Mila was awed by the towering statues, her eyes wide with wonder, fear, astonishment. She was too slow to react to the wide arching blow of the Anubi's stone arm. Fortunately for the Rusalka her werewolf colleague was quicker to act. With a powerful push of a large paw Mila was swept out of the way. She tumbled back, rolling over the floor until she hit something solid and hard. A bookcase had kept her from rolling any further, stopping her momentum. The bookcase was probably as old as the books it held and it shook on its foundations after their collision. Books fell out and Mila covered her head with her arms as several large tomes crashed down. Every hit felt like a dull throbbing, similar to the muscle ache you'd experience after a work out. The crash should have broken at least some of her bones if she had been human. Instead she only felt a memory of true pain, having a really high threshold. But even that grew painful over the years. It was at times like this Mila despised having a body.

The swooping strike of the Anubi had missed her by a hair. She looked up and struggled to see clearly, her head was still spinning and dust was floating in the air. The first of the Anubi, the one who'd tried to crush them with its hand was felled by the collective might of her colleagues. First there was an explosion of rock sending shards flying everywhere. Mila tried her best to avoid most of it but couldn't dodge everything. The sharp stones raked at her skin and tore her clothes. The loud crash that followed was deafening and her legs were left shaking afterwards. They got one down! This team really was something. Mila started to doubt their victory less and less. It was truly like they said, The bigger they are the harder they fall.

Despite their small victory the fight was far from over. The second Anubi was even more ferocious than the first. It rammed its stone hand into the man dressed in fur coats sending him flying. Mila gasped and jumped up from between the books. She didn't see him anywhere...... and there was no time to look. A devastating attack of fire and stone swept across the floor towards them. She wasn't in the direct line of fire but the approaching wave of heat forced her to think on her feet. Panic and fear fueled her adrenaline and she frantically looked around for a way to avoid getting her feet burned off. There was nothing to climb on and she doubted she could jump over it. There was only one way then. Diverting it.

She took out her silver comb and ran it through her copper locks with a shaking hand. She really hoped this was going to work out as she'd planned. If it wasn't they had a serious problem. None of them were wholly impervious. The Rusalka let out a relieved sigh feeling the drops of water trickling down her hands as she brushed. She needed to be fast and throw smart. The Rusalka aimed for a spot where most of the team was gathered including the stone man and the pink haired girl, she threw her comb at that spot. It spun across the floor spinning around creating a disc of water as it went. When it came to a stop, the water it summoned increased in volume dramatically. It created a miniature fountain which was quickly spreading in width to form a ward against the wave of fire. Stones still passed through it but the heat of the fire was effectively doused. Mila let out a sigh of relief before running to join them in the fray.

There was a strangely thick throbbing feeling in the back of Nestor's skull – his vision swam, then went black as the stony guardian tossed the Demonspawn and Artie aside like so much unwanted chaff. Curling himself into a bit of a ball, his entire form braced for what everything within him confirmed would be a bone-splintering impact against solid granite walls... only to find his second flight cut blessedly short as the air around him fills with the thrumming voice of a strange power that his addled wits could not quite piece together.

And then he was landing, scudding, sliding over tablecloths and books alike, finally coming to crash very unceremoniously into the Hellhound's ribs. The creature gave a noise somewhere between a yelp and a growl – I wasn't sure which – and hoped to the seventh circle of hell and back that it would understand the circumstances. But still made an effort to shamble back to my feet, brush the debris from my jacket and reorient myself. Death Girl was standing there a little ways off – not bratty death girl, that is – though I made a mental note in the midst of it all to perhaps look at her a bit more kindly in the future. Or her dog, at the very least. (Nestor had never found himself especially enamoured of children – though ageless, scythe-wielding children were perhaps a sight more interesting in the scheme of things.) But then it made sense, the strange stench of the magic. My head began to clear a little, and all in an instant the realisation hit me – or maybe it was simply my muffled hearing returning in full force – that there was still work to be done. Artie had seemingly wasted no time in taking off in a mad dash back into the fray.

“Well played, Miss!” The Demonspawn calls out to the Elfen woman, offering a respectful inclination of his head, before turning and assessing the current situation at hand – just in time to see the first of the statues splinter, begin to topple and then burst into a shotgun of deadly rock shards; he turns and dives back to the marble floor, attempting to bowl the Necromancer over with him.

I wince as I feel the heat of the explosion singe over my back, something hot – painful, scalding brand of iron pressing into my shoulder blades – and then it passes as I stagger back to my feet, winded. Draw a breath.

“I am uncertain how a Necromancer handles business... Some of us... well, we prefer to fly by the seat of our pants...” His words are puncuated by the rocking of the floor beneath them as the second Anubi leaps backward and drives its blade into the floor, sending another wave – this one of molten rock and ash – spewing through the echoing halls of the library. Fortunately not in their direction. Nestor staggers, retains his balance and calls out over his shoulder as he darts toward the nearby rows of shelves: “More often figuratively than the literal of today. And I can't promise I won't need saving again before its over!”

With that, he is gone, moving with an unnerving grace as he slips past the first bank of shelves. (Veti's climb had inspired me, the Golem's launch had invigorated me, and the pulsing adrenaline from the pain that lingered still in my twitching shoulder had intoxicated me. It seemed we needed still to buy the giant a little time to finish his transformation, and my mind was pulsing with idiotic plans at this rate.) Lunching himself from the side of the bookcases, Nestor makes a mad dash across the open floor – his movements are marked by little more than a shadowy blur, a speeding figure seeking to plant himself behind the Anubi before it notices.

A brief moment before breaking from cover, an icy voice whispers from somewhere near Seymon:

“Nice shooting, baldy – seems our Nestor is trying to kill himself again; maybe keep this one distracted hmm?”

Nestor, however, does not seem overly concerned with whether the Wight responds in time or no – his move is already committed – and incapable of making out any of the other operatives in the shower of dust and general haze (aside, of course, from the still mutating form of Dunn, and somewhere a vaguely humanoid shape that might be a golem) – he releases the compact form of a sleek crossbow from its place at his hip; a brisk metal snapping follows, then in a blur he aims into the vague distance above his head and squeezes the trigger. (A neat trick, that – or so I'd always thought – but Veti's mountaineering skills had put my grappling hook to shame... still, would do in a pinch. Would have to get my man to design me a pair of detachable werewolf claws, I thought absently as I began to climb. And why the hell was my shoulder hurting so much?)

