her eyes sat on the couch with a glass of wine watching a program on the television. Her clothes were casual and slightly dirty and her hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a couple of days. She looked at the man with hesitation. There was fear in her stare.

"Rachel," he said, a single-worded farewell.

"B-bye..." she stammered as she watched him leave the apartment. As soon as the door shut behind him, she took in a panicked breath and released it with a quiver as she gripped the stem on her wine glass even harder before setting it upon the coffee table in front of her, no longer able to deal with the idea of keeping it from spilling. Her body sunk back into the couch in loose disarray, relief engulfing her every extremity. Her eyes welled up and her face became flush, her hands unable to stop shaking as they covered her face. She sat slumped in the couch and she just wept.



"Ya ain't never gonna catch 'em that way, Cletus!" shouted a rotund Fiend to his single-serving friend. The dark alleys were home to many things. Rodents, lost souls, refuse... The vagrants of Duncaster came in all different shapes, sizes and species.

"I got it, Jeremiah, jus' shhhhh!" Cletus, a particularly skinny human who wore more dirt than clothes, tried to walk in silent, slow motions as he snuck upon his prey. A fat black rat busied himself with a piece of molded cheese crumbs that has been strategically laid out by the two homeless savants.

Jeremiah began to salivate. He and Cletus has formed a decent partnership when it came to staying fed. Cletus would get the meat, Jeremiah would get the blood. It was a system that had worked for several weeks now. As his buddy watched on, Cletus took one more advancing step and began to lean down low, his hands forming an encapsulating dome that he planned to descend upon the rat with force and speed as soon as he could hit the right mark. Slowly... slowly, he arced further. He was nearly a foot above his prey, now. It was time.

Cletus went for it, letting gravity do the rest of the work as the rat found itself in a cage of human flesh. Wiggling and writhing in rage, the rodent was ultimately overpowered and could not escape.

"Got eem!" Cletus announced with pride. Jeremiah gave a toothy grin, letting his supernatural fangs make an appearance past his lips. But then the ground started to rumble. A wind from nowhere picked up and whistled passed the two. The rat became even more frantic in Cletus' grasp. "Da fuck is dis shit?!" Jeremiah's smile was long gone. As he faced Cletus, all he could do was lift a hand and point passed him. Cletus followed the gesture and turned around, looking even further down the alley. What they saw was air and space bending and, in fact, swirling until a purple light began to emit out of the cracks of reality itself. The vision before them opened up further, revealing a tunnel of twisted, unnatural terror. Hurling out of that tunnel was a dark mass that didn't appear to have true form... not until it came out.

With a hard thud, an older man in foreign robes quickly stood up and looked around. His face was painted with confusion as he took in the building and the distant lights. With the portal still swirling behind him, he regarded the two vagrants with an urgent demand.

"When is this?!" he shouted.

"Uhm... I mean, it's Duncaster..." Cletus managed to say, the rat still in his hand as he gawked at the strange man before him.

"That's not what I asked. They're coming!" With another frantic look back at the portal, beads of sweat began to form on his brow. "Look, you two!" he said, returning his gaze once more. "Come with me. We have to leave now. You'll bring me up to speed and I will make your desires a tangible reality. Food, beds, women..." Cletus and Jeremiah exchanged wordless glances of consideration. "...But we have to go now." The strange man then started jogging forth passed the two. Hesitantly, they followed suit.

"Who da fuck are you anyway, mister?" Cletus asked finally.

"You and the rest of the world will know soon enough," the man said with a maniacal laugh as his rapid footsteps echoed off the paved sidewalk. He looked back to his new friends as they hustled and his face instantly was struck with disappointment. "Oh, for crying out loud, just drop the damned rodent!"

---

There was a distinct disconnect between the many fabrics stretching their way across Aiden Connor’s lithe frame, a slender shape which was draped in expensive material, otherwise considered far beyond the mundane man. Of course, this boy, in particular, discarded the term ‘mundane’ by virtue of his continued existence, which but one man could attest to. A loyal butler, to whom the dark-haired gestalt was able to present unyielding trust. The same could not be said for present company, however.

Indeed, the dress-shirt which licked Aiden’s svelte body found itself mostly hidden beneath an elegant black vest. It was not a rare sight to behold sleeves rolled towards the elbows, but a pair of fingerless leather gloves donning dainty hands broke this otherwise professional approach. It was something which continued further down the boy’s petite presence, with a pair of ocean-blue jeans of a darker variant making their way to his legs, ending in converse shoes. Not even the expensive, and by most accounts, elegant tie around Aiden’s neck could possibly save him from the conversation now sprouted through the visual medium of his appearance.

“This has to stop,” a man spoke, his voice gruff and tired. One would be forgiven for mistaking him a frequent smoker, but such was not the case. Indeed, Aiden’s father, the esteemed Bradley Connors, was a conservative soul. With eyes fixed on the black nail polish upon his son’s dainty fingertips, a disgruntled sigh managed to escape the man’s weathered lips. “What are you trying to do? Is this a statement?” He continued, motioning towards the boy who was occupied with a laptop, occasionally wrapping those slender fingers around a chilled glass of soda.

“I return from the brink of death, and that is your agenda?” Finally, the boy responded, his voice a soft, melodic mix of androgyny, and serenity. Indeed, there was an air of regality circling this teenager, or rather, one who would appear far younger than he was. Even so, at nineteen there was still much for Aiden to experience and even more to learn. The boy’s large, dark eyes met his father’s, where a raised brow expressed subtle disapproval.

“We are all thankful for your recovery, Aiden.., whatever caused it,” Bradley frowned. He was unsure of what, exactly, had come to pass which left his previously ill son a now healthy, and apparently immortal specimen. It was a conversation which had been repeated ad nauseam, and Aiden would not discard the notion of it finding a way into the limelight, yet again. “But that is behind us, you must start taking this seriously! Other board members are asking me if my son’s a..,” Bradley paused, clenching his teeth.

“Would it matter?” Aiden asked, his eyes returning to the computer screen. An experienced gaze could undoubtedly understand the myriad of numbers, lists, and statistics displayed before him, but for those unfamiliar with such a sight, the conclusion can be drawn that they were all related to less than entertaining duties. “You did sell me off to a man’s daughter, like a piece of meat,” the boy spoke, clearly unafraid of expressing himself, “what does it matter what I am? To you, I’m a resource.”

“That’s enough!” Bradley slammed his hand onto his son’s desk, before rising to his feet, “get yourself in order! Tonight, you’re having dinner with that ‘girl’, and you’ll look your best.”

There was a short pause that lingered between the two, father and son staring each other down. Bradley was well aware that Aiden could, in fact, not eat. Whatever had happened to his son, whatever spell had been cast on him, changed the boy. Yes, his personality had remained the same, unaltered. However, the boy’s body was different, even if those changes were invisible to the naked eyes. “You have a meeting to attend,” Aiden finally uttered, his frown now more visible, before Bradley Connors turned on his heel and left the boy’s office, slamming the door in his wake.

“I fucking hate that man,” Aiden sighed, running his fingers through a set of raven-black bangs. He proceeded to rest his elbows against the lacquered mahogany surface of his desk, before feeling a warm hand gently finding its way to his shoulder.

It was soon accompanied by a ghostly if soothing voice. “It breaks my heart to witness, Aiden.” As if a perfect reflection of the boy, an angelic manifestation of the teenager, the Celestial spirit who had introduced himself as Lumen during their first meeting made himself known. “Why remain shackled to these shores?”

“Bonded for years and you’re still talking like that?” A quiet chuckle managed to escape the teenager’s slender, pale lips, as if his demeanor had changed in an instant, at Lumen’s presence. Of course, the angelic being was never truly gone, but solitude with the spiritual entity was always a welcomed addition. Aiden would proceed to push his office chair back, and stood with a stretch. He needed only turn to witness the beauty of an entire city stretching its way across the vast distance, a large window allowing view of the display from the top floor, where he was situated.

“Years cannot erase an eternity,” Lumen offered, his arms moving to gently wrap their way around Aiden’s waist. “Tis’ a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

“Maybe one day, I can enjoy it,” Aiden responded, revealing a small smile which was reflected in the window’s surface. “You know why I can’t just up and leave, Lumen. Where are we supposed to live?”

Releasing the boy, Lumen moved to Aiden’s side, the spirit’s feet never quite touching the floor as he casually floated above such mundane venues. With one foot in front of the other, the Angel’s hands gently rested behind his back, as those dark eyes proceeded to imbibe in a breathtaking display. It was only elevated by soothing music which had been trickling through the room throughout the day, cords from a lounge of relaxation. “This dinner, will you attend its dreaded invitation?”

“Do you have an excuse in mind? I’m all ears,” Aiden smirked, reaching for his drink before gently clicking his fingers against the cold glass surface. “Got any Demon Extract we can drink?”

Unable to hide his laughter, Lumen shook his head, “I think it best to attend, Aiden. Following the grueling experience, we can head out and engage in more preferred activities,” he explained, “like hunting monsters eagerly feasting on innocent flesh.”

Raising a hand to playfully nudge the Angel, a species Aiden now shared with the creature, he joined in Lumen’s hearty chuckles. Yes, their situation was quite unique, indeed, one which could hopefully find itself developed into a less strenuous experience, with time. As of now, however, it was a battlefield contrasting the boy’s life with a sword quite well.

A pale figure clad from neck to toe in worn plate armor and a faded emerald hood paused just as they crested the top of a grassy hill. Inhaling deeply, it spent a few minutes savoring the cacophony of scents being carried on the midnight air, before letting its gaze settle on a shimmering cityscape off in the distance. One that was both familiar and foreign, a paradox that produced the oddest feeling of deja vu they'd ever felt.

Then again, Vitius supposed such feelings were to be expected after three centuries spent wandering the world, seeing history unfold before his very eyes. Wars and protests, lives and deaths, reforms and proclamations... Events that were very large to those whose lives were like a vapour, but insignificant to someone such as himself. Someone whose very nature laughed in the face of death and time, defying their relentless marches and inevitable deadlines. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head gently.

Since when had he gone from being a simple guard to a philosopher? He couldn't recall. Another of the many drawbacks to his condition. Although he could live forever, provided he had access a constant supply of blood, his memory would fade over time. There was only so much information one mind could reasonably hold and recall, and sooner or later details would get mixed up or forgotten entirely. Even now he could barely remember his time in the Hoods, it was so long ago, like a dream almost. Or nightmare if he was being accurate. One that vanishes with the arrival of dawn.

He supposed that didn't really matter though. The Hoods were long gone, relegated to being nothing more than a quaint memory of a bygone era. Letting out a tired sigh as he flicked some flakes of ash from his pauldron, his breath billowing out into the cool night air like steam, Vitius briefly readjusted the leather strap holding his sheathe in place before continuing on his way.

To the city.

To Duncaster.

---

The scent of blood filled his nostrils as Thane threw his head back downing his shot before looking over at the makeshift cage ring. His opponent was being dragged out of it, a path of blood trailing behind them. It was just another typical night in 'The Pits' with Thane walking away with enough money to pay for his rent for another month. The illegal fights payed for most his expenses due to the few job opportunities a werewolf had. It didn't help that his handsome mug was mired with a rather unsightly scar that didn't give a friendly look to him. After shifting back from the fight, his attire consisted of a plain white shirt, or what use to be just white as a few drops of blood trickled onto it, a leather jacket, and an old pair of work jeans. Most day jobs took a look at his appearance and clothing and turned him away. He had managed to get a night job as a bouncer but you could only do so much to a rowdy customer that needed to get tossed out. In 'The Pits' he could at least cut loose and show what it meant to be a Whitlock.

Thane's bloodline could be traced centuries back, a rare occurrence for most werewolves since getting into unnecessary fights a lot of the time could mean an early grave. The first of his line was a fellow named by Bartholomew Whitlock, an unfortunate fellow to manage to survive a werewolf attack and be given the curse that found him to be part of a group called The Red Hoods. In the family he was a legend for being the first of the bloodline, that and managing to still fight in the final battle after having his arm removed by a silver blade. After the disbanding of the group he had settled down and despite his age produced a child that eventually lead to the current day Thane.

"Another round their alpha?" the gruff bar keep asked to which Thane gave a small nod, waiting for the amber liquid to fill the shot-glass before swiftly taking it and downing it again. He doubted anyone else would challenge him tonight, not after the last guy was not left a bleeding mess. Not to say that Thane was any better, he definitely could feel ribs trying to mend and the smell of blood was partially due to his nose being broken. He'd be sore but what mattered was that he was still standing while his opponent was not. That's all that mattered in the end of the fight, to show that you could take a beating and still remain tall. It was liberating to take a days of frustration out in a good fight, though he wasn't sure if there many that could challenge him. He stood at the top of 'The Pit' ranks, and had been for months and fewer were daring to the challenge him into a fight. At least the few that did gave out a decent reward amount.

After a few more rounds, Thane payed and made his leave, drifting out of the underbelly of the city into the cold night air, making his way to his den to sleep off the oncoming hangover and healing scars.

---

"Ya ever wish you were somethin' else?"

Violet peeled the side of her forehead off the cool passenger window, twisting to glance at her brother. She watched as his lips tugged up into a soft smile, and reluctantly decided to humor him. "Like what?"

"'Like what?'" He replied, his tone mocking. "What do ya think I mean, Viola?" Before Violet could respond, or scold him for calling her Viola, he continued. "I mean like a werewolf, or a vampire, or a wizard or something!"

Violet scowled, still a bit bitter over the childhood nickname. Pushing past her irritation, she shrugged. "Maybe a werewolf?" She had always been fascinated by their ability to transform from seemingly regular humans into those giant, powerful creatures, even if they were ugly as all hell.