The Demonspawn's ascent is rapid, well placed – despite the speed of it all – aiming to put him somewhere in that awkwardly unreachable location just below the shoulder blades; a long, thin knife – blade glowing the same sickly blue as his sword a little while before – is clenched between his teeth. His insignificant size in relation to the giant Anubi now perhaps his only hope, he struggles upward – ascent not abating despite the spike of rock protruding from beneath his right shoulder.

Anastasia let out a shy of relief as they crashed down safely. The landing wasn't perfect but it could have been much worse. She smiled at him returning the nod , she was about to respond but the battle caught back her attention. Everyone around her was attacking this large monster she watched as it launched its self into a millions of pieces of rock that appeared to travel faster then a bullet. She felt her body freeze as she could see them heading towards her, before she could blink she was pushed to the side out of the way of the giant rocks falling from the sky.

She pulled herself out of the daze she had seemed to get stuck in realizing that Nestor had managed to toss her over along with him. Grateful, she smiled at him chuckling at his comment as she pushed herself off the marble floor dust flooding the area around her. " It's the only way to live" she responded. Feeling the ground shake below them she tried to catch her balance, not something that she was overly good at. She looks over to see the Anubi with its sword in the marble ground, she watched as liquid lava , ash and molten rock filled part of the room. She watched Nestor dart back into the action , smiling at his comment before he left. She spoke softly not loud enough for anyone to hear " Don't worry I have your back" she said before dashing towards the action herself.

She watched the others act as if it were second nature, their powers coming easier to them then anything she had seen before. She as slightly jealous, many of these people were much much older then her and had master most of their ablities where as she...well she was still learning. Running back towards them she accidentally bumped into a large bookcase, the small earthquake that the anubi had created rocked the shelves back an forth and unlucky for Anastasia she was about to be stuck under it.

She looked up as the shelf began to tip large books and tomes falling on top of her, it was like a sea of books crashing down from the shelves. She covered her head as she tried to get out but the force and weight of the books brought her to her knees. she moaned in pain as the thick spines fell hitting her in the back, arms head...her entire body was covered in books. When the last one fell she moved her hands throwing the large tomes off of her she was able to wiggle herself out but before she could really react the entire shelf came crashing down the weight and sheer speed of the large rack would kill her instantly. She pushed out fast throwing her rather tiny frame forward. She hit the marble ground thinking she was in the clear until a sharp pain shot up her leg.

Her tiny voice crying out as it engulfed her body she looked over to see the large shelf was on top of her now crushed leg. Telling by the pain it was still attached. She threw her head back as she took a few heavy breaths closing her eyes she cried out as she tried to pull her leg from under the weight. blood began to pool on the floor seeping into the pages of the books that surrounded her leg.

She began to get pissed now, this whole trip was supposed to be for her to gain rep in the company, finally prove herself. She had proven herself alright, she was stuck under a book shelf while the others looked like a bunch of bad asses with their slick powers. No , this wasn't going to happen. Her body lite up in flames like the fourth of July weekend. The green flames dancing over her skin as her eyes narrowed on the shelf, blackened with anger she lifted her arm. " Vicar drum!" she shouted as the fire erupted into a small explosion sending not only the books but shards of the shelf flying around her in a 5 meter radius.

Pulling her leg towards her body she ripped off the bottom of her sweater and wrapped it tightly around the wound that was on her leg, Her leg appeared the be only sprained, thankfully due to the fact that she was not human. If she were human, heavens knows what would have happened to her leg. Pulling herself up using a drape that was hung from the ceiling she looked over to see what was happening with the rest of the group, especially Nestor. She watched him carefully, in case she did need to jump in and save his ass again, although you wouldn't hear her complain.

Semyon allowed himself a small sense of satisfaction as the construct's eyes dimmed. Every being had a weak point after all, even to tiny pieces of fast-moving lead. Now if Anslem could get the leverage to trip it up, they cou-

Ah, Sethan had taken the initiative himself. True to the title he wo-

Oh. Sethan had just been launched out of sight.

Concern flashed through the Wight's mind, but he couldn't act on it, not now. Sethan was undead -a powerful undead- so it was unlikely that blow did any real injury. Semyon's immediate concern for now, however, was the wave of fire and rocky shrapnel the blinded construct was throwing up at... well... everyone.

Cannot select a target? Hit everything you can. Created being or not, this statue knew combat.

Rising from his crouch, Semyon spared half an instant to glance about the battlefield, then moved. Legs drove against the ground in a sudden, fierce sprint as the undead soldier bolted to, then up the stone shelves on his left. He scaled the grand architecture in steady leaps, shelf-by-shelf, one had helping keep his balance while the other kept his weapon trained on the construct. Pebbles and sputtering embers bounced off his form, but he had climbed high enough, the true danger of the construct's attack unable to do more than spit in anger at his actions.

From up there, as he looked to judge the conditions of his comrades, a voice suddenly whispered by his ear. Belonging to the ethereal form of a strange woman seemingly unconcerned of Semyon's current position, her words gave the Wight his next pressing objective.

Keep Nestor alive? Ah, the volunteer... who was currently charging the blinded construct. Seems he was the kind to repeat a plan until it failed him.

"I won't let him die." Letting go of the shelf above him, Semyon kept his gaze on the sprinting form, even as his own began to tip into empty air. His eyes narrowed as Nestor fired something and began to climb. "But he's badly injured already."

He was in free-fall before the last word left his mouth.

Semyon's weapon spat a pair of quick bursts into the construct's face, then went silent, hammer striking empty air. Tucking it close to his chest, the Wight hit the ground legs first, dropping into a roll an instant before the force would have shattered his bones. He came up in front og the surviving construct, hands already drawing an extended magazine from his coat, swapping out the emptied one and taking aim once more.

"Tamarind!" His voice bellowed out once more, as he kept sight of the werewolf in question. "Look to Nestor at your flank!"

Without knowing how well the construct could hear and judge, that statement would have to be enough. It was blinded, their comrade Nestor seemed to have a plan, but unless Semyon's eyes were mistaken, he was in poor condition. Tamarind was closest, she'd be able to more accurately judge and give assistance, if needed.

As for Semyon, he kept position ahead of the construct, weapon trained upon it's eyes. They were pitted and darkened by gunfire, but if they ignited once more, for whatever reason, he had more bullets ready.

The Library of Alexandria

The Library of Alexandria reverberated with the roaring sounds of otherworldly combat; sounds that had not been heard inside of its walls for hundreds of years. Isis, sterilized from her power by the very essence of the library, hovered above the battle upon her wings. She rejoiced with a sharp trill when the first Anubi fell into a cascading heap of onyx shards, only to have her fears renewed as the second withdrew to send a wave of fire and rock across the library.

White hot chunks of stone shot out from the wave, igniting books, demolishing shelves, and cracking several of the great columns that supported the ceiling. Clouds of dust and ash fell to meet the rising tendrils of smoke and burning pieces of papyrus. Screams and cries of the other patrons of library added to the symphony of destruction, until a much more sobering sound met Isis’ ears.

She shifted her eyes to the walls where the sound had emanated, banking her wings to bring her within just mere feet of the relief-cut stone. As she flew, she noticed that human-sized depictions of scarab beetles lined the base of the walls, and they extended in all directions into the vastness of the library. These scarabs could be seen shuddering even now, quaking amidst the stone like small volcanoes before eruption.

The guardians! she thought.

One of the beetles broke away from their stone haven, then another, and still another. Isis had to take her flight path away from the wall’s surface to avoid the bodies of the emerging guardians. They chittered and cried, their ethereal, insect-like sounds rising in a crescendo until it was almost as loud as the sounds of combat that had heralded them. As they emerged their thick carapaces split, revealing gossamer wings and humanoid arms and legs outfitted with razor-sharp protrusions. They moved everywhere now, crawling upon the walls and floors, in the air and upon the ceiling. Their sheer number formed a living wave that undulated and rose; descending with fatal intent upon those that threatened the library.

Isis let out a cry of warning to the B&H agents embroiled with the Anubi. Time was no longer on their side. She banked away, beating her wings to propel her back towards the gargantuan onyx creature. Though she had no powers, nothing to aid in frontal assault to her companions own efforts, she was a goddess of Egypt, and though she may be destroyed in this form, she could never truly die. It was time for her to do something, to save Max, to save the ankh.

With a screech she dove, tucking her wings to her side, and in a flash she was before the blinded Anubi. Her talons came up to claw at the creatures face and deformed eyes. Faced with the disorientation of being attacked on all sides, the Anubi roared in rage and confusion. His arms swung the sword in wild, ineffectual arcs.

“You must go!” Isis' voice filled the minds of the company. “The guardians have been awoken, and they will smash all of you to dust.” She dived away from a cluster of guardians that appeared before her, picking up speed as she descended before pumping her wings to set her up for another pass at the Anubi’s face.

“Please,” Isis said again, “the doorway to the vaults is unguarded. Go! Find the ankh, and return your friend. The guardians will finish off this stone demon.”

And with that, she tucked her wings, let out another shrill cry, and thrust herself back into the fray.

Veti clung like a giant red tick to the face of the blinded anubus, ebony claws buried unshakably in its face. She groaned deep in her throat, in dreadful time with the blast wave that followed, losing any hope of sight of Daisy and Artie, Semyon, Nestor... The golem? The strangely gentle-seeming rusalka and that idiot mummy and the pale, high-strung elf he couldn't stop himself molesting? All lost beneath rock and rubble, hidden even from her sight and senses.

From her perch on the anubus' face, she was spared the worst of the magical fires, but none of the panic that threatened to squeeze her heart in a vise of terror.

"Daisy? DAISY!?" she howled, though she might never know if even her powerful voice could carry over the tons of crumbling stone and plaster, and the supernatural inferno created by the anubus' khopesh. "Nestor? SEMYON!?" Amber eyes frantically scanned the settling rubble and -

"Tamarind!" If she weren't a giant, heavily-muscled bad-ass werewolf bitch on a mission, she might have teared up, just a little, with relief. Semyon still stood at the least - and Nestor! Nestor was doing some crazy ass damn thing or other just beyond her sight, but when the hell wasn't he a fucking lunatic? It was half his charm.

And if he needed a distraction to do whatever the hell it was that crazy bastard had in mind, Veti had his back. In a single swift motion she holstered the Desert Eagle and then pulled her freed up arm back, cocked with all the unspeakable, obscene strength and power in a werewolf's limbs, and slammed her fist into the stone giant's head. Again. Again and again and again.

Veti had no idea if these constructs actually had anything like a brain within these seeming skulls, or could feel anything like pain, but the werewolf's every blow tore away great chunks of its head, as if she'd drill straight to its brain. Whatever the hell Nestor was up to back there, Veti was going to make damn sure, this thing had no chance in hell of noticing any goddamn thing at all, but the werewolf knocking oh-so-politely at its fucking skull.

It was the voice of a goddess ringing through her head, the words of Isis the only thing that could have pulled Veti at that moment from drilling herself straight through the anubus' head if she had to.

The Guardians.

Smash all of you to dust.

Yeah, that got through. From the corner of her eye, the werewolf saw the divine kite swoop and dive, attacking the construct her very self. In that instant Veti the woman knew she might always regret never having the chance to spend more time in Her presence, but the Wolf obeyed without question.

In a flash she was up and over the back of the anubus' onyx skull, knowing she'd find Nestor on the other side. Without even so much as a 'salutations and how do you do?' Veti leapt for the demonspawn, enclosing him in her powerful arms, wrapping his body to her chest protectively and taking the most direct route to the ground below she could think of.

Straight down.

The impact from such a height with the broken marble floor would have shattered the spine, the skull and the pelvis of any natural creature in the known world. Thank every unnatural magic known to her lover's prodigious and brilliant mind, werewolves were anything but "entirely natural." The breath whooshed out of her in a rush, the agony burning like hellfire to tell her there'd be great, purple bruises for days and days the length of the woman's back - but Veti rolled to her side, releasing Nestor from her cradling grip to the floor beside them.

The werewolf groaned deep in her throat, managing to get to all fours as she shook her head, clearing it swiftly before her eyes scoured the choking clouds of ash and plaster. "Daisy!? ARTIE!?" she cried, straining to catch any sight of bubblegum pink and ebony.

As the gigantic blade inched closer, Adam regretted his feline Optimus would have no more cookies of the girl scout variety. Well, unless Adam’s head knitted itself back together. The golem had never had his head cloven in two, so he could not say what the expectation of survival was for such a case. Fortunately, he did not have to learn.

The golem blinked in expressionless golem amazement as a giant … canine … devilish thing came to the rescue. The hissing and smoking devil-canine flesh was somewhat alarming, and the beast did not seem overly thrilled to be sharing the brunt of the oversized khopesh, but the assistance was sorely needed. And Adam found himself sorely grateful.

“Thank you,” he breathed out heavily, almost like a rumbling sigh.

The strain from above lessened somewhat, and the tremors that wracked the golem’s strength gradually subsided to something more manageable. With the help of the monstrous canine, the golem slowly stood, regaining his feet, lifting the khopesh inexorably away.