"A werewolf? Really? You're already mad enough, and now you want to tack that onto it?" Her brother snorted, raising a brow in disbelief. He kept his eyes on the road, guiding the plain black lemon they called a vehicle through the winding valleys.

Violet threw up her hands, her anger bubbling up once more. This time, though, she let it trickle out. "Dude, can you stop? Every time we talk you try to start something." They were almost home, and she didn't want to be in a bad mood when they got to the house.

"See, there it is!" Vince chuckled, his smile only growing. When Violet didn't respond, it slowly settled into a grimace. He glanced over at her slumped frame, and took a hand off the wheel to prod her. "Oh, c'mon, Vi," He poked her again at her continuous lack of a response, eyes focused on his twin rather than the asphalt. "I'm sorry."

"Vince, watch the road." She mumbled, smacking away his hand.

"I will, when you accept my apol-"

The next few moments of Violet's life were a blur. As if they had collided with a brick wall, her body slammed forward. Her seatbelt, something she had always thought would protect her in an accident, snapped. She flew through the windshield, her body limp in the air as she collided with the pavement. Flesh tore from her arms, legs, and chest as she slid four feet, the friction burning away at her. She felt it all, every bit of pain. Her eyes closed, her open mouth dripping blood. As she slipped into unconsciousness, a single thought filled her mind.

She was alive.




A set of beatific twins stared eagerly at their birthday cake. Across the fluffed white top, the words 'Happy B-Day, Vi-Vi!', were scrawled in neon blue icing. As the short song came to a close, they leaned forward in unison to blow out the nineteen lit candles. Every year, the same routine.

Every year, the family roared their approval over the ritual. So loud that Violet's neighbor would likely put forth another noise complaint. A picture was taken to immortalize the day. The cake was promptly torn apart, and once everyone received a slice, the twins were allowed to cut the act.

For a few moments, Violet lingered beside Vince, watching him out of the corner of her eye. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Inevitably, she slipped out of her seat and wandered toward her bedroom. Family members stopped her along the way for simple chatting, but each conversation only lasted a few minutes before she cut them off, saying she was tired.

Ever since the accident, it was rare for her to be called out when she made her escape.

Closing the door to her room, she shuffled toward her bed. With a dull thump, she collapsed face-down against her comforter. Shimmying, she crawled further into the mountain of blankets she hadn't bothered to fold.

For a few, blissful moments, all was silent. She was trapped in a world without thought, one where she was safe from confrontation.

A knock ripped the fantasy to shreds.

Without a word from Violet, the door swung open. Vince stepped in, closing the door behind himself and taking tentative steps toward the bed.

In the past, Vince had been welcome in her home, her room. Now, though?

"Get out," She grumbled, not bothering to face him. She had known it was him since the moment his cologne had filled her precious space. She had picked it out for him when they were seventeen, told him his girlfriend would love it. He'd been wearing it ever since.

"Vi, I..." He faltered, something she was beginning to get used to. It was always so casual between them before, even though most of their conversations became arguments. Now, he stepped lightly, couldn't even begin to dip his toe into the water. It was like he was afraid of her.

"You what?" She asked, her tone inquisitive rather than biting.

"I can...do you need me to leave?" At this, she twisted, sitting up straight.

"So I can look like the selfish asshole again?" She asked, staring at him. Expectantly, she waited for him to excuse himself.

To her surprise, he didn't.

"I'm trying my best, Violet. I'm trying to fix things, to be here for you. I'm trying to do what you want. Why can't you just..." His fingers were fluttering at his sides, eventually balling into fists.

"Why can't you just move on?"

"Move on? I was in that fucking hospital for weeks, and it took three months before you even called me!" Her voice, while bitter, was hushed. She didn't want her family to hear her.

Vince took a step forward, and Violet rose to her feet to match him. "And I've told you a dozen times since then how sorry I am. Want me to say it again? I'm sorry, Violet. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you."

"You think I care about your sorries? You abandoned me! You don't even check up on me unless Mom tells you to. You-"

Mid-sentence, the colors began to appear. They usually did whenever she talked about the accident. It was a sure source of stress.

She gripped her head, willing them away. Rather than fading, the eery glow around Vince's body only brightened. Even through her eyelids, she could see it. She needed to calm down before she got nauseous.

"Go away, Vince." She demanded, and when he didn't leave, she picked up her phone, grabbed her jacket and purse, and stormed out the room. As she fled, the colors brightened, an overwhelming Aura around every human in her household. Her head began to spin, and drool pooled in her mouth, bile rising up her throat.

It always got worse before it got better.

Without bothering to explain, she left her apartment. The hallway was empty, and as she walked toward the elevator she felt the tension in her shoulders begin to lessen. By the time she made it out onto the streets, the colors had long since faded. Still, she was wary about going back to her home.

So, she began to walk.

---

One could likely attest to a less than sublime workday, if observation of Aiden’s encounter spoke clearly, enough. Indeed, as the boy closed his computer, with another sigh escaping his lips, the teenager paused for a moment’s clarity. Perhaps Lumen was correct when speaking of freedom. A bench in the dark stretches of an abandoned subway appeared far more appealing, as dinnertime with Aiden’s esteemed future wife drew ever closer. He had met the girl, and she was far from a horrid sight. A polite young woman, raised well by her father whose wife had tragically passed, a handful of years prior. Claiming that she deserved better was nothing which had passed Aiden by unsaid.

“Let’s go,” the porcelain-skinned teen uttered, rising to his feet before weightless steps brought him closer to the door.

“What are your plans, Aiden? The thought is tearing at you.” Lumen proposed, the celestial creature tilting its head as four identical eyes met in a shared exchange.

Though a pause lingered, the teen would eventually speak. However, avoiding Lumen’s gaze was not an action which passed the angelic spirit by, unnoticed. “I don’t know, yet,” came an excuse, one which conjured forth an expression of sympathy upon Lumen’s features.

Moments breezed by, a warm hand finding home upon Aiden’s cheek, which was accompanied by further intimacy, as Lumen wrapped his arms around the boy, whose emotions were locked within a slender chest. Aiden argued that there was little room for them in a place such as this, where every emotional reveal could, and would be used against him. Clearly, this elevated the embrace which Aiden returned, his arms tightly wrapped around Lumen’s identical frame. “Your doubts are conspiring against you.” The angel’s soft voice trickled into Aiden’s ear, moments before their shared embraced reached its natural end.

“What, exactly, are our biggest problems, Lumen?” Came a question from the teenager. He had abandoned his previous path towards the door, and rather turned to once more gaze at the window. Duncaster was even more beautiful after a blanket of rain, where the following dispersion of clouds shone upon the city as if a second chapter, where darkness faded. “There are people out there struggling to survive, and I’m bitching because..,” he tried, clenching his teeth.

“Because you live in a gilded cage,” Lumen added, “but a cage, all the same.” No matter how one aimed to view this boy’s specific hardships, a consistent point of interest would remain his age. Aiden was but nineteen. A child, still, in the eyes of many. In truth, there was a morbid sense of relaxation closely related to Aiden’s previous illness. He would have been free of a life controlled by others. A slave draped in the most expensive silk, was a slave all the same. The requirement for food had been stripped of him, and immortality was granted in lieu of slow, deadly aging. Indeed, Aiden could wander the earth, if he so desired, in pursuit of ever-lasting knowledge, without fear of an unfortunate demise, and yet, he chose to remain shackled. “Comfort can be found behind bars, as well,” Lumen continued, his presence lingering at Aiden’s side. “Fear, it strangles you.”

“Yeah,” the teenager confessed, along with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid, because if I walk out that door, and decide to never return..,” silence struck, and the boy’s obsidian gaze maintained its glare at the unmoving obstacle keeping him where he was. “I don’t know if I’ll regret it..,” Aiden finished, his tune fading with every letter.

“No matter the creature, nor the intent, fear of regret is true for us all,” Lumen stated, a response that earned another exchange. Dark eyes met, before finally, Aiden turned on his heel pulled the door open, where he then proceeded to leave his office. This dinner he had been assigned was going to be awkward, and most certainly a trial. However, it was a duty Aiden had yet to escape, and yet to confront. He inhaled a sharp breath, and started towards the elevator. The boy had kept his driver waiting for long enough.

Vitius rolled his shoulders as he strode down yet another back alley, momentarily relieving the tension that had built up over the course of his trek into the city itself. Normally he would have taken a less... "dangerous" looking route, such as a main street or traffic heavy road, but the world had changed since his day. No longer did people wear suits of armor as he did, or carry daggers and other primitive instruments with which to defend themselves from attack. Now people wore regular fabric, and if they desired protection, they used firearms or chemicals such as mace and pepper spray instead. Intricate devices those were. Ones that had the potential to kill or incapacitate a person before they even knew what hit them. As for transportation, horses had since been relegated to farms or petting zoos where everyone could see, touch, and ride them. No longer were they the personal transports of the wealthy as they had been in his day. Rather, people travelled from place to place in automobiles made of steel and fueled by the remains of long dead lifeforms buried deep underground.

He scoffed at his own musings as he walked along, avoiding various piles of trash and debris that had accumulated in the absence of any real garbage disposal service workers who usually patrolled neighborhoods such as these. Immortality had given him far too much to think about and far too much time with which to do so. It became... exhausting at times, though the random planar shifts he was undergoing managed to spice things up just enough to make him decide against running a stake through his own heart or getting a tan out of sheer boredom. For the time being anyway. Speaking of which, the planar shifts were a whole ordeal in and of themselves what with the demon blood in his system causing him to jump from Tenebris to Hell and back again on a near constant basis. And the fact that the two realms weren't exact replicas of each other in terms of topographical layout only made said trips worse. One moment he could easily be taking a shit somewhere, and the next end up in hell with nothing but the clothes he was born in.

Of course this hadn't happened yet, thankfully, but it could have and that's what concerned him. Aside from his pride, Vitius worried that if he didn't get this new ability under control soon, he'd end up in hell one day with nothing to use for self defense or, even worse, fast asleep and completely at the mercy of hells denizens. He wasn't sure what a demon would actually do to someone with the parasite, but he doubted it was anything good.

Coming to a stop, almost on instinct, Vitius broke his reverie and turned his gaze towards the spray painted door standing in the dirty brick wall before him. A smile crept across his face as he placed his hand against the knob and pushed it open, taking a moment to let some memories wash over him as smooth jazz music poured out into the alley from the other side. Entering the Elysium Lounge and Bar, his plate armor clanking slightly as he did so, one memory of this place in particular rose to the forefront of his mind. That being the time this place first opened for business three-centuries ago. Back then it was just a small tavern, one that wouldn't have accepted patrons like himself had he not used a disguise to hide his true nature, that was passed down from father to son for generations before adopting a more inclusive stance on those it served when the modern age rolled around. It had also gone from being a strictly father-son establishment to being run by the last owners daughter Loretta, the hundred-fiftieth member of the Gornick line if memory served, who had taken on the task once her father had gotten too old to continue running it himself.

Crossing over the threshold and into the establishment itself, a warm, dark place filled with the low murmur of conversations between patrons, Vitius wandered over to the bar and settled his armored mass on a nearby stool, removing his hood at last. Loretta caught sight of him and smirked in much the same way one might when encountering a friend they hadn't seen in many years as she strode over with a glass and bottle of Mal'rohk whiskey in hand. It wasn't actually alcohol of course, especially given the current clientele's preference for crimson liquid rather than the usual brown or gold varieties, but the donated blood of a rather heavy whiskey drinker hence the flavor and intense burning sensation it evoked when drank.

"Fancy seeing you here again after all these years." She said, filling up the glass halfway before setting it down and sliding it over to him. "Last time I saw your old ass was back when stormed out of here piss drunk claiming you were going to go live out in the wilds like one of the outcasts."

Vitius let out a small chuckle as he brought the glass up to his lips and took a sip, grimacing slightly from the burn as it went down. "I've changed since then."

"I can tell. Well like I said after taking over the business from my old man, you can take a load off here if you need to, rest for a bit before going back out there." She said, jerking her thumb towards the door he'd entered through. "If you need anything though, just let me know."

Vitius nodded as Loretta went to check on the other patrons, leaving him to his drinking.

---

Thane roamed the streets of Duncaster, an area that his wolf believed to be its territory. It wanted to patrol the area, which Thane was willing to do since he was rather awake still, that and the need to patrol the area told him that the moon was getting closer to being full. A useful reminder to set up for that upcoming night. He changed his mind on heading straight to his apartment, he could live with the light hammering in his head that would haunt him the next day and walking around would distract from some of the numb pain that still throbbed through his body as it healed still from the earlier illegal fights. He tuned out most of the background noise of the city while he walked, letting his wolf hearing listen for anything out of the ordinary. For the most part there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. For a short time a commotion in an alley caught his attention but after a few minutes it grew silent. It probably had been nothing, maybe someone scavenging through the garbage or a rather large rat. He took in the air of the city, his nose scrunching up. The one thing he could never get use to was the city's smells. With the gifts that the curse provided the smells of the city could be quite unbearable at times especially when focusing on it. What he would give to be able to run free in somewhere more open during a full moon.

His attention was drawn so much on the noises and scents of the city that he forgot to pay attention on where he was walking. He mistakenly ran into someone, drawing him from his patrolling.

"Oh sorry miss," he apologized once back into his normal frame of mind.

---

"It's not in the way that you hold me..!" Captivating lyrics flowed through the loudspeakers in Aiden's vehicle, caressing the sense of sound as Duncaster embraced sight with every mile. The boy was often chastised by his father for finding comfort in the front seat, an otherwise trivial manner most would consider less than an issue. However, as had been established, it was quite clear that Bradly Connors unearthed more disappointment in his son, than pride, as if the disposition was a conscious stroke. Those of wealth did not equal themselves with peasantry, a phrase the man had repeated more than once. As such, seeing Aiden's butler donning the position of driver at his side was considered distasteful. A proper passenger ought to have remained in the back. "It's not in the way you say you care!" Tenebro's hit single 'Hold The Line' continued to stream through the loudspeakers, and pale lips moved in motion with every word.