Then Adam heard the pink-haired woman child hollar something. See Three Pee Oh? Puzzled, Adam glanced around, but he could not see what the girl addressed. He saw no one urinating, let alone three. Not even the dark-skinned man that wandered by, spoke a kind word, and went about his business. Huh.

Adam didn’t get much longer to mull it. The Anubi’s weight shifted as it was assaulted on other fronts, particularly the leg. The weight of the khopesh suddenly vanished, and Adam glanced to the monstrous hellhound that had helped him, offering a small-giant shrug. Then much seemed to happen at once. Flashing of light, boiling Anubi flesh like lava, Bain & Hoyle members arcing through the air. Crumbling statues, a spinning water … thing. A sprinkler? Adam cocked his head, but he appreciated the way it extinguished the flames. Even if the flames did scorch the tips of his dress shoes slightly.

The golem lost his footing as the shockwave rocked through the library, and he barely avoided a splash of lava. Rubble was falling by the time the golem ponderously rose to his feet again. Rubble was falling … and more guardians were awakening. Adam heard Isis’ warning loud and clear, and even he knew that staying would be against anyone’s best interests. He glanced towards the doorway to the vaults, then back to the battlegrounds.

Starting forward at a lumbering but tireless jog, Adam collected whoever he could and whoever needed a lift in his large, powerful arms, and made his way for the entrance to the vaults.

Atticus was the last of his colleagues to react, and it allowed him to view the full, violent fury of their retort. The Nixie that was holding the knife was immediately impaled upon Raleigh’s antlers, moments before Henry—in all his natural glory—fully removed the water spirit from the realm of the living. Her body, still skewered upon the antlers of the dryad, began to wilt, and then subsequently disintegrate into a vast pool of acrid water, as if her body were a giant sponge being wrung dry by unseen hands. Her voice carried an ear-splitting wail throughout the cavern until, in mere moments, she died.

The other Nixie, the one that had been whispering her honeyed-sorcery into Aislinn’s ear, faired little better as Siya struck her like a tiny fanged bullet. She flew back, striking the wall with enough force to send a spider web of cracks in the granite walls. Atticus could see that though mortally wounded, the Nixie was not yet dead. Her breath game in agonal gasps accompanied with dark blood oozing from her mouth.

Atticus had a thought, and he began to move towards the injured Nixie when Dr. Blair called to him, speaking about the need for his own life-force to aid the dying werewolf. Reginald Hoyle answered for him, anticipating what Atticus was intending to do.

“Get what you can from that bitch, Atticus,” Hoyle said, moving to kneel beside his sister and the Doctor. He looked to the supernatural physician, “Take what you need from me, all of it if necessary. Do what needs to be done to save her.”

With a pit of hateful sadness in his gut, Atticus turned away to leave Hoyle and the Doctor to their grim work. He covered the distance to the wounded Nixie quickly, and planted a firm grip upon her shoulders. Bending to look into her eyes, eyes that seemed to be crystalized oceans ensconced in white, Atticus let the full force of his own magic build within him. What he was about to attempt he feared would not work against a being so magical as the Nixie, but he had to try.

“Heed my words, you rotten, soggy bitch,” Atticus said, his voice filled with malice, but equally laced with the lustful power inherent to his kind. “Who sent you here, how did you find this place, and what was your full intent? Speak quickly!”

The actual phrasing of Atticus’ words meant nothing when fueled by the flames of his magical ability. To the Nixie, all she would truly hear was an overwhelming tug of lust and dark desire, enough so that hopefully Atticus could draw from her the answers he desired.

“I…” the creature began, her expression eerily carnal despite the river of blood flowing from her mouth. “We…were sent by the Lady of Ice…” The Nixie bent forward, as if trying to kiss the incubus. Atticus thrust her back against the wall.

“Go on.”

“We were told…told that there was a she-wolf that needed to be culled…and…and,” the Nixie broke her speech for a moment to cough up another flood of black blood. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and her breaths gasped even louder.

“No!” Atticus roared, his magic at its most intense. “How did you find her?!”

For a long moment Atticus thought the water spirit had finally died. Her breathing had stopped, and her blue irises were just barely visible beneath her upper eyelids. Then, as if pulled back from the gates of hell, she came to life once more, just enough to gasp out six more words.

“The mark, we followed the mark.”

Then, as her sister had done, the Nixie died. She diminished into a puddle of watery filth, leaving nothing but questions in her wake, and Atticus raging for lost answers.

Mila dodged another barrage of flying debris and stone, realizing she couldn't keep this up forever. Like many of of the others employees of Bain & Hoyle the Rusalka was also knocked off her feet by the shockwave of the Anubi. She had managed to douse most of the flames but it did not stop the flying rocks or the wave of energy ripping through the halls. The impact rivaled the one she'd experienced colliding the bookcase, the same numbing sensation coming from her back on which she landed. She struggled to get up, trying to catch her breath.

Leaning on a large piece of the fallen structures Mila spotted one of her team members, she was down on the ground, an improvised bandage on her leg. Mila doubted she could move very fast on her own and if their situation wasn't perilous enough Isis's warning made it even more so. Thousands scarabs crawled on the walls like a sea of shimmering turquoise. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. If they reached them before they could make it to the other side beyond the Anubi they were done for. To die of a scarab was a horrible way to go. She had been told they would eat you from the inside out. While she wasn't afraid of death, on the contrary really she was ready for it. Being eaten wasn't her preferred way to go.

Before she went to help the elven necromancer, Mila made a crazy dive back into the fray to fetch her comb. Her most prized possession in a desert such as the ones in Egypt. Making a run for it she gracefully evaded a pair of scarabs flying at her.

She reached the elven necromancer and had to catch her breath before speaking. "Are...." "You alright?" She said with a serious look on her face. The Rusalka saw the stone man who had been afraid of flying march past them in a steady but slow pace. Maybe it would be best if he took the elf with him. His name was Adam, or so she remembered.

"Adam!" She called to him. "Can you take her with you? We're faster that way" The sooner they were through the gates the better.