"It's not in the way you've been treating my friends..," Aiden sang, gently tapping his dainty fingers against the armrest.

"You changed your tune, Master Connors," Charles spoke, the elderly gentleman who had been seeing to the boy since Aiden's birth. Truly, the now teenaged heir to Infinity Enterprises considered Charles his family, more so than any of whom he shared blood.

"Nah, I'm still feeling like shit," came confirmation from the lad, "but, you know, if I'm going to hell, might as well enjoy the ride."

Unable to stifle a chuckle, Charles maintained his attention on the still rain-soaked road. "Ah, that is quite ironic coming from you, Sir."

Shaking his head, Aiden joined in on such festive reactions. "You never know, Charles. Dad really wishes he was the Devil."

Situations like these did cause the older man to grunt in approval, but voicing such a fact was quite dangerous for a butler. Indeed, he was technically hired by Bradly, not Aiden, even though such an issue could be rectified if the patriarch of House Connors did decide on such an act. Aiden had discussed the scenario, already, where he claimed that upon such finality, he would simply hire the man back. The boy was, after all, nineteen. He possessed his very own wealth, and could do with it as he pleased. "Well, Master Connors, here we are," Charles stated as he parked the car outside of Restaurant Duncan.

Truly, the building was a monument in itself. One would be foolish for assuming the whole complex a mere restaurant, however. Indeed, the penthouse was a building housing several businesses, with Restaurant Duncan offering its services on the top floor. Aiden would be willing to admit that high altitudes had become a norm, for the young man. Views stretching their way across the cityscape were more common than not, in his daily routines. "I'll see you soon, Charles," Aiden spoke, placing his slender hand on the door before pushing it open. "Think of me while you enjoy TeneFlix and a glass of whiskey.., a long sigh escaped the young angel's lips, "and I will try to survive this hellish meeting."

"You will do splendidly, Master Connors," Charles offered his charge a soft, if understanding smile. "Lady Rose is at the very least pleasant."

"It's my parents that I dread," Aiden finished, before offering his butler a quick farewell. They had previously made their way to the Connors Mansion for a change of clothes, which put pressure on maintaining adequate time. He would grant them that much, at least, even if a full suit stretched its way outside his preferred form of attire.

"Do you think they'll be aggravated? We are.., three minutes late." Lumen stated, his dimly radiant form making itself known as Aiden stepped through the lobby. It was as one might have suspected, architecture which would click against heels, with every step. Marble floors rowed the entryway, along with pillars of the same shape holding up an oil-painted ceiling. If Aiden wore anything but his soft canvas shoes, the boy's presence would be brought to the forefront, the moment he stepped passed guarded doors.

For one used to such sights, this presentation was considered part of the scenery, but it did not pass Aiden by, to appreciate the dedication and professionalism which had been poured into its construction. "They can kindly go and fuck themselves," the boy offered, his eyes meeting the Angel's, before turning to view the lobby receptionist. She only noticed his arrival once the teenager found himself in front of the large counter.

"Oh!" A surprised expression forced itself to her features, the receptionist attempting to gather her bearings, rather than focus intently on the screen in front of her, as she had previously done. "Sorry!" She tried, "Mr. Connors, correct?"

"It's almost as if you caught her sleeping," Lumen chuckled, rubbing his chin. "What do you think she was looking at?"

"Yeah," the boy offered, managing a small grin as he turned to Lumen, before shifting his gaze back to the receptionist. He was not going to chastise the poor girl, even if it had been within his nature. High heels and hard soles were likely the first indications which she had learned to react to, when those large, blue eyes were studying the likely myriad of numbers on that computer screen.

"I will notify Restaurant Duncan of your arrival, Sir! Please, head on up to the top floor, and they will show you to your table," she finished, appearing somewhat uncertain as she spoke to the young Celestial. However, when she earned a 'Thank you', followed by a pleasant, soft wave, the receptionist managed a breath of relief. It did not require much thought to imagine most of her interactions. Wealth offered with it piranhas, and it often robbed those it had claimed of humility.

Stepping into the elevator, Aiden offered the girl one last, and playful wave before the metallic doors came to a close. "She's new," he uttered, leaning against a polished wall. He had been to this venue often enough to know their receptionists, but this specific young woman had not presented this occupation, during any of Aiden's previous outings. Restaurant Duncan was, after all, his parents' favorite spot, and they were well aware of Aiden's condition, as one might say.

"And quite lovely, wouldn't you agree?" Lumen pitched in, revealing a somewhat more mischevious personality than he had displayed, earlier. This was nothing new, and Lumen was far less rigid than he sometimes advertised. It all depended on the task at hand, and as it was, Aiden did not assume the role of an anxious mess. Inevitable acceptance of the situation had seen to that.

"They'll eat her alive," came a response from the boy, before the elevator doors slid open, where he was immediately met by the soothing touch of piano strings. Taking a step forward, he felt the soft foundation of a carpet beneath his feet, and it did not take long before a waiter greeted him at the entrance. For an elevator to be the front door for a restaurant would likely have been considered odd, but not for this forum. Not for the upper class, and most certainly not for a scene which had been repeated far too often, for Aiden's tastes.

---

---

There was a mission. This wasn’t unusual - there was always a mission. There was always some imposing danger, some threat that promised pain and death. But pain and death was the currency the Red Hoods dealt in.

Kiri squinted through the downpour, blinking away heavy raindrops that ran down her face and into her eyes. Her grip tightened on her wooden staff, coated in watered down blood and ichor. She spun on her heel, boots digging into the layer of mud, arcing the staff in her hand and spraying pink droplets in every direction. The staff slammed down against the skull of a man with empty eyes and a red hood. He’d been a companion once. Now he was just a puppet with a crimson stain above his dead heart.

Thud.

An explosion of grey rot, Colin’s arrow through one of the creatures heads. It fell, limbs splayed out in the mud, but Colin didn’t notice. Metres away, another creature, closer and closer. Rotting skin sloughed off in the rain.

Already, another arrow, another shot lined up. A breath.

Thwack.

Black sludge dripped from its eye socket, tears, almost. Don’t hesitate. No matter what don’t hesitate. Fletcher said that when the undead horde was still just a horde, not a real, groaning thing ready to tear them to shreds. Colin wasn’t so sure anymore how good Fletcher’s advice was considering just hours later one of the ghouls had ripped his head clean from his body.

(Don’t think about the blood, the snow, the blade-)

Another arrow, another shot. They were losing ground. The magician was going to win. What the fuck would they do after that?

The putrid sweetness of rot clung to the air, accompanied by the metallic tang of fresh blood. Death. It was everywhere. Overwhelming, horrible, scarring.

Eliza embraced it, danced to its heavenly song.

The anguished cries of the fallen, the constant whistling of weaponry through the air. Thuds and howls as attacks met their mark. The deafening blasts brought forth by magic. It was a distant cacophony, all heard through the blood rushing past her eardrums.

She was not the greatest fighter on the field that night. It was evident in the way the enemy broke through her defenses, in the way she was thrown back each time she attempted to advance, in the way she struggled to keep her balance.

She was surprised to be alive. Perhaps it was the Goddess on her side. Was She embracing the souls of those who had fallen around her? Was it possible that they had been blessed that night?

Eliza watched as a man beside her was knocked down and promptly taken out by an undead being. Quickly, she shifted and, cocking back her wrist, threw a charm at the skull of the undead who had maimed him. A word escaped her hoarse throat and the charm became a spike of earth, piercing the undead's brain.

Behind her, she could hear the scuffling of another foe.

The Goddess had abandoned them. They were as good as dead.

Brighid grimaced as she swung the staff into yet another head. She barely registered the wet crack and thud as yet another walking dead fell. She was methodically working through the horde keeping the others in her group within sight. Her heightened strength and stamina from the change a distant thought.

CRACK

Another body fell as Brighid stepped over the finally dead she could see Colin fall into rhythm with his bow. The group had pretty well stayed together so she caught glimpses of Kiri, Colin and Eliza all fighting through the horde. Now and again she stopped to heal someone quickly only to have to catch up to the others.

Brighid growled as something grabbed her cloak and she almost killed someone who was merely asking for help. She reached down and whispered a healing word as she pulled the man upright.

He nodded his thanks and walked back into the fight. Brighid lifted her head and caught sight of the others. They were even closer to that perversion of magic that was being used against them. Skin crawling she quickened her pace over the body strewn battlefield.

Brighid wished she had enough reserves to pull off a lightning spell but sadly her powers were more important used as a healer.

The hell laid out before them reflected in Zeke’s eyes as he watched on beneath his dark hooded cloak. The numbers were not in their favor, nor was the finite stamina of their forces against the determined embodiment of chaos that controlled their enemies. Zeke sprung forward, each step landing with a hard thud.

Two ravenous spawns of death lept upon one of the red guard, taking the armored brother to the ground. With his sizeable mitt, Zeke grabbed one of the ghoulish fiends by the skull, forcing it to give under his might before cracking completely He then raised his heel to the other, bringing it down upon its shoulder with enough force to roll the living carcass off of the soldier. His brother in red met his gaze as Zeke reached down to pull the man to his feet.

At he looked back up, he realized his folly; while distracted by his comrade, he had allowed dead to surround them. Zeke’s fist curled up into balls, his fingernails piercing his skin. As his lips began to curl back, he let out a gruff and low rumbling snarl. A challenge. A plea.

The response came in spades. Moving as one, the carnivorous carcasses sprinted forth with lethal diligence. The circle around the two shrunk almost instantly as gnarled teeth began biting into their exposed flesh. Within seconds, his battle buddy no longer had a face. Or, he did, it just wasn’t in one piece and it tasted delicious, if not a bit salty.

Zeke began flailing back, successfully knocking back some, but not all the horde. They just kept coming back, kept getting up with their everlasting and insatiable hunger. This battle was as good as lost. Holding back meant surrendering.

But Red Hoods don’t surrender.

With nothing left to lose, Zeke spun with violent force, clearing them back by an arm’s length. His fingers began to bubble underneath the skin as its shape began to contort… elongate…. Even his nailed began to thicken, sharpen. As he grabbed at his cloak with a clawed hand he ripped it free from his massive body. As the rain continued to pour, he looked up at the moon with hate behind his eyes and howled. The musculature surrounding his bones tore and repaired before tearing once more. His mass, his shape, his pores… they all altered under the moonlit battlefield. With renewed fervor, he howled again. His human voice was gone. All that was left was the wolf. The very, very big wolf.

Where once stood a man of nearly seven feet now stood a beast closer to fifteen. Zeke dropped to all fours and let out a roar usually seen out of lions and tigers. It was time. He charged forth, letting the dead fall before him. Snapping at them, he tossed their ragged bodies aside or simply broke them into halves. In a driven sprint, he made his way to Colin, looking to him with a wordless demand as he stared forth with lupine eyes before shifting his monstrous gaze to the others and then back to Colin once more.

A shadow loomed over Colin, and he looked up.

Dark fur, slick with rain, dripping with strings of putrid guts. The wolf towered, taller than anything living Colin had ever seen, teeth and claws that could kill him in seconds. His grip tightened around his bow. This was Zeke, and from the look in the eyes peering down at him through the darkness, he was ready for blood.

Colin glanced at Eliza, Brighid, Kiri. They were going to die here. A familiar thought, familiar fear. If the wolf was here, they weren’t making it out alive.

It didn’t scare him.

He met Zeke’s eyes, “After you.”

Meanwhile Kiri’s staff spun, a blur that only materialized fully to crack against bone.

She saw Samael. He was close -- closer than he’d been mere moments ago. Kiri’s focus was split, part of it on the horde around her, another on her companions, listening for their voices, watching for their figures, making sure they stayed upright, moving, alive. She saw Zeke shift and contort. The roar of his voice rattled her chest like it her heartbeat. But she forced this new revelation to the side, not having the time to examine it.

The last of her focus was centered on Samael. He needed to go down. Kiri had been forcing her way forward, deflecting and dodging when she could, unwilling to lose time fighting the mass. She could only move so quickly when they swarmed around her, feet tearing up the saturated earth, their lifeless voices mixing with the rain and creating an endless buzz of whitenoise.

Her heart pounded in her throat. She heard her breath coming in shorter, quicker bursts. The heavy air moved through her lungs like tar, burning her, stopping up her throat. She forced her aching muscles to propel her forward, closer to Samael. The dead lunged at her. Without stopping her momentum she plunged the end of her staff into the mud and jumped, swinging around it to land a kick at the creature’s head. The staff ripped from the ground with a wet plop before swinging into the gut of another dead. Kiri pushed forward towards Samael. He was getting closer.

The clouds parted and the moonlight and Brighid could feel the caress of it on her skin. The shifting and stretching began. The pain and ecstasy blended into one. The change had been happening for months now and it still awed Brighid each time it happened. Fortunately most of her research she was able to understand how to relax into the change. It passed over her quickly but still felt like an eternity for her.

As the shift happened Brighid tore her clothes off knowing that they would hinder the transformation and her movement after that. Soon enough there was a cinnamon colored wolf quickly advancing toward where Eliza was. She was the size of a small horse and tearing through the horde to get to Eliza was less trouble in this form.