Nestor gives a stunned grunt as Veti appears unannounced from behind the Anubi's looming skull; he throws his hands up in surprise from whatever he had been in the midst of doing, right darting instinctively to his sword... and then she is upon him, wrapping her arms around and careening over the edge without so much as a word. He appears to calm nearly instantly, realising who his new 'attacker' happens to be, and squirming restlessly about in her grip he attempts to reposition his wounded shoulder, wincing notably when their combined weight crashes to the hard stone floor below. (A fall from a hundred feet -is- a fall from a hundred feet, after all, whether cushioned by near thirty stone of werewolf flesh or no)

The Demonspawn stifles a cry as Veti finally releases him, rolling and jostling to an eventual stop on his side, one hand splayed against the ground, the other clasping something to his chest. Offering a quirk of the lips caught halfway between a smile and a snarl, he gasps out:

“You might have warned me, Wolf Girl! My thanks all the same...” With that he collapses onto his back, winces – immediately regrets the motion – drawing his right shoulder up a few inches from touching the floor before adding: “And at least I still have -this-” Raising fist from his chest, he gleefully spreads his fingers – the metallic shine of a what appears to be a small detonator resting in the midst of his palm. A laugh follows – then coughing, wheezing, the dragging in of a breath and then laughing again – he staggers to his feet, turns and begins lurching away from the enraged behemoth even as he jams a thumb down against the top of the device.

The crackling burst of a sudden explosion momentarily cuts out the sounds of the surrounding mayhem; Nestor does not even bother to turn and see if his parting gift made so much as a dent – rather, just smiles broadly at Veti through the telltale shower of rocks and broken bits of rubble as they come showering down from all about, then calls out in a choking rasp, even as he turns to begin a mad dash toward the Golem – and, ultimately – the door:

“She was last near Adam, was she not?

First there were falling rocks, and then there were flaming rocks, and yeah, it had only been a few minutes, but Daisy was so totally over Egypt already.

"Oh. My. God," she muttered to herself as the first dog-statue-thing erupted into murder-y shards directly over her head. "Are not these things, like, forever old? Can we maybe act like adults and not throw rocks?"

And then several things were happening at once. To his credit, Artie saw the danger long before Daisy did. To hers, it was mostly because she was staring in annoyance at the Graphite Giant, who had clearly not gotten her joke. Which was of course just totally par for the course. She wasted all her best material on these people.

"Figures," she grumbled, seemingly obliviously to the increased chaos tumbling on around her. "I -- "

Artie came from nowhere, bowling them both over with his enormous mass. Daisy swore again, but it was lost in a mouthful of sandstone.

It wasn't exactly that Daisy was hard to kill. For one thing, she was already dead, so that counted against her. Or for her, depending on how you chose to look at things. She certainly wasn't invincible, by any stretch of the imagination. In general, she was afforded all the same protections mortals were, depending on her form...which, at the moment, was that of a pink-haired teenager. Highly susceptible, in other words, to falling rocks and gouts of flame.

Fortunately, being dead had its benefits. Chief among which was an inherent ability to give no fucks over wounds of the 'flesh'. Mostly because that flesh was sorta immaterial already. Lose a limb? Well, that was kind of a bummer, and you should probably be more careful next time. There would be pain, and even loss of blood, because on this side, you had a job to do and a reputation to keep. But on the other side, injuries meant nothing, not even to mortals. You were dead or dying already. What was a splinter going to do? It was a neat trick to be able to disappear for a few moments and come back, if a little exhausted, then with all four limbs intact.

There weren't many members of B&H that could do her any really lasting harm. The immortals would have a better chance than most. The fucking mummy could throw a wrench in the works. And as much as she was certain she hated her, she wasn't so foolish as to think the necromancer elf was harmless. Daisy had a decent hold over Death herself, being dead and a Reaper. But those that could stand on the warm side of the line and still control Death? That made Daisy a little antsy.

But it was the Wight that really scared her. Well. 'Scared' was the wrong word. Not because it didn't fit the situation -- it did, along with words like 'terrified', 'alarmed', 'disturbed', and 'petrified', as well as the modifiers 'the ever-loving shit out of' -- but because it was a stupid word, and she liked it about as much as she liked admitting to her fear.

Of course, that was neither here nor there. Right now, 'here' was half-smothered under her giant, overprotective mutt of a hellhound, and 'there' was relative safety...just beyond Veti's incessant shouting, and beyond that, the voice of God(dess)Bird echoing loud in her head.

"Oh. My. GOD," Daisy grunted again as she finally dragged herself from under a still-growling Artie, both of them more or less no worse for wear. "Why are we all yelling?"

So, giant stone/metal dude had already bolted. Only silence from him. The mummy was gone, too, which was kind of hilarious, maybe he was being crushed to mildly-attractive death by these giant ass beetles the sexy bird had warned about.

Her only real answer was from Artie, who said nothing, but instead ducked to scoop her onto his broad back. And she didn't argue because the statue-thing's sword had left a gash splashed across his back the length of her arm. That shut her up. Mostly because she wanted to kill something. And Veti was still screaming, and that made her nervous.

Artie found himself by the werewolf's side a second later, for once towering over her as he sniffed around her intrusively and Daisy rolled her eyes at the show of concern...while subtly glancing over the werewolf herself.

"What?" she demanded impatiently, still apparently, like, way too cool to be bothered by the carnage around her. "Why is everyone shouting? It is too hot for that shit."

Sethan's vision, which had been swimming for a few moments, returned to him slowly. What... had just happened? He retraced his memories to try to piece together what had just gone wrong. Slamming into the wall, smashing through several bookshelves, hurtling through the air, being slammed with unholy force by one of the statues, and, ah, here it was, the statue repairing itself from his Proclamation. Sethan quickly devised a theory of why that particular spell had not worked, and he could only assume that Set's minions had some innate resistance to divine venom due to their creator's natural opposition to Apep. These constructs must have been formed a great deal of time ago, as Sethan did not think that Set had enough power in this age to create such powerful minions.

Idly aware of sounds of battle further into the library, Sethan pulled himself out of the pile of rubble that his landing had formed, rising to his feet like a marionette whose strings had just been lifted. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but the statue's attack had not done any serious damage. To the dead king, at least, as his suit jacket was actually ruined. Sethan clicked his tongue in annoyance. Today of all days he had to wear his good Versace. Walking at a brisk pace to rejoin his companions, he discarded his shredded jacket and relocated the thankfully unharmed grimoire that he been tucked within to behind his back, in his waistband. There was no reason that he couldn't be battle-worn and still look good, so he also removed his tie, unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows.

The battle seemed to be well enough at hand, as even Isis was lending a hand, or talon, to the effort. Wait, what had she just said about guardians. Turning around to see the library's defenses emerge, Sethan nearly jumped out of his skin. At the rate that they were emerging, they would be upon him very soon. He was a hardy creature, but being torn limb from limb would still predominantly immobilize him at best. He had to think of something and fast. What kept insects at bay? Pesticides, of course.