As Brighid closed in on Eliza’s location she snagged a couple of ghouls that were just upon Eliza’s back. Tearing the arm off one and knocking it prone she proceded to tear out it’s throat. Leaping at the other one she disemboweled it with her front paws as her jaws came around it’s head and a loud crunch was heard. Looking up from the dead body and at Eliza her silver gray eyes the only thing that seemed to express the humanity within her.

Brighid whined softly and looked toward Kiri as if to say, “We need to help her.” Sometimes people understood her. Colin wasn’t fond of this form but seemed to understand her better than most when in it. When she could get him to talk to her. Which was more often than not in this form. Probably because she couldn’t lecture him as easily.

Eliza spun rapidly at the resounding crunch just behind her. Her heart began to race, not at the sight of Brighid's inhuman form, but at the once undead corpses littering the battlefield mere paces away.

She hadn't noticed those ones.

Gratitude swelled within her, but she quickly swallowed it down in favor of indifference. She took in Brighid's sappy whimper, following the wolf's silver gaze to Kiri.

The battle-hardened warrior, the cold, effortless killer. The hero. Always the hero.

Eliza's brow furrowed. She didn't want to follow... Part of her, a small, pathetic part of her, wanted to watch Kiri die. Why? Simply put, spite. If she were to dive deeper, though--no, they had no time for that.

Gritting her teeth, Eliza jerked her head in Kiri's direction, ready to follow her lupine friend into the fray.

Meanwhile Zeke began huffing and puffing air out of his nostrils as the adrenaline shooting through his veins began to go into overdrive. He finally turned away from Colin and scanned the chaos for one individual in particular. His head stopped as soon as his eyes fell upon Samael in the distance. He could see the other Hoods fighting in the peripheral but his own vision began to tunnel. Their forms, the undead… all of it faded into black. All that was there, all he could see was Samael.

Saliva dripped from his jowls as he let his tongue hang in the air, anticipating the taste. His clawed feet dug into the earth, creating a natural springboard for himself to launch forward. He could feel the change in terrain underneath him. The transition from the muddy ground to a platform of wet flesh. He didn’t swipe or nip. He didn’t care to. He just ran, Samael’s reflection in his eyes growing bigger and bigger. Finally, Zeke was there. He leapt up with his mouth agape, aiming for Samael’s head.

With a word, with an instant, everything changed.

Zeke was on the ground, Samael standing over him, clearly pleased with himself. The recently dead had made way for the beast, leaving a path behind him, but it wouldn’t be long before they closed the gap. Zeke looked up through the eyes of the monster at their foe. His body ached. His body never ached. He managed to get up with a struggle before staggering back once more. Confused and surprised, the wolf didn’t know what to do.

Kiri saw the monster -- Zeke -- sprint forward, cleaving a bloody, rotting path towards Samael, Collin following behind. There. Kiri changed the angle of her charge, dipping under the swinging arm of a corpse. Soon enough she made it to the clearing, sprinting over bodies and mud. Kiri didn’t know how it happened but then Zeke was on the ground, Samael smiling down at him. Kiri forced herself to run faster, air like fire in her lungs, vision blurry through rain and exhaustion. A soft ringing in her ears had joined in the chorus of sound. She planted her staff into the ground and jumped, vaulting high over Zeke’s form. The staff swung up from the ground and over her head in a wicked arc, aimed at Samael’s head.

Samael used his arm to shield himself, but the bone met the staff with a sickening crack. The dark wizard screeched in pain, his eyes wide with panic as he took in the sight of his attacker.

“You little c-” He repelled the staff back with his broken forearm, gritting his teeth through the pain and squared up on his stance. “You don’t get it! None of you get it! I’ve already won!” With his good hand, he made a gesture into the air that seemed to summon a nearly invisible blunt force that was on track to collide with Kiri’s body.

Kiri was mid-swing, eager to shut him up when suddenly a force rammed hard into her chest, knocking her back with a grunt. Kiri rolled through the mud, staff falling from her hand. All the air had been forced from her lungs. Kiri fought to breathe again, raindrops pelting her face.

Zeke was down. Kiri was down. What chance did Colin stand? Hands cold and stiff, limbs shaking because of fucking course - coward, nothing, useless-

“Shut the fuck up you wanker!” He raised his bow, string taught, shoulders aching with the strain of the battle.

The arrow sailed straight towards Samael’s smug fucking face.

Sam moved his head at the sight of the bolt, but not fast enough. The tip of the arrow opened the flesh on his cheek as it grazed passed, passing through the skin of his upper ear. The sting was instant and the warm crimson fluid freely dripped down his skin. A flash of frustration fell over his face. “I control life and death! I cannot die! Your effort will be fruitless!” Thunder cracked above, giving a terrible accent to the wizard’s words. Nevertheless, he was beginning to doubt himself further as more and more of the Hoods moved in.

Brighid loped behind Eliza and covered her back. Taking down ghoul after ghoul as they wandered in on the pair. Keeping the way clear she saw out of the corner of her eye Zeke tear through the horde leaving a path that would be over come soon enough. Colin was clamoring over bodies and on his way to where Zeke now stood.

Brighid snuffed and tugged on a loose piece of Eliza's dress to get her attention. She saw the flash of irritation in Eliza's eyes that was quickly hidden. Great. Just what we need now, a moody Eliza. She sneezed at the look and lightly nosed Eliza toward Zeke, Colin and Kiri.

Looking back over to the path as it shrank. Hearing the advancement of a couple more ghouls. Dear gods there is no end to them. Our only hope it to kill the source. Eliza and I need to move faster. Brighid leapt up and tore off the closest ghoul's head with a quick shake. She leapt off the dead one onto the other's back knocking it on it's face just as it reached for Eliza. She tore through it growling as she lost herself in the beast for a moment. When she was sure it was not getting back up, she had torn off it's limbs and shook it by the back of the neck feeling the crunch of its spine, she looked back up at where the others were.

She watched as Kiri’s staff almost complete the arc she knew that Kiri had started when she was dispatching the ghouls. Brighid’s sensitive hearing just caught the crack of bone breaking as the staff made contact with Samael’s arm. She heard him hint that he had already won and hit Kiri with some power that blew her backwards and Brighid let out a vicious snarl.

Brighid turned toward Eliza and pushed her into a run that made it halfway to the others just after Colin fired his arrow. Howling in an unearthly way that raised the hairs on others she lept to face Samael. Snarling she snapped at his arm where Kiri had hit him. She’d tear it off and beat him with the bloody end if she had to.

Samael screamed. Fangs tore through meat, tendons, and veins, crunching down around shattered bone. He raised his free hand, almost a claw. Magical energy swirled around his snarled hand, invisible and unmistakable. There was something wild in his eyes -- bestial. He slammed his hand into the thick fur of Brighid’s chest before releasing a pulse of magic.

Brighid yelped and flew end over end as the magic hit. She landed on her side sliding in the mud crashing into a tree knocking her head. Stunned she staggered to her feet and shook her head only to fall to the ground dazed. Again she staggered to her feet and planted them wide shaking her whole body to settle her fur and sneezing in disgust.

Brighid shook her head and sneezed again. Listing back over to stand next to Eliza and Kiri to protect them Brighid’s hackles raised and she growled looking around.

Already Colin had another shot lined up, hand steady, three arrows notched, pointed at Samael. The bastard might’ve been able to dodge one, but three?

Brighid collided with him, a blur of teeth and claws, fur bright in the gloom. Colin hesitated, muscles burning with held fire. Then Brighid was thrown backwards, and the arrows flew free.

Eliza watched as attacks went through and failed in rapid time, as the crazed wizard shouted his twisted truth. It was a powerful display, truly. It made her wonder how a mage of his magnitude managed to slip under the radar for so long. Samael...the name had been unfamiliar to her not so long ago.

As each attack was deflected and retaliation was doled, Eliza became increasingly wary. On the one hand, fighting magic with magic could be effective. On the other, it could be extremely disruptive. Out of the corner of her eye, Colin's arrows flew. She pursed her lips, deciding a large boulder in his general direction wouldn't be the brightest idea.

In the end, she sailed forward, more as a distraction to allow Colin's arrows a chance to strike than anything else. Dagger in hand, she let out a terrible roar and clumsily pushed the blade toward his shoulder.

Samael was a bloody, terrible, vicious mess. The light in his eyes grew more and more unhinged, teeth bared, his arm a shredded crumple at his side. He saw Colin in the distance, arrows flying.

He let out a manic bark of laughter. With his good arm he shot his hand up --

Only to be caught off guard by Eliza’s roar. His eyes widened as he turned to look at her just in time to get knocked to the ground with a shrill cry, Eliza’s dagger plunging into his shoulder. Colin’s arrows went sailing uselessly above them, missing by mere centimeters. He struggled and flailed on the ground, each movement nudging the dagger this way and that, cutting deeper into his flesh, towards his venomous heart. He slammed his hand into Eliza’s side, a violent burst of magic erupting from his palm. Eliza was sent flying, dagger ripped from her hand. She sailed through the air, straight into Colin.

Samael scrambled to his feet, covered in mud and blood, rain making it drip and splatter to the ground.

“You -- you insulant --!” Bony fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger embedded in his shoulder. He wrenched it out, crimson spraying through the air. Something shifted. A smile carved its way across his face like an open wound. A laugh cracked through the air. “You’re worms! You’re in the ground, rotting!” An arrow shot through the air, swatted away with a burst of magic. He raised the blood-soaked dagger. It started to glow. The veins in his hand grew dark and thick, a black webbing that snaked its way up his arm. “You’ve been dead for centuries!” He thrust his arm out, cutting it vertically through the air. Magic, thick and heavy with crackling ozone, ripped and shredded its way into existence. Reality itself seemed to part. In its place was a tall gash, colors shifting so quickly they were impossible to define. It had no depth, no sense of solidity, defined only by the fact that it wasn’t supposed to be there.

“And I… I have all the time in the world.”

Samael turned towards the portal and stepped forward.

Kiri forced herself to sit up, rolling to her side. Her fingers clawed their way through the mud until she was on her hands and knees, coughing through rainwater and the pain still throbbing through her ribcage. She looked up, glaring through the wet clumps of hair that stuck to her skin.

He was getting away. He was going to get away.

Her jaw tightened, her fingers clenching through the mud. She pushed herself up higher, feet slipping a moment before finding stability. Her heart pounded in her ears. Still in a half crouch, she pushed forward. Her hands stung where blisters had burst, mud seeping into her bloody palms. She could taste iron in her mouth, feel the bruises blooming on her body underneath her red cloak, clinging to her like a heavy, cloying second skin, pulling her back down to the corpses band the mud.

Another step forward. Every breath was a stab wound. Her vision doubled for a moment before she forced it back into focus. Kiri was running. The world blurred around her, as indistinct as the portal Samael had summoned. She scooped up her staff as she sprinted towards him. He couldn’t get away, they had a job to do, she had to --

Kiri’s staff cut through the air, readying a blow. But she was too late. Samael was gone. Then the portal swallowed Kiri whole.

Colin couldn’t hear the battle anymore. Time suckered, pinched, ripped. Eliza slamming into him. Mud (or snow, or mud, or snow-) soaking his back. Kiri running.

Red.

Kiri gone.

Months ago. After.

“Don’t pick a fight with me if you can’t follow through.”

It still burned, and like fuck was she getting away with it.

He was already on his feet, slipping in the thick sludge, sliding more than running but as long as he got there it didn’t matter.

Metres.

Centimetres.

No more than a breath away, and then Colin was gone too.

As Eliza sailed through the air, she considered death. Though her body was arched miserably, and an alarmed scream pierced the air around her, her mind was surprisingly calm.

Death. Their new reality, she supposed. Would it be kind to her? Kinder than the life she had always known?

A body, she had collided with a body. For some reason, she didn't feel it. She was just not in the air anymore. Her trajectory had been halted, but her body rolled a few times, coating itself in mud and gore.

Would death be kind?

She scrambled to her feet with minor pain, and for a split second cast her gaze to the sky. She couldn't see the moon, the Mother.

In that moment, she decided.

Rushing forth with speed abundant, she watched as her companions were swallowed whole by the tear in the sky. She hadn't a clue what would be on the other side. Perhaps death would greet her. But she had already decided.

Death would not be kind. It would fail her, as all else had failed her. Her father, her mother, her friends.

With a release of breath, she too was swallowed whole.

Brighid watched in horrified fascination as each of the friends that she held dear vanished into the swirling phenomenon that was born of twisted magic. She had no idea where the rent in the air went, or if it even went somewhere that they could all follow. Kiri, Colin, Eliza all gone.

It was closing she could see it shrinking. Looking around she saw the others in the distance. Bartholomew changed and getting bogged down by making his way through. Loona flitting through the mass of people alive still healing wounded.

Sadon. She watched him fight through a mass of the creatures and then fall only to rise again.

Brighid was torn. Stay here or go on? The time to act was now. Casting a sorrowful glance back at the others, she turned and ran for the shimmering, swirling disturbance in the air. Leaping through she also disappeared. Then the portal disappeared and existence was whole again.

---

---

Awareness drifted barely within her senses, manifesting as the occasional roll on the bed, hitting the wall with a leg, burrowing a hand underneath the pillow, a vague feeling of drool-caused-dampness beneath her cheek. The mechanical ringing of her phone startled her awake and Kathryn met consciousness with a dizzying crash, though she soon came to her senses with the brief thought of “Oh, this again,” accompanying a wide, hand-covered yawn. She staggered to her tiny bathroom, which had a sink, toilet, shower, and washing machine all crammed into it.

The first order of business was brushing her teeth, because that faint cloying, metallic feeling of old blood in her mouth was just as annoyingly disgusting as the bad morning breath had been when she was still human. When the last swish of water finally left her mouth after the three or so minutes of dental care, Kathryn was much more refreshed. Of course, the face staring back at her from the sink mirror could be mistaken for that of a corpse depressingly easily. With a sigh, Kat shucked off her sleeping clothes – leggings, T-shirt, panties – into the laundry basket, and tied her hair into a messy bun with one of many hair ties she kept there.