Calling once again upon the the most potent of toxins, breathed by the Lord of Serpents and his kin, Sethan Proclaimed. Though now, he did not draw upon the Pillar of Ren, the Name, as he had before. This new Proclamation was instead focused by Sheut, the Shadow. Behind Sethan a great cloak of darkness descended like a robe of impossible length. It thickened and filled a great space behind Sethan as he walked, staying always exactly a pace behind him. It was now clear that he was sowing a miasma of impermeable darkness, which the guardians close behind him were all too eager to surge into. However, this was not merely a poisonous cloud that trailed behind Sethan. Mysterious un-things existed within it, undetectable and unknowable. They struck with otherworldly force upon all that which would do harm upon he whom summoned them. The vicious guardians were torn from this world into the twilight between life and death by these apocryphal shades, granting the God-King a margin of safety from the rapidly-enclosing horde.

However, this did not come without a great deal of effort. Sethan's expression contorted in concentration as he hurried along to the gateway. If he could sweat, it would likely be running down his face in great rivulets. The statues were essentially taken care of, it was only the tide of scarabs that had to be escaped at this point. Sethan was content to bring up the rear, keeping the guardians at bay and buying time, but there was a limit to how long he could keep up this draining Proclamation.

"Hurry now!" He grunted out. "Stay ahead of me and keep moving!"

With the combined power of all four legs, Raleigh speared through the Nixie as if she were made of butter. As it turned out, he wasn’t far off.

His antlers drove through the water spirit’s chest, the force launching the knife from her hand and off into the far cave wall with a loud clang. Her body writhed with agony, taking on an appearance entirely devoid of her former beauty, and humanity. A power seemed to be building within her as Raleigh rode her through. He knew it would be some kind of sound attack and he was defenseless. Shit...

A blue blur shot past. Its silver hair flew behind it like the shimmering pennon of a gallant knight. It was Henry, transformed.

With Henry's killing blow, preventing the sonic blast, the Nixie wilted, her china pallor discolouring to the green-brown of stagnant water and her face desiccated like an Egyptian mummy. The Nixie’s body was becoming flaccid as it hemorrhaged water from every pore and shrunk upon Raleigh’s horns as if punctured. Her dying breaths lacked all the enchantment of her magic, the screams reverberating off the walls in a chaotic dissonance. It thrummed in Raleigh’s ears still as he came to a halt, the creature now nothing more than a puddle of murky water on the floor and a thin varnish on his barbs.

He felt no remorse for his actions. He was a protector by, and of, nature and those who held no sanctity for life should be terminated. Their spirits would live on on another plane and be better for it.

Raleigh turned to see if he was further needed. The young vampiress had dealt with the other Nixie he saw, its body slumped against the wall, on which the force of the impact was clear to see. Dr. Kinnon was addressing the wounded shewolf, calling for Atticus’ aid. Raleigh prayed he hadn’t been too late.

He walked to the pool of filth past Henry who too had transformed to assist him and muttered under his breath in an ancient tongue. He blessed the essence of the deceased spirit almost unconsciously, keeping his ears on what was happening with the dying Nixie and werewolf.

Atticus’ interrogation headed his attention. Raleigh had started to move over – knowing he’d only get in the way of the Doctor’s work – when he heard the first response.

“We…were sent by the Lady of Ice…”

Raleigh had to admit he’d never heard of this ‘Lady of Ice’. Was she another werewolf, or a spirit like the Nixie? Why had she targeted Mr. Hoyle’s sister? What were her further motives? He looked to Henry for answers. Perhaps he’d know, being a water spirit like the two villains.

The grilling continued to a point where the Nixie appeared dead. Of course, she wasn’t yet, otherwise she’d be liquid. A final answer came after an agonising silence.

“The mark, we followed the mark.”

‘The mark’? Raleigh pondered.

“The bone moon you used back in Ardgroom. Could that be the mark? Mr. Hoyle, is there anything else they could mean?” Raleigh looked to Reginald, stooped by his sister whom was rapidly fading away.

Anselm Dunn - Giant of Albion

Dunn's vision cleared, and he looked at the chaos in front of him. Standing a good eighty yards from the battle, Dunn noticed one of the monumental creatures was already defeated. Or was it "already"? How long had the transformation taken? He didn't know. What he did know, was that the other anubis was presently under attack by Dunn's fellow associates. It appeared furious, wildly slashing the massive blade at its tiny opponents. Dunn was soaring. He felt his strength coursing throughout his body. Every transformation was unbelievable painful, yet the feeling of essentially being brought back to life was always worth it. Huge amounts of adrenaline already pumped through Dunn's veins, invigorating his senses as he began to stride forward.

He vaguely heard his name being shouted through the chaos, recognizing the voice of the Russian wight. Trip it up? What was he, a midget? After glancing once again at the towering living statue, Dunn supposed that in this case, he was. He reached out and grabbed a pillar close by, ripping off a good seven meters of it in one go. Wielding it like a huge club, Dunn burst into a run, charging at the freakishly big beast while the goddess appeared, attacking the anubis. With every step, the floor reverberated and cracked beneath Dunn as his pace quickened, his huge strides closing the eighty yard gap fast. And then suddenly, the whole damn library seemed to erupt around him. A huge, hot chunk of stone landed straight in front of Dunn, who stopped in his stride. Flames suddenly licked the walls and shelves as human-sized scarabs came crawling out of the stonework. What the fuck?

And then Isis appeared, spouting warnings of guardians. Dunn saw the other Bain & Hoyle employees scatter from the anubis, hurriedly making their way towards the now unguarded doorway. Behind them, the mummy re-appeared. He did something, and then suddenly an otherworldly darkness started forming at the mummy's feet, as he turned his back on Dunn and started walking towards the doorway. Whatever that darkness was, Dunn guessed he would not want it between him and his goal, opting to pass through the darkness before it grew even thicker.

Hearing the scarabs approaching behind him, Dunn hurled the massive pillar in his hands with great force, sending it flying straight through the on-coming horde. He then started running, quite possibly for his life, clearing the darkness in one, big jump before it swallowed everything in the mummy’s wake. Dunn landed directly in front of the Egyptian - damn near on him - before continuing towards the dark hole that was the doorway.

Turns out, Semyon did not have more bullets ready.

Not for what came now.

So he didn't bother trying, wasting not a single bullet either into the doomed construct before if, nor into the ever-growing crowd behind. They were the guardians of the Library then? He could understand their anger. Though the Wight hadn't directly harmed any of the books himself, he was part of the fight that had all-but leveled the area around them. Of course the custodians would be angry- they had every right to be- Semyon and his comrades were fully in the wrong.