After a quick shower, Kathryn finally felt like she rejoined the living, and threw on the clothes she’d already prepared yesterday. It was a semi-casual sort of attire; jeans, gray dress shirt, and a black leather jacket – good enough to go to work with, where she’d change into her uniform in any case. Her living-cum-bedroom was as cluttered as ever, though she strived to tidy it up a bit on a weekly to bi-weekly basis. Well, that was just how it was when she used every spare bit of surface for depositing her various items, whether that be books, notebooks, pens, magazines, loose documents, her electronics, that one yoga mat, hand weights, cleaned blood bags, or the occasional cigarette pack.

Speaking of blood bags, she opened her fridge, took out the snack, popped its cap open, and sucked the blood out as swiftly a child might do with one of those small packets of orange juice, crumpling the plastic to get every last drop out of it. It was simple chicken blood; if she went for the human variety, she preferred an actual restaurant or a bar. She washed the empty container with efficient, practiced movements, then left it out to dry. Kathryn checked the time, then – just to make sure – padded to the small, closed off balcony, and gingerly pulled the curtains aside, and peeked through the shutters which served as another layer of protection from the sunlight. Yep, the sun had indeed set in its entirety, and the sky had darkened enough for her to be able to go out safely. Time for work then. Kathryn briefly put on some make-up, grabbed her handbag, descended the three floors from her flat to the ground floor of the apartment building, and headed outside.

At the back of the building, next to the apartment’s designated parking lot, there were a couple of bicycle racks as well, and that is where her transportation device awaited her as well. Though she had a car license, she frankly wasn’t willing to invest into owning a car, not quite yet. If she really needed to, she could always visit her parents and borrow her mother’s Toyota, not that it was usually worth the hassle to do so. But for commuting to her workplace and back, a bike was just fine. She could have even jogged there – or pretty much wherever she pleased, without getting tired – but people could easily get too freaked out by supernatural behavior like that.

Bitter thoughts aside, Kathryn was at the station within 20 minutes, and after securing her bike, headed inside, waved at the guards she passed (though not all deigned to acknowledge her beyond a bored stare), and changed into her uniform as soon as she arrived at the locker room. As she was fastening on her duty rig, a friendly face showed up, causing Kathryn to break out in a grin.

“Hey, El! Think we’ll be paired up for patrol anytime soon?” the vampire greeted cheerfully.

“What, with Meadows assigning the rotations? Fat chance. Would really help when I have to cover for Victor though,” the female lycan commented. Ellen was a tanned brunette of 5’7 and looked deceptively light, her hair barely long enough to put into a ponytail, rather shapely as well as packing some decent muscles. They’d known each other for almost a decade now, and had hit it off almost immediately upon their first meeting, and their relationship naturally progressed to being very good friends.

“Yeah, she really can be unbelievably petty,” Kathryn retorted with a scoff. That their superior was kind of a bitch went unsaid, but was understood nonetheless. Ellen mock-shushed her, and they shared a smirk. “I’m going ahead,” she departed with a smile, though the short trip to the office part of the building was enough to remind her of the usual drudgery of her work. It wasn’t quite enough to get her to wish for an incident, but, well…she couldn’t say she’d be averse to something to spice her day (or rather, night) with either.

Tonight, Kathryn was assigned to patrol with Jennings, a human male in his late twenties, early thirties, who often took the night shift for the bonus it gave him. Kat found him at his cubicle sipping at a coffee while looking over some documents. He turned to her with a sulky grunt, and the vampire quirked her lips in a half-smile, half-grimace. “Let me drive today,” she said, though it wasn't a request, and Jennings shrugged, obviously not caring either way - either that, or he was just unwilling to bother arguing against something so minor. They both did some perfunctory administrative work until it was finally time to go out. Driving in general was pretty fun, but there was that special thrill of being in a police car and just getting to see how very careful people usually were when aware of their presence. It could be kind of amusing, even. And whenever someone stupid enough to try and hassle – or even attack – a police officer showed up, she got to let loose a bit – but really, just a bit. Only against extremely violent supernatural beings could Kathryn ever employ all of her power, and admittedly, it was rather an addictive feeling that she had to keep tight control over.

Two or so hours of driving around Duncaster later, Moreno and Jennings parked in the center, and took to patrolling on foot. It was a fairly decent preventive, though there were plenty of corners they rarely – if ever – covered, not to mention the myriad of shady locations that took on legitimate covers or were just that unassuming. Oh, and there was also corruption, of course. But Kathryn chose not to concern herself overly much with things that were outside of her sphere of influence. Instead, she enjoyed the night-time stroll and the never-ending thrum of the city’s life, despite the fact that being on the job meant she couldn’t quite relax.

---

"Miss Murdock-Voss, I'm Detective Carson, pleasure to finally meet you."

Kassandra glanced up at the large man stepping into the room, sweat penetrating through levels of clothes and staining his gray suit jacket. He was pink in the face, as if he had exerted himself going up a flight up stairs. She supposed it was the norm for someone his size, but then again, the building wasn't necessarily warm. Even the room they found themselves in at the moment was cold enough for her to shiver uncontrollably every now and then.

"Nice to meet you too, detective."

The large man wet the tip of his thumb before leafing through some of the documents in the folder. The stack in his hand wasn't all that big, but he had to get himself acquainted with her. She wasn't an angel on paper, and he was slowly becoming aware of that fact as he made his way to the empty seat directly across from her.

"You have a few priors I see, but nothing too out of the ordinary."

"Yeah you know, no one's perfect," she shrugged, playing off his remark. Kassandra then proceeded to straighten out her skirt after uncrossing her leg as the detective went on.

"I'm afraid you're right about that." Smirking, the man pulled back the chair and sat down, placing her file to the side. He interlocked his fingers in front of him as he leaned forward to rest on the table, silently glancing at her for a moment. The gesture made her somewhat uneasy, but he then resumed their conversation.

"Let's get started, shall we? Generally at this stage, we give a brief overview of what is required of you, our expectations and all that. When you come onboard, you will be one of any number of individuals doing the same work. Obviously, everything is set up beforehand to plan ahead of the operation. You will be briefed on the details of the case and any other pertinent information that's required for you to know. That gives us time to pull you out if there's some sort of conflict that prevents us from moving forward, but otherwise, you'll proceed as directed. Then, after all is said and done, you will be debriefed and you'll go on your way until we call you again. Do you understand everything so far?"

"Seems simple enough, but what if I can't make it to one of the callouts?"

Detective Carson's phone went off before he could provide a response. He excused himself for a moment and quickly checked the message, internally cursing out his partner as he came to terms with the request he had just read.

"Well, we give you a number of chances to meet the requirement, which isn't all that high to be honest," Carson added after a few moments, putting his phone away and standing up to walk over to the door. Leaning on the wooden frame, he called out to one of the secretaries walking by. After she approached him, he asked her to get him the information packet for CIs, which included the questionnaire Kassandra would have to fill out.

"What do you say we jump right to it, eh? The paperwork will provide a full and thorough explanation of everything you need to know."

The sound of waves was distant. Not as loud as the thrum of people and the music, seabirds cawing overhead. In Port Rellington, everything was loud, and the heat crawled off the cobblestones in shimmering waves.

Before that day, on the beach, Colin had never been anywhere so warm.

Through the sound and the heat and the festering wounds left over from the last mission, he and Eliza found Kiri in the square. Then Eliza had disappeared, and they’d been alone.

“Out there… I trust you. We all do.” she’d said.

He was scared. Unravelling at the seams. He wasn’t sure if she meant it, but it still made things better.

“For… for what it's worth… I don't think there's anyone I trust more than you right now.”

He meant it.

The world exploded.

Knives. Purple and grey and some bright, incomprehensible colour, pierced eyes, skin, head, body- and flayed.

Inside out.

He sneezed entrails. Lurching and pulling. Skin free from bones, eyes loose from skulls. Blood. Sizzling, boiling, freezing solid and still in long wriggling veins, tangled around degloved fingertips.

For an infinity, there was nothing.

And then Colin existed again.

A draft curled across the back of his neck. Goosebumps rippled. Cheek and side pressed up against something cold and hard that felt like tile. Overhead something hummed. Yellow light tried to pierce his screwed-up eyelids, behind them, memories drifted -

The battle-

Kiri-

The portal-

He’d survived. Whatever that was he’d survived. And now… where was this? His head hurt, ground glass scrunched up behind his eyeballs, right at the root, spreading and slicing into the soft pink of his brain, but he couldn’t stop now.

He peeled open one eyelid - sticky, with blood or mud or fuck knows what- bright light pierced his vision, his head screamed, he screwed it shut again. Fuck. He tugged his knees up to his chest, buried his aching face in the tattered, blood-damp fabric. Spent adrenaline pooled like rock, sick and heavy, and he wasn’t sure he could get up if he wanted to.

He needed to figure out where he was though, what that portal thingey had done to them. Was this the mage’s lair? Somewhere else? It was cold here. Quiet. The mage, Samael, was somewhere else. Kiri was somewhere else.

Before the portal, Samael had thrown her aside like it was nothing. She couldn’t fight him alone. She’d die. She wouldn’t care that she’d die. He could already see it, Kiri charging towards the mage, staff ready to strike. He’d throw her backwards. She’d get up again. It wouldn’t stop until she was bloody, battered, alone.

Last time Kiri had been alone-

No. Don’t go there. It wouldn’t be like last time. Samael was evil, killed countless innocents and worse. No better than a fucking leech.

He deserved to die.

It would be good if Kiri killed him.

Why was he even doubting that?

He grit his teeth. Forced the thought away. He just had to find Samael before Kiri did and everything would be okay. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know why. He just had to do it.

He forced his eyes open.

Light flared, his aching head screamed, but after a moment the pain subsided, and he could look around.

Wherever Samael’s portal had taken him, it was like nowhere he’d been before.

He was curled up in the corner of a strange, windowless room, a single door on the other side, and if he strained to hear, unearthly music drifted through - metallic almost, voices inhuman.

Strips of strange, magical light lined the low ceiling, itself made of an unrecognisable material - smooth and white, panelled with a sheen to it. The floor was tiled and sticky, the tiles a sick yellow colour lined black, as where the walls. Strange boxes with what looked like doors lined one side of the room, all made from the same, shiny material as the ceiling. The other side of the room was lined with what Colin recognised as sinks; mirrors lined up above them, more yellow tiles reflected in their glassy surfaces.

A bathroom then? But Colin didn’t understand why the mage would need so many sinks - none of the undead he’d seen looked like they’d washed their hands recently. A dagger of pain shot through his head, and he hissed, resisting the urge to curl back up, not move. He was on his own. No one was going to help him.

Find Samael. Preferably before Kiri did something stupid. He’d just have to hope she’d been dropped somewhere as bizarre as him.

A swooshing sound from one of the boxes.

Someone was here with him.

Wide awake, he grabbed his bow - it’d made it through with him. Jumped to his feet, the pain ricocheting through his body a distant concern. Someone was here. Was it Samael? It couldn’t be, where was Kiri?

An arrow was in his hand before he even realised it.

The bolt slid.

Mary screaming, pounding on the door, smoke thick in his throat-

A young woman. Green eyes wide. Skin washed out, more than it would be even with the strange lighting.

The tell-tale bulge under her top lip.

Fingers numb. Breath quick and fast. Of course. Of course Samael was using leeches. Why the fuck wouldn’t he? Shit. What now? They couldn’t stop an army of vampires, the ghouls had been bad enough. This was it, this was-

And then the leech started to scream.

---

"Aiden!" She was quite the stunning sight, without fault. Curly, golden locks made their way down her neck in perfect symmetry, with brilliant blue eyes shining like a sun-touched ocean surface. Indeed, the young woman's lithe figure was draped in a dress borrowing the sanguine hue of roses, displaying a frame most would consider athletic. Standing taller than Aiden himself was not a feat anyone considered impressive, but as her arms wrapped their way around the boy's slender torso in a tight embrace, the confirmation was made.

"Hey, Rose," the young Angel offered, displaying a small if forced smile in response to this most welcoming approach.

"Ah, Aiden," came another voice, this one belonging to the girl's father, Michael Henderson, the head of several pharmaceutical companies. One ought to have wondered why a manufacturing company for weapons such as Infinity Enterprises wished to gain pharmaceutical allies, and Aiden's skepticism had been clear since the very start of this odd partnership. "I am glad you could join us, son," the man continued, extending his hand to shake the Angel's before Aiden lowered himself to a chair. He needed only look at his parents to note their reaction, with the boy's mother tapping her wristwatch.

"Four minutes late," the woman stated, before reaching for a glass of wine which she then brought to her lips for a sip. "I hope this won't become a habit, Aiden," she raised a brow, and lowered the glass to a wooden table draped in expensive white cloth.

"That is quite alright, Mrs. Connors," Mr. Henderson retorted, offering the group a small chuckle. He was a larger man, with wealth clearly making its stride across habits and stomach, alike. It would not have been a stretch to consider the man jolly, for that, he truly was. One would have had quite a difficult time in pinpointing a single frown bridging across his thick lips. "We're all here now!" He continued, shifting his attention to Aiden's father who managed a sigh, in return.

"That, we are," Bradly spoke, "let us order, shall we?" Opening the menu revealed rows of appetizers, entrees, and desserts, all of which were accompanied by a price tag most would scoff at. Forty dollars for scollops as a mere treat before the actual eighty dollar meal, with a thirty dollar side was either less than a drop in the ocean, or an investment one would save up towards, for a romantic date. Yes, Aiden could still recall his first dinner with these specific patrons, his father, mother, Rose, and Michael Henderson. He could still pinpoint the moment he realized that it wasn't a mere dinner. It was a business transaction between two companies, and their products in question sat only inches away, at the very same table.