So he didn't try shooting them. It seemed the polite thing to do.

He didn't stand still and accept their punishment either, however. Guilty or not, he and his comrades had a mission to complete. Two missions, neither of which could accept any casualties. Perhaps he'd keep some of the texts Michael found in the next smuggler troves and donate them, later. It wouldn't fix the destruction, but since Semyon wasn't going to be caught by the custodians here, he felt he should give them something, at least.

Hopefully they understood the sentiment.

Sethan's voice cut through the din as Semyon began to move, the Wight taking quick note of the King's shadowy protection- as well as the strained tone of his face. Quickly, then, was best.

Something Anselm seemed to agree with, the giant landing with a great tremor just ahead, making his own way to the potential safety of the darkened doorway. Tamarind had gotten Nestor off the construct, it seemed, both moving quickly ahead. The golem-man was moving as well, one of their comrades in his arms and another by his side. The young woman who he thought had been staring at him in Ireland went dashing ahead upon her... Hellhound?

That was everyone who came to the Library, which spoke well. But now that they had beaten down the guards and angered the custodians, they had to find the Ankh itself... Then find a way to get out.

Hopefully Isis could do that wing-thing again. That had been... did 'nice' work in that context? Close enough, it had been nice. Something he'd do again.

For now, thought, Semyon kept pace just ahead of Sethan, back-stepping quickly with only the occasional look to ensure he didn't run over a comrade, keeping his attention primarily at the writhing mass just behind the undead King. He didn't want to shoot the custodians, but he very much did want his comrades to survive. If he had to pulverize the legs or eyes of a couple stone scarabs with pistol fire to ensure their survival, then that's what he would do.

...Hopefully the scarabs would understand that sentiment as well.

'Adam? Who in the hell was - '

The werewolf reeled back painfully, amber eyes wide as the golem came chugging through like an inexorable freight train, a familiar face or two hanging on and gathered in his arms as he headed for the vault entrance that Isis was doing her erstwhile best to funnel them toward, desperately, like she was forming up a supernatural goddamn herd of cats.

She honestly didn't envy the goddess the job.

Veti wasn't even in the mood to appreciate the sublime appropriateness that the golem's name was "Adam." Of course his name was Adam.

And of course even banged up and beaten to hell, dropped on top of a werewolf flesh mattress from about a hundred feet up or so - and God only knew what the hell had happened before he decided to scale the anubus for whatever the hell passes for "reason" in the mind of the demonspawn - Nestor was still the most delightfully crazy bastard she'd ever known. Big grin firmly planted on that worn face, and the detonator in hand, Veti couldn't help but file this moment away in her head to share with Max when they saw him again.

Max. Thadd. The werewolf's impossible grin widened when yet another explosion ripped through the air, all the demonspawn's making, as she held out a now-dusty, red-furred and muscular arm for him to grab onto. The way that right arm was hanging from his shoulder didn't look quite... right.

"What?" Snappy response and bubblegum pink attitude and all, cutting through the cacophony of destruction raining down on their heads - and Veti STILL wanted to snatch Daisy off poor Artie's suspiciously too-bloody back, and hug her tightly, and make sure the Reaper was really all right. "Why is everyone shouting? It is too hot for that shit!"

Ugh. Fucking teenagers. They even conflicted the shit out of the adults who love them. Veti bit back the sudden, inexplicable urge to tell Daisy to watch her damn language, shrugging her enormous, broad shoulders in a gesture parental/grown adult figures throughout the ages would have long-recognized, understood and commiserated with. Instead, she just lifted one thick, muscular arm and pointed toward the vault entrance before lumbering with Nestor into its confines after Semyon. Something about these man-sized scarab Guardians screamed "keep at range," and she trusted her instincts - and the Wight's judgment - enough to draw the Desert Eagle again as they retreated, ready to shatter a carapace or two. Or a dozen. At least. No sense in limiting oneself after all.

Siya’s momentum and aim proved true and she struck the Nixie with deadly force and sent the wet bitch flying when she popped out from in-between. The Nixie struck with wall of the cave with a satisfying noise, impact and wet though there was not the delicious tang of blood to fill the air and sweeten her victory. Her expenditures had been considerable and she had not fed all that recently so it was something of a disappointment to her until she breathed in deep and past the briny scent of the dying Nixies she caught the rich, feral scent of werewolf blood.

She had taken a step towards the fallen woman before she caught herself and she closed her all black eyes and bit her lip with a hungry whine, her tiny fangs making indents in the soft flesh. She swallowed and made herself move in the other direction, away from the fallen woman and the men protecting her and towards Atticus and her latest victim. She stood just behind him and looked over her handiwork, letting her satisfaction distract her from her hunger and the blood behind her. Old, ancient blood, rich with power, with life. Wasted as it spilled to the hungry earth…

She made another noise and moved to put her hand on Atticus’ shoulder to lend him support when he interrogated the dying thing. It might have been a mistake. She heard, or rather felt the power of his words and though they were not directed at her she could still feel it simply by being in proximity to him. She was weak, so weak and hungry and the very air around him thrummed with his dark aura. The aura that had last touched her in a long night that had left her wrung out and sated in ways she still couldn’t articulate.

She stepped back just to keep herself from leaping on him, twining herself around him and making a general spectacle of herself and potentially interfering with the interrogation. But even that didn’t help, not even a little because the Nixie started to fade, her gasping words leaving so many things unanswered that his frustration, so delicious, so perfect, joined his aura. She gasped and dropped to her knees, her hands clutching her belly as his power and anger roared around her, raging like the ink on his skin.

Adam was so elated someone called his name for help (meaning the corner of his lip twitched minimally upward) that he nearly careened into a stone pillar. As such, he took a nasty chunk out of it as he redirected his ponderous flight in the direction of the voice. His glinting black eyes sought out the source and quickly landed upon one of the red-heads, the talented young woman with the mobile sprinkler system (Mila).

His heavy footsteps quickly thudded him to the woman and an injured Bain & Hoyle employee -- another woman, this one with white hair and lilac eyes and a wrapping around her leg (Anastasia). “I am going to touch you now,” Adam informed politely as his big hand reached for the white haired one. Without even waiting for an answer, he hauled the injured girl up under his arm, his forearm wrapped around her middle -- even if he did have her head facing behind him.

Misinterpreting Mila’s “we’re faster that way” comment, the golem figured she wanted a lift too and also picked up the red-haired Rusalka under his other arm -- he had her head facing in front of him, at least.

"Hold on," he said, even though there wasn't really anything to hold onto.