"How have you been?" Rose tried, an attempt at breaking the ice which was formed by the esteemed Bradly Connors, and his wife, Samantha Connors.

"Alright," Aiden spoke, tapping his dainty, slender fingers against the cold surface of his chilled drink. In truth, the boy had taken a liking to whiskey, but despite his circumstances, rules still applied. He was considered nineteen, even though he would technically remain sixteen for every year to come. "You?" the boy continued, tasting chilled excellence of a well-stored soda. At the very least, his parents had the foresight of ordering his favorite beverage. At times, it did surprise him how well the Connors couple knew their son, while also dismissing him, entirely. An odd combination, indeed.

"Oh, you know," Rose chuckled, "work," the young woman turned her attention to the large man at her side, revealing a pearly white smirk. "Because someone doesn't let his daughter have a single moment of peace," she laughed. It was clear that Rose and Micheal maintained a far more lovable relation that Aiden and his parents. Though, it would have been a lie to claim that the young Angel did not cherish the sight. It was a rare display, and solely desired.

"Oi'!" Micheal retorted, "business can't wait, love!"

Deciding to remain quiet throughout a large portion of the conversations finding themselves exchanged across the table, Aiden nursed his drink, which had been refilled twice by the time his company's appetizers arrived. Though he had been asked by the staff if he'd enjoy a soup, Aiden considered the notion, before declining the offer. For him, taste mattered more so than anything. He could not feel hunger, and he required nourishment much like a rock required water. "So, what about these 'vigilantes' running about?" Michael asked, cutting into the steak now placed in front of him. Despite his lack of hunger, Aiden could not deny the wonderful scent accompanying a well-cooked meal. For him, it could be compared to a perfume, a lovely aroma.

"If you ask me," Bradly responded, wrapping pasta strings around his fork, "the more of those freaks who kill each other, the better." He turned to look at Aiden for a brief moment following his statement, before clearing his throat. "The vampires," he tried, "and werewolves."

"Yeah, dad, wouldn't want any 'freaks' on the street." There was no malice in the boy's words as Aiden offered a response, but more a coy quip.

"Oh, hush, you know what he meant," Samantha nudged her son, dark eyes glaring at her kin with a sense of embarrassment filling them.

"Do I?" The Angel asked, clicking his short nails against the still chilled glass, "what would you consider me, dad?"

There was a slight pause that lingered across the table, but Bradly Connors had a response to his son's charged question. "A miracle, of course."

"Yes," Samantha added, "a miracle." It would not have been farfetched to point out that Aiden's mother, Samantha Connors was more of a snake than Bradly could ever hope to become. Every word dripped with venom, and while Bradly's focus remained on the numbers, hers was on public relations. One could imagine the lies and deception Samantha was privy to.

"Well, then, let's all raise our glasses, and toast," Michael spoke up, "to Aiden, and the miracle that saved our dearest son."

"To Aiden," Samantha raised her glass, followed by her husband.

With a deep breath, the Angel's attempt at changing the subject, if even by a simple margin, turned his eyes towards Rose. "What's your opinion of these 'vigilantes', Rose?"

"Hm," the young woman considered his question, a finger moving towards her chin. Much like her father, she had developed the habit, when in thought. "The Police have a lot of restrictions. Vigilantes might have their use, even if it's a slippery slope."

"While the less vampires are about, the better, they should leave the Police work, to the Police! We're the ones who arm them, for crying out loud," Bradly pitched in.

Following a prolonged exchange on the subject, Aiden turned his attention to the clock. He had been suffering through this dinner for the past two hours. If he excused himself, it would have brought ruin to the entire purpose of making his presence known, in the first place. It would have been as if he never even came. However, once dessert plates found themselves empty, relief eventually washed over the boy. This nightmare was coming to an end. "It was lovely seeing you again, Aiden," Rose spoke, as the group was moving towards the elevator. "Perhaps next time, we could try a dinner without the..," Rose cleared her throat in the silence of her whispered words, "extra scenery."

Feeling a hot sensation traveling towards his pale cheeks, the Angel paused in his steps. She had never been this forward, before. It was clear that the young woman was far more invested in this arranged relationship than Aiden was, and most certainly more so than he ever would be. "S-sure," he managed a stuttering response.

"Perfect," Rose smiled, offering their peers a quick glance, before noting that every back was turned. It was then that she brushed her lips against Aiden's in a quick, soft kiss, freezing her fiancé to the spot.

"Oh, wow, if you could crawl out of your skin, right now..," for the first time since dinner started, Lumen spoke. "Maintain yourself! Move your legs!" The spirit exclaimed, a hand moving to slap Aiden's shoulder.

Snapping out of the trance which he had been put under due to Rose's kiss, Aiden picked up his pace and followed her into the elevator. An awkward dinner with an awkward peak, for sure, but at the very least, he was now free. This was further elevated when he saw Charles waiting in the lobby, ready to take the Connors family home.

Kiri’s staff cut through the air, readying a blow. But she was too late. Samael was gone. Then the portal swallowed Kiri whole.

The next few moments were a blur. Suddenly Kiri was immovable and fluid at once, not able to control her body and helpless to the push and pull around her. Flits of lights and color appeared and disappeared, strange phantom images that she couldn't make out. And then it was over.

Kiri's staff cut through the air. Samael was gone. Instead, it moved through open space. Kiri blinked at this new reality, fighting to right herself, stop her own momentum. The air caught in her lungs, thick and wrong. She took in a breath, stopped short.

Something enormous shot past her -- white light that grew until it blinded her only to disappear a second later, a roar like thunder that vibrated her very bones, wind blowing her clumps of hair and her filthy crimson cloak after it with such force that it knocked Kiri off balance, her footing uneven on the hard, smooth ground. A smell like smoke hit her face. Kiri inhaled to cough only to find she couldn't get enough air in.

She was six years old, bone thin and pale, sitting up in bed in the dim light of her room, stuggling to breathe as a nurse rubbed her back and held hot tea up to her face, she was wheezing coughing shecouldn'tbreathe--

That same grinding roar sounded again, paired with what sounded like a blaring horn, growing in volume and pitch. Kiri spun, still unsteady, in time to see another bright monstrocity shoot past her. She stumbled back, knuckles white around her staff. Just like before, the light disappeared, the raucous cries growing softer and lower again. There was the sound of someone -- a human -- shouting but Kiri couldn't make out the words.

Another roar. Another horn. Kiri looked up, squinting at bright white light on the face of something as tall as a horse and four times as wide. It was charging straight for her. Kiri's staff shot up across her chest. She tried to jump to the side, just as it swerved in the opposite direction, letting out a high pitched screech. It curved around her before speeding off and Kiri stumbled back. Again, there was that wave of dirt and smoke. Kiri coughed, pressure growing in her chest. She took another step back. The soaking red cloak wrapped around her legs. Her heel hit something hard -- a raised section of the ground, like a stone step -- and Kiri fell back, her spine landing hard against what felt like smooth brick. Her head cracked against the ground.

Kiri gasped -- or she tried to. She laid on the ground, aching, soaked through with mud, blood, sweat, and rotting remains of the battle that wasn't done yet -- she had to get up, she had to keep going she --

She coughed. Kiri tried to breathe in but her chest was tight, under some crushing phantom weight, and she couldn't manage more than a few whisps of thick air. She couldn't stop coughing. Her vision started to swim as she stared up at the sky. There were lights all around her, shining off of smooth metalic cliff-faces -- buildings, or strutures, or --

Her breath escaped her chest with a small, shaking wheeze. She hadn't made that sound in years.

No no no nonononononono

Not again, she was better than this, she'd outgrown this. Her grip tightened around her staff where it'd been thrown to her side. Coughs continued to wrack her body and she squeezed her eyes shut. What was this? A spell? Samael had dones something to her, had made her --

Another wheeze. It was happening almost every breath now, her head swimming from the lack of air. She had to... she just had to get through this. Her frantic mind grasped at memories. She'd had these episodes hundred of times before.

Hot tea. Slow breaths. Meditation. Her nurse's ointment.

The soft sheets of her bed wrinkled in her tiny fists.

Light filtering through the seam where her curtains didn't quite meet.

Her uncle telling her to straighten up, put her hands on top of her head, slow her heart rate.

Her father's voice echoing over the sound of her coughing, ordering that she be taken back to her room.

Tears sprung to her eyes as another wave of coughing overtook her. The roar of those things that'd nearly run her over faded into the background, over taken by the sound of Kiri's frantic heart and the weak sound of her breath.

---

It was rare for Violet to get lost in thought, but in the moments before she bumped into a stranger, she was adrift. She could still hear Vince in the back of her mind, repeating himself over and over again.

’Why can’t you just move on?’

Was it true? Was she stuck?

She couldn’t stand the thought. It was too brutal, too real. It put the blame on herself, something she had always had trouble with. There was a subtle pounding in the back of her head, one that struck upon mental confrontations such as these. She couldn’t will it away, not this time. She had to face it.

A warm body against her own, for just a moment, and the pulsations were gone. With it, all signs of progress. At least for the time being.

She blinked, her mind clearing as she took in the subtle stench of alcohol and blood. She recoiled on instinct, her body tensing. Her gaze leveled on a scar etched across the face of a seemingly apologetic man. Was he human? It wandered down to a crooked nose, the remnants of blood still remaining in the cracks of his face. Who had he been fighting?

”No worries, man…” She cleared her throat. ”You good?” She nearly cursed herself for asking, struggling to keep a soft, inquisitive look on her face. Why would she ever ask that? She should have just stepped around him and doubled back toward her apartment.

Thane gave a curt nod before giving a light chuckle at her question, remembering how he looks.”Oh yeah, haven’t really looked in a mirror myself but I’ll be fine, just need to rest later. Guess that’s at least one perk having wolf blood,” Thane states wondering how the woman would react. He hardly cared on who knew what he was but it was always interesting to see a reaction. Most seemed to back away before running as if they were on fire, few stuck around. If the way he felt matched his looks though, he couldn’t really blame her for running in terror, he probably looked like some homicidal creep and that’s not including how his handsome face was all ready scarred.

“Anyways, the thing that counts I’m still prettier than the other guy for the most part under all the mess. Name’s Thane,” he said to hopefully shake off any doubts about him if she decided not to panic at him being a werewolf.
Violet took a casual step back, giving herself a bit more room on the increasingly more likely chance that this guy--Thane, decided to attack her. She wondered what had happened to the other guy. Was it her civic duty to find out? She could, but she was wary about risking her hide.

”Ah,” She said, ”So, you usually wander around all casual after getting into fights?” She made no mention of her own name, even though he could probably track her down on scent alone if he decided.

Thane shrugged.”Not usually but I’m not tired so figured I’d take a bit of a walk, and the fight was mutual. Just wolves fighting wolves. It’s therapeutic really,” He replied remaining where he was while feeling his face and realigning his nose as he attempted to explain the state he was in.”Ouch, should of fixed that earlier, but back on topic. Hard to really explain it to normies but sometimes a little fight helps. Can’t exactly go hunting in the big city whenever. Well we could if we had a death wish but I for one prefer living instead of a silver bullet. So it helps calm that inner beast for those of us stuck with the city life, an alternative instead of always being stuck with a cage when the full moon comes around.” He did his best to explain but he couldn’t be sure if she understood. To wolves it was simple but others found it baffling wanting to get into a fight for the sake of it.

“Pretty much all I can say. Fights aren’t exactly legal. If I didn’t look like shit I probably wouldn’t have said anything,” he finished “Guess that’s everything lass. Again sorry for the run in and looking like hell.”

There was just...so much to unpack there. A bit too much, if Violet was being honest with herself. She didn’t even know why she was entertaining this guy. Why hadn’t she left when she heard the bone of his nose cracking back into place? She always ended up around the weirdos.

Nodding at last, she pulled out her phone. ”Let me just...call you an Uber?” She bit her lower lip, staring at all the messages and missed calls she had for a moment. Sighing, she cleared the logs. ”Maybe I’m stupid, but you seem a little drunk…” She could only begin to imagine how Duncaster’s police force would react to this guy.

Thane shook his head.”You’re took kind lass but I’ll be fine plus even with a broken nose I can tell you aren’t particularly enjoy my company. So I’ll just be getting out of your hair Ms. No Name before I do something stupid. I may stumble about but I’ll find my way back to my own den and be better in the morning.”Without waiting for a response he tried to back away from the woman spinning around only to be greeted by a stray lamp post.”Oh bloody hell there goes the nose again. Going to look like damn Voldemort after tonight.”, he grumbled falling back onto the cold concrete of the sidewalk, looking up into what little sky could be seen from the city streets and the mocking light of the light post ”,Guess I’m too late to avoid the something stupid thing I mentioned about. Should of stayed at ‘The Pits’.”

Violet sucked in a sharp breath, biting her tongue to avoid laughing or cursing at his expense. Tapping the keys of her phone, she quickly ordered a nearby Uber, before moving to crouch beside Thane.

”Get in the car when it comes, ‘kay?” Her voice left no room for argument. ”You’re going straight home.” She felt like her mother, but she didn’t necessarily care.

It only took three minutes for the car to pull up along the side of the street. The man driving took one look at the pair on the sidewalk and let loose a tired sigh. He was evidently expecting a large tip.

Slipping her arms under Thane’s pits, Violet took a steady breath, attempting to heave him up. God, he reeked. ”C’mon dude, help me out here.”

Any other time Thane would have argued against complying with the request but with a wounded pride and the alcohol kicking in more he simply gave a nod and waited laying there, not bothering to get up until it arrived. He definitely was going to regret drinking as much as he had in the morning. He did his best to help the woman as she attempted to pick him up. He stumbled his way into the car, not thrilled of the confined space but at least the world had stopped spinning.

”Thanks,” he mumbled before leaning forward to give the driver the address of where he lived figuring it best to just do what the woman said instead of trying to take it back to where he came from.

Violet stayed outside the car, watching the man for a few silent moments before she closed the door and shut him out of her life. The car slowly pulled away, taking Thane with it. She could only hope he would make his way home, rather than wandering the streets drunkenly.

Once the car was far out of sight, Violet continued on her path, unsure of what else would find her.

Vitius let out a slight sigh as he took small sips of his blood whiskey, quietly enjoying the sounds and sights of the bar when an ear piercing scream caught his attention. While the rest of the patrons looked about in confusion or simply stayed where they were at, not feeling motivated enough to investigate the source of the noise, Vitius got up from his seat, set his drink on the counter, and went to see what all the commotion was. Pushing past those who were in his way, an easy feat due to the intimidating demeanor he cut in his large suit of armor, he headed towards the bathroom and pushed open the door, his eyes widening in surprise and recognition…

Before him, plain as day, was Colin. The one Hood that had given him the most trouble during their stay with the group. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to be kicking after three centuries. Couldn’t have been possible. Yet here he was in the flesh.

Aiming an arrow right at another patron.

More leeches crowded in, but Colin was only distantly aware of their presence, focused on the one in front of him. He needed answers, "Where is he?!"

The leech just shook her head, trembling slightly, "I don't- don't- I don't know what you're talking about!"

Lying. She was lying. She was lying and there were more and more of them coming in through the door - he could hear them, even if he couldn't take his eyes off the one in front of him. No windows. One door. More of them out there. Looked like he was fighting his way out. After he got answers though, "Like fuck you don't - The mage, Samael, where is he?!"

He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror. He looked like a wreck - skin speckled with mud and blood, hair, grown out to his jaw since he cut it but falling loose from its tie, clothes torn. The leech, on the other hand, aside from the obvious, looked… fine. No blood. No scratches. Clothing, strangely cut, but very clean, some kind of uniform? It didn't matter, "Don't lie, I'm not a fucking idiot, he brought me here, tell me where he is!"

Vitius mind churned. Who was Samael? And why the hell was Colin so determined to find him? The old vampire shrugged internally. Didn’t matter, at least not at the moment. What did matter was keeping Colin in check.

Once that was done he could focus on getting some answers.

Moving quickly he pulled the woman back and interposed himself between the two of them, staring Colin down, his orange eyes seeming to burn in the fluorescent light.

“Hello old friend,” He said with a smirk. “Been awhile.”

Vitius.

The name rang in Colin's head, loud with starch white hair and gleaming metal armour. Vitius. Deserter. Traitor. Might all have been the same word for the difference it made. The worst kind of leech - a murderer and a liar. It made sense that he was working with Samael. They both hated the hoods and everything they stood for. His lip curled, he ignored the leech's remark, instead, "Where is he?!"

“Easy there boy.” He said, raising a gauntleted hand in a placating manner. “Why don’t you calm down a bit that way we can talk like civilized people?”

Despite not seeming to move, Vitius was slowly inching towards the man, planning on disarming him once he got close enough. Colin was hard enough to talk to as it was, and a bow only complicated matters. The sooner he was rid of it, the better.

"'Civilised people' don't work for fucking necromancers." Colin hissed, knuckles white where they gripped the bow, eyes darting between Vitius and the growing crowd by the door. Could he take that many? Probably not. He'd have to make a run for it - soon as he found out where Samael was. His hands were shaking again, even though the arrow wasn't taut, "Tell me where he is and maybe I'll let you live."

“Riiiight.” He began, casually drawing out the word. “Let’s pick that apart bit by bit, shall we? First off, I don’t work for necromancers, they’re creeps and way too edgy even for my liking. I don’t mind a bit of broody darkness, but seriously, it’s too much. Secondly, I have no idea who or where this Samael person is, so you might as well stop asking. And finally-” Vitius said, lunging forward at inhuman speeds as he grabbed the bow, turned it away from the woman, and snapped the arrow Colin had knocked with his free hand. He then gently, well gently for a creature of his strength anyway, elbowed him in the chest, sending him flying backwards where he eventually skidded to a stop just shy of the wall.

“You don’t have the skill to decide my fate. Not anymore. Anyway, all that unpleasantness aside…” He went on, slinging the bow across his back, his tone becoming more patronizing. "Let's get you up to speed on the last three centuries so you can find out why pointing a stick and some string at someone is a bad idea.”

The second Vitius reached for his bow, Colin stopped listening. He wasn't defenseless - the knives strapped to his ankles a comforting weight - but everywhere he looked cat-eyes gleamed back at him. One door. No way out that wasn't through. Palms damp with sweat. He tried to think, remember his training, with the Hoods and as a child, but there was only static, frozen impressions.

No time to think. He had to act. Teeth grit, he made a break for it, straight toward, and hopefully through the gathered crowd.

Vitius considered letting him run, just for a moment. But he eventually decided that Colin would only do more harm than good if allowed to run amok in a world no longer like the one he’d come from. So, with a heavy sigh, he moved to intercept him and wrapped his arm around Colin’s neck, placing the man into a chokehold.

Colin’s limbs locked into place the second Vitius made contact, eyes wide, breath stuttering in his throat-

Hands tight around his neck

His head was going to explode-

Shirt soaked through.

Spots danced in his vision-

Snow thick and fast and red and-

He went limp, a sudden deadweight.

Vitius shook his head as he released Colin's neck. Picking the now limp man up, he quickly left the bar and made his way into the back alleys once again, this time in search of a relatively isolated place he could talk question the former Hood in. Wouldn't do to have him around another crowd he could cause havoc in after all.



Colin dreamt of fire. He opened his eyes to darkness.

Wherever it was, it was cold, but not in the burning, icey way it was cold back home. No, this was bone cold, damp and sticky with the promise that no matter what you did you wouldn’t be shaking it until it was good and ready.

Duncaster on a rainy day.

Adrenaline shot through his system - the graveyard, Samael, the portal, the leech. His fingers scraped at floor he couldn’t see, grasping for the wall - found it, pressed his back to it. The leech had grabbed him, knocked him out - whatever corner of the necromancer’s lair Vitius had dragged him to, he wouldn’t be far. Was probably watching him right now, waiting, but Colin couldn’t fucking see.

He grit his teeth, pain lancing through his temple, he didn’t care, “Where the fuck’re you hiding leech?!”

Silence. Then a laugh, slow and menacing that gradually built up to a loud crescendo.

"Tell me old friend, what is a man… save a miserable little pile of secrets!" A deep, vaguely demonic voice shouted from somewhere nearby. "But enough talk…"

A pair of orange flames, no eyes, appeared in the dark void opposite Colin. They sat there for a moment, analyzing him, studying him, staring into his very soul…

And then they lunged. Moving forward at impossible speeds, becoming nothing more than a blur of light, the orbs of hellfire stopped inches away from Colin's face and locked gazes with him. They stayed that way for a moment before a clicking sound echoed from somewhere off to Colin's left, bathing the area in a dim white light and illuminating the pale face of one very amused vampire.

"Boo." Vitius said, chuckling slightly at Colin's murderous expression before moving backing up in one fluid motion. "So, did you have a nice nap?"

It was then that Colin realised, really realised, this was the leech’s home turf. Vitius might have toed the line back at the keep, but here? There were no hoods waiting just around the corner to step in if he lost control, no iron manacles, no barrels of animal blood to slake the thirst. There was just the leech and the blood thundering through Colin’s veins.

Something dripped in the darkness, he flinched at the sudden sound.

If there was a way out of here, he couldn’t see it. He wasn’t strong enough to overpower the leech, didn’t have the hoods at his back, didn’t even have his bow anymore. Sweat pricked at his skin, sickly and not quite chilled by the cold. Think. He had to think. The leech hadn’t killed him yet - he wanted something. Keep him talking, figure out what it was, wait for the opportunity.

Fear curled around his throat, tightened. He met Vitius’s eyes, “Where the fuck did you bring me leech?”

“An abandoned house. There’s lots of them nowadays. Seems people can barely make a living these days,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But enough of all that. I have some questions and you’re going to give me some answers.”

Stalking over to the man, Vitius eyes narrowed into thin slits as he began his questioning.

“First off, how are you still alive? Last I recall you weren’t a leech like me, so why are you still kicking after three centuries?”

A house? What was the leech on about? How big was the necromancer’s lair? And centuries? Not possible - Colin wasn’t stupid, no vampire could go that long without going feral at least once, and he knew all too well what that looked like. Vitius looked fresh as a daisy. Part of him wanted to spit, tell him to pull the other one, make a break for it now, before it’s too late, fucking run, but no.

Deep breaths to fight the gnawing, crushing feeling clawing at his chest, stub-nails reaching to grip at his scarred, aching arm. Focus. He couldn’t afford to lose it and do something stupid - not again. Running had been a mistake in the bathroom, and now he was trapped, smoke in his lungs- focus.

Jaw locked, he did his best not to flinch at Vitius’s approach, might as well go along with it, act like the leech was talking sense, “Don’t pretend like you don’t fucking know. You’re in bed with the one that did it.”

Vitius scoffed. “Unless the one who did it happened to be a goth chick with a vampire fetish, I doubt that. Anyway, second question,” he went on beginning to pace. “What happened to the Hoods? I mean what really happened?”

Confusion furrowed Colin’s brow, what was a ‘goth chick’? Some new, terrifying creature conjured up by Samael? Worse than the army of ghouls? It didn’t matter. Samael wasn’t getting away this time. And if the leech thought he was getting information about the battle from Colin he had another thing coming, “Why don’t you just go ask Samael? He was there too. You’re not getting shit out of me leech.”

"Because," Vitius began, calmly inspecting his nails. "I have no fucking idea who this Samael of yours is. Hence why I need to ask you, you noodle. Now, what happened? There has to be more to the Hood's gradual disappearance than rumours originally let on."

“The Hoods haven’t gone anywhere,” Colin spat, “it was you that fucked off - don’t need to ask where you’ve been though do I? If you’ve no idea who Samael is then why the fuck are you and your mates hanging round his lair?”

"First off, just me. Secondly, no, you need to realise you're completely out of your depth and listen to the immortal trying to communicate with you. And lastly, this is a house and it is abandoned, meaning the people who used to own it left a long time ago," he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. "As for the Hood's, they've been gone for about three centuries my friend, and I want to know why. They weren't exactly the type to give up after all."

Games. He was playing games, and Colin was getting sick of people trying to fuck with his head. He still had his knives. The leech had his bow, but he could get it back. Vampires were strong, not invulnerable. He just had to catch him off guard and then he could escape, find Samael, find Kiri, and get out here.

“Looking pretty fucking fresh for three hundred year old corpse,” Colin hissed, eyes tracking Vitius’s movements - focused on his hair. Grab a handful the second he got close, yank it down, knife to the chest. He had a plan. “I know your lot - most of you don’t even make it a decade without going feral, ‘specially not on your own.”

"I've only taken what I've needed," Vitius replied, unperturbed by Colin's remark. "And eventually law changed to where my kind were accepted, begrudgingly, and now I can go by donated human or animal blood to drink. No more hunting, no more mess, no more unneeded deaths. But, getting back to my original question, where did the Hood's go? And please answer this time. Your childish banter is starting to bore me."

“Still at the battleground,” Playing along wasn’t working, Colin was going to have to goad him if he wanted to get him close enough. Not too long ago, the thought of baiting a vampire would have left him paralysed with fear. Now though? “Just waiting for their chance.”

Vitius let out a sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything different from you. You always were difficult. Still are," he said, ceasing his pacing and turning his back to Colin. "Guess I'll have to keep digging then… but until then!"

He spun back round suddenly, his cape unfurling behind him.

"I need to get you acquainted with modern life. And give you a nice long lecture on why pointing an arrow at someone is a bad idea…" Vitius trailed off, mostly talking to himself now more than anyone else. Leaving himself open for a potential attack…

A light flashed outside - there, the door, loose on rusted hinges.

He could avoid a confrontation and still get away whilst the leech was talking shit. Now or never.

Colin sprung, fingers grasping at the loose fabric of the cape, aiming to knock the leech off balance long enough to give himself a chance to escape.

"Oh you cheeky bi-" Vitius started to say before being cut off abruptly as he vanished into thin air, the faint rippling of surrounding space the only evidence of the strange happening.

Vitius let his gaze wander over the ashen landscape and its ruined structures.

"Well," he said, planting his hands on his hips. "Shit."

---

"Well if it ain't our lill' Guardian Angel, eh!?" A ragged voice echoed across old, metallic walls. It had once been a bunker, designed with nuclear war in mind, but would eventually find itself turned into something far more practical than mere defense, or the pursuit of survival. Laptops were haphazardly placed on large weapon crates, screens of varying sizes rowing several different venues of the small, and compact hideout dubbed 'The Den' by those who frequented its secluded interior. "Lookin' strappin' as eva', ya' Majesty," the man continued, a gestalt most were likely to avoid on the open streets. Riddled with scars, and obvious proof of experience, 'The Handler' had once upon a time donned the mantel of vigilante, until age finally caught up to him. A worn sofa cradled his rugged shape, and with a large knife in hand, the man playfully spun a sharp tip against his finger. Little more than a grin was necessary to reveal teeth now yellowed with time, and a lack of care.

"Stop calling me that," Aiden rolled his eyes, and shifted his attention towards the myriad of pictures nailed to bulletin boards hung on sterile, grey walls.