Both women securely under wraps, Adam began ponderously jogging his way toward the doorway to the vaults. An explosion from behind made the golem momentarily duck his head, but the blast was not close enough to stagger him. He kept on trucking for the exit.

“Hello, friend Nestor,” said Adam calmly as Nestor blew by him. The golem was pleased that he had not accidentally turned Nestor into a bloody smear on the ceiling. Talk about a bad case of golem embarrassment. It would be more embarrassing than the time Adam had accidentally shaken a door-to-door religion-salesman’s hand right off. Adam still regretted how the first gush of blood had hit the poor man’s companion square in the eye. Oops.

More scarabs were coming down…

Fortunately, there was a dark cloud of doom to stall them, as well as a giant, and several pops from undead bullets. Adam lumbered at a steady canter past the giant red wolf-woman and the pink-haired child. The pink-haired child scout was looking grumpy again. Adam wracked his golem brain for something to say to cheer her up in the dire situation. Then it came to him.

“Optimus enjoys your Do-si-dos,” the golem told Daisy with a grave kindness as he steadily thumped past, two Bain & Hoyle women dangling from his arms.

Then, finally, he was in the gate… with everyone else, soon enough. Hopefully.

Anastasia Leaned up against the column as she watched the others running away from her. No one seemed to even notice she was injured. Perhaps she should just stay here, bleed out. Then she could join the spirits that so desperately wanted her. She could hear them now, mocking her, laughing at her pain. She looked up to see one that was dressed in Egyptian rags. She looked up as the man stood in a distance from her, watching her with blackened eyes

" weak, pathetic elf. " " Just die" " Die Die Die"

She sighed heavily as she looked away trying to ignore the sounds of the spirits. The taunting voices pissed her off, she looked up at the one particular Egyptian man her eyes black as the night.

" You do not command me, i command you!" she shouted angerly at it. She was interrupted by a red headed women who came to her side. Anastasia was taken aback by the attention. She didn't think anyone would have even realized that she was injured or not with the group of people that had taken off already. "Oh, I'm okay .. thanks. It is just a scratch" she said as she took a step her body limping as she held back the pain hiding it on her face. She would be damned if she would be known as the weak link in this party.

When Mila called out for Adam she looked at the large golem " Oh no...really i'm-" she was interrupted by the mans large arm wrapping around her. She felt her legs lift off the ground floating as if she were a feather. Her head facing away from the Golems face she sighed heavily 'great' she thought ' this looks like a scene out of lord of the rings and i'm the hobbit...' she thought. She never really liked thous movies, she hated how the humans thought of her race.

As they walked she looked over to see milas feet dangling and Adams 'rock hard' butt. She looked to the right away from all the action it was far to much for this sheepish elf to deal with in a day.

Henry saw it all happen so fast. The centaur (Or was he a dryad. Henry wasn't a expert on greek styled Fair folk.) moved so infernally fast that Henry had to use every ounce of power to keep even pace. There was a pang of sympathetic pain bubbling within him as those antlers plunged trough the Nixie like a multi-pronged spear of death. But that very basic connection also warned him, the Nixie still had it's voice. And a nixie would not be above dragging out her death to lay one last curse or blast the hearing of her killer to kingdom come. The Näck was filled with something akin to rage and with a speed he didn't know he could muster, he blurred across the cavern floor like bullet and his hand clamped over the mouth of his kin. As he did he felt something run trough him like a spike of sudden energy and emotion. Cold hatred but also fear, disappointment and utter resignation at her fate. Nixies were evil and soulless by human standards. But they were also feeling things, just like Henry was. To bad their rivers had not opted to give them a moral compass the way his river had done Henry. The moment that split second of contemplation and emotional feedback died, Henry pulled at the womans head, and the force of the Centaurs charge did the rest. There was no snapping sound, but he could feel it as her neck twisted in a nasty way. She was already dead by the time she had faced a Dryad, but at least this way it was quicker.

As Henry felt her wilt and turn into puddle of rank, foul smelling water he could not contain the disgust he felt. He looked at it, eyes narrow and his nose stinging with the repugnant smell as he crouched over the puddle. He touched the water, and he could feel its surfaced creased, the oxygen in the water was slowly disappearing, like life was leaving it all together.

“I knew my kind always lacked love for mortals. But for them to get involved with Lupine politics.. And these two were as vile as they co-” He stopped himself as a name was mentioned. It was the Centaur who asked him about The Ice Lady and Henry had failed to overhear the interrogation from Atticus so the sudden question made him freeze in place. He simply stared at the other creature, the siren still as the grave before he looked over to Hoyle. When he spoke, his voice was strangely silent, quivering almost. “I told you... She would come for us” And then a year of not being able to sleep properly, to always feel like he was one step away from certein doom and the nagging ghost of past experiences came crashing onto the back of Henry like the world on Atlas shoulders. And the otherwise calm and collected Henry, explosed.

”You knew she was involved. Both of you knew!” As he spoke as anger started to well up. The look in his eyes was completely alien compared to before and his voice held no soothing tones or pleasant subtleties. Those blues was full of pain and terrible, pure rage. His eyes reached Atticus and they accused him for this, that much was clear. ”By the rivers Atticus! I spent a year in exile trying to rid myself of her sorcery and I spent my time so far removed from my rivers and place of power that I almost fucking died!” Henry was furious, livid and hurt. Furious that he was forced into the whims of the witch of a woman who already cost him everything once. Livid that he had let himself be led here in the dark. And hurt that neither Atticus or Hoyle had warned him before hand, when they knew fully well what that woman done to him in the past.

The images of a pale, Blackhaired woman bleeding to her death flashed before his eyes. A woman clad in ice and blue silk standing in the pool of blood. The Blue lady, The Ice lady. Ylva of The Frost has many names but to Henry it was all the same. The bane of his existence, the woman who cost him everything. He knew this day was gonna come, but if she had Nixies doing her bidding then she no longer had any need for a Näck like himself. Meaning she was going to simply proceed to dismantle his life again, hunt him and kill everything around him. And just how far had her reach extended that she even had Nixies doing her bidding. What kind of powers did she wield that the bastard in the Werewolves highest echelon do business with her? The thoughts were swivelling trough his head like a storm with no center, a chaotic breakdown of the essence that made Henry the sane, pleasant creature he usually was. When he finally looked up from the puddle at his feet his eyes fastened at Hoyle again. They were cold, fear and fury in a uneven mix behind the glistening, unnatural blue hues. He seemed to simmer down a little, but he looked none the less unpleasant.

“I told you, when I saved you a year ago.” His voice left his lips as a silent ominous and completely inhuman whisper