"Ay, which part? Cause' youse' high n'mighty, aintcha'? And most certainly one of em' richest blokes in th'city," The Handler chuckled before heavy military boots slammed down on the floor. He pushed himself up with a stretch, groaning slightly from the exertion, and pointed the combat knife at a laptop resting on the surface of an ammunition crate. "Y'here fer' some fun, dunno' why, considerin' all o'daddy's money."

"I have yet to ever grow used to this.., loathsome creature," Lumen pitched in, the creature's arms crossed in disapproval. However, the situation was quite simple. Without The Handler, or Steve, as was a much less intimidating alias, Aiden would have been roaming the streets of Duncaster aimlessly. They needed this man, if they were to actively make a difference. Despite being an Angel, Aiden was no hero, by any stretch of the imagination, which was something he often reminded himself of. He was simply a kid, trying to do good, but with no means of managing the feat on his own. Informants were needed, and The Handler was impressive, despite accommodations and appearance.

"I'm not doing this for money," the boy raised a brow, his eyes turning to scan a myriad of guns filling the bunker. Steve could equip a small army if he wanted to, and a vast majority of these weapons came from Infinity Enterprises, as was confirmed by their logo. Ironically, Aiden could not wield a single weapon afforded by his company, nor anyone else. Such was a price of his Angelic Pact. However, dressed in a black leather jacket along with matching cargo pants and a hood to hide the teenager's face would likely turn others away from his well-known visage. Aiden's mask did help in this regard, but where it painted the boy incognito, equally so, a masked individual was very peculiar, and warranted attention. Most of the time, he disregarded the mask, and rather maintained the use of a hood.

"Ain't tha' sweet of ye'?" The Handlar chuckled, "ah, well, better for me, ay'? Gets to keep all y'all earnins' for me lonesome," the man tapped his chest. "S'why I dare say, ya' get first pick!" Again, The Handler smirked, before he reached for a cigar, and promptly held the wrapped stick beneath an ember of his lighter. "Got ya' three Fangers, t'day," he explained, closing the lighter before Steve exhaled a cloud of smoke from between dry lips.

"No Werewolves?" A small grin bridged itself across Aiden's pale mouth, "that's a first."

"Wha' can I say?" Steve extended his arms and shrugged, "sometimes, em' puppies behave." Pinching the cigar between his fingers, Steve exhaled another misty breath, and continued, "drug dealer, trafficker, or serial killer, take yer' pick."

Pausing for a spell, Aiden considered his options. A vampire drug dealer was nothing new, and it was arguably the least urgent assignment, which someone else would undoubtedly deal with. A trafficker, however, involved far more sinister dealings, and yet, a serial killer found its way to the top. It was an understandable outcome, of course, and Aiden had made his choice. He was unsure of how many other freelancing hunters were of a supernatural origin, but a clear majority maintained pure humanity. Even so, in a place such as this, The Den, it mattered little what you were. As a person, you were measured by your actions, and nothing else. Though Aiden had never seen a Demon before, it wouldn't surprise him if Steve welcomed the alleged creature into his so-called 'Family of Hunters'. Used as a joke, more often than not, if one was to delve deeper into the man's customer demographic, a professional disposition would be found. Steve never spoke of other Hunters, and the man's venue was considered Neutral Ground amongst competing warriors. "The killer, who are we looking at?" Aiden asked, before Steve spun his computer around to show the target's extensive profile. It revealed a picture of the assignment, a beautiful, young woman, along with a respectable amount of information following.

"Name's Carmella Von Drach," The Handler stated, tapping his cigar over an ashtray, "bitch is old, has a bit of a followin'," he explained. "Er' lill' cult is set up right 'ere, in jolly ol' Duncaster. Abandoned Brewery." Steve moved the computer back, and as his fingers danced across the keyboard, Aiden soon felt his phone vibrating.

"Why is she killing?" The boy asked, reaching a hand into his pocket to lay eyes on the same information now sent to his handheld device.

"Get this, right?" The Handler's smirk grew wide, "bitch is tryina' appease some Demon shite'. S'what her whole cult's about. Whoda' thunk' those fuckers actually existed, eh?"

Scrolling down the profile on Aiden's phone, Steve's words were echoed by what was written. "If Angels exist," the boy raised his eyes to meet The Handler's, "it'd only make sense that our opposites do, as well." Turning to leave, the Angelic teenager offered his friend, if one was to call him that, a soft wave. Weightless steps then brought Aiden up a set of metallic stairs, until finally, he opened the door which led into one of Duncaster's countless back alleys. A serial killing Vampire cultist.., one would have hoped to say that this was an oddity, but alas, such was not the case in Duncaster City.

His hands and arms felt sticky, but wore no grime or residue on his skin. It was this place... a den of manipulation, debauchery, desperation and wanton pleasure. The first fiend bar to ever open was aptly named Bloody Mary's. Cheesy, easy. The landmark still managed to do business decades later. This bar, however, was a bit newer to the scene. Zeke looked at the embroidered napkin sitting below his glass of water and read the logo: "The Last Drop".

The patrons around him appeared to be keeping to themselves, but only to someone with a shallow control of their senses. He could hear the whispers and smell the unease. He didn't belong here and everyone present was aware of this fact. It didn't matter, though. There was an understanding known to most of the shadow dwellers, an extension of Zeke's infamy among his less than reputable peers. Translated though the words of a younger generation, the policy was "Don't start nothing, won't be nothing."

A young woman with more weight in her chest than in her skull skipped into view, her nearly jet black hair dancing across her the tops of her shoulders which were wrapped up in a white dress shirt accented by a mostly red tie that ended in an epitomous blood drip. She made her way to his table, her stocking covered legs fighting to make distance in her short, tight skirt that matched the color of her hair.

"Sorry for the wait! I'm Jessica," she announced, her voice surprisingly loud, energized with naivety and ambition. "What'll it be?" As Zeke looked her over, he could already see the mark peaking out of her collar. Her neck was decorated with a rapacious kiss of the damned, her skin broken and scabbed. She hadn't quite experienced the full potential of her curse, but she would soon. Zeke was never much for small talk, especially when it came to disposable interactions. He was far more interested in cutting to the chase.

"I need to see Aldo." There were no inflections in his voice. It was cold and matter of fact, carrying with it an heir of authority as the words rumbled out of his mouth. The young woman raised an eyebrow at the request and started to inquire further, but she could see it in Zeke's eyes. This was over her paygrade.

"Oka-... I'll be right back..." She left him alone once more to sit in solitude at the dirty rectangular table as his massive form took up most of his bench seat's real estate.

He hated waiting for anything. It wasn't because he was impatient; he had all the time in the world. It's just that when he mind was left alone, undistracted, it began to wander and bore into his own psyche. It would dig up memories he tried to bury, whisper thoughts that he didn't want to muse upon and constantly test the power of his will to fight against his own nature. History knew him as a grand malevolent monster. Rouge changed that in him, set him on a different path. The trail to redemption was set on a steep incline of slippery mud. It would just be so easy to turn around, to slide back into darkness...

"Right this way, sir!" Her voice nearly startled him, breaking his concentration and effectively pulling him out of the rabbit hole and back to reality. With one more large gulp, he finished his glass of water before standing up and following the waitress to the back of the bar.

He was led through a standard doorway that placed him in a hallway ending in another, much more elaborate door. The metal sheen of it reflected the lights overhead as well as Zeke's image as he looked upon it. To the left, in the high corner of the hall was a surveillance camera pointed right at him. Just below that was a keypad and speaker that had been installed into the wall.

"You got it from here, big guy!" She said delightfully before giving a small wave, a nonverbal tootles, before she skipped back out into the bar area. Just as he was out of sight, a loud buzz could be heard followed by the metal door cracking open. Zeke advanced, opening the door. There was a metal staircase leading down a poorly lit tunnel. At the bottom, the fluorescent glow of halogen bulbs could be seen. The further down he went, the more he could see until he was finally at the bottom looking out to a massive warehouse that you would never know existed from out on the streets.

It was a blood distillery. This is where the owners of this establishment would store, treat and distribute their product for consumption upstairs and all around. The sound of footsteps, forklifts and rattling bottles echoed throughout the space, nearly overwhelming Zeke's senses. It was a lot to take in at once and he counted himself lucky when he finally heard his summoning.

"Bishop!" The voice was accented with very specific mannerisms and a tempo that made you wonder why this man didn't work in a pizza shop instead of the blood bar. He stepped out of the shadows and into the fluorescent light as he walked over to the werewolf. "How you doin', my friend?"

"Aldo. The job is done."

"Of course it is. That's why I sent ya, Big B. Results. C'mon, let's go to my office." The vampire extended his hand for a shake, but the offer was silently declined. Also didn't expect much less, but was a victim of habit and had to try. His slim framed body was dressed in a black pinstripe suit and pristine black leather shoes. His dark hair was short cropped and slicked back with what looked like the entire contents of a hair gel bottle. As he led Zeke though the aisles of product his footsteps were marked by distinct clicks that came two at a time. Normally, he would use the travel time to make small talk, but he already knew the effort would be lost on this particular individual. They finally came to an elegant looking door with a large window to its left that used two-way glass, a feature Aldo undoubtedly used to keep an eye on his employees without being seen. Once inside, you could see a large oak desk with an expensive looking leather chair sitting behind it and to its front sat two guest chairs that were far less impressive. Also took his place on his throne while Zeke begrudgingly sat in one of the smaller seats, easing himself down slowly to help insure that his weight didn't destroy the pathetic furniture.

"So tell me, how did the great Bishop Wolfe do it this time?" Aldo said finally, breaking the silence between them. "Run into any trouble?"

The assignment was a mission to escort some goods from a warehouse to a private airport. The rules of this trade was to ask as few questions as possible. You want the job, take the job, but don't ask what the job is. You're given a brief set of instructions, an objective, and it's typically up to you how to pull it off. Zeke was no fool, though, and even though he didn't specifically ask, he knew what he was moving was illegal narcotics.

For the past few months, he's had his eyes set on finding a man that lived in the shadow. A nameless puppetmaster that existed only in whispers but still struck fear in criminals and cops alike. After trying to find the mystery man on his own and failing miserably, Zeke decided to go a different route. He took on an alias and decided he needed to find the kingpin from within his own organization, starting from the ground up.

"It got a little sloppy," he said solemnly. "The driver, he was green. Saw flashing lights and panicked. Started driving erratically. He might as well have rolled down the window shouting at every officer we passed to pull us over."

"Really? So what happened?"

"They acquiesced." Aldo's eyebrow raised a bit, obvious confusion painted across his face.

"I thought you said you did the job. Did it make it to the airport or not?"

"It's in the air now. The job is done. But it was sloppy," he repeated.

"What happened to the cops that pulled you over?"

"They hit me with lead when I got out of the car and then they took a nap." Is was only just then that Aldo noticed the two bullet holes in his associate's shirt to the left side of his abdomen. The skin underneath, however, looked almost completely undamaged. One of the upsides of Zeke's curse: he could heal quite fast.

"Why didn't you just kill them?" Aldo asked. It seemed ludicrous to him that the question even needed to be posed. In his mind, it was the natural response to the situation.

"You didn't hire me to kill cops. You hired me to move goods. The goods are moved." Zeke's eyes were stern as he looked into Aldo's. He didn't like being criticized or questioned.

"Right, but now the cops know your face."

"That's my problem."

"Sure is, but that makes us liable, too. You're gonna have to cool off now. Take a few months for things to settle d-..."

"No," Zeke interrupted. "In fact, I'm tired of being stuck with these little errands. Give me something bigger. I want to meet the real guy in charge. I want in." The reaction caught Aldo off guard and the slender man was not good at hiding that fact.

"Listen, Bishop, they've got your face now. You're on a slippery slope, big guy. If you're exposed and further than that, we've gotta cut ties." Zeke didn't care to respond. The guy was just stating the obvious, something the werewolf didn't feel needed any concurrence. As the silence continued second after very long second, Aldo's defenses eventually fell. "Alright, I've got a bigger job for you. You do this one and you do it neat and maybe we can talk a little more about a permanent spot on the roster." Zeke gave a singular nod.

"That stuff you moved, it's a chemical that our lab coats cooked up. We mix it in the blood and it does for vampires what steroids and cocaine does for humans. Makes 'em stronger. A lot stronger. The wolves are usually the ones with the brawn, but this stuff gives fiends the power to make you puppies heel, you know what I mean? Makes a vamp physically stronger than the strongest werewolf." Doubtful, Zeke thought to himself. "The effects are only temporary for now, but the coats are still working on it." The behemoth in the undersized chair had heard about it before, but had never seen the effects first hand.

"So naturally, the wolvies aren't too keen about it," Aldo continued. "They've started jumping our couriers and raiding our warehouses. The Boss is pissed and it's only a matter of time before this place gets hit. You've gotta take care of the problem. Confront the pack, kill the Alpha. Dude goes by the name of Vance Maxwell." Zeke took in the information and then waited for a beat in case there was more that Aldo would offer but, as is his modus operendi, Aldo was done delivering any info he planned on giving. The rest of the blanks were Zeke's job to fill in.

Without another word, he stood from his chair and walked out the door. He heard Aldo say something about wiring over the money for the last job as the werewolf ascended the staircase and made his way out of The Last Drop and onto the streets of Duncaster.

Suddenly the hairs on his arm and neck stood on end. He felt something. As quickly as it started, it had stopped. He couldn't place his finger on just what it was, but it was familiar. He was sure he felt the same sensation a long, long time ago.

Eventually, Zeke shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it and get back on the case. Bishop Wolfe had to track down Vance Maxwell. He just had to figure out where to start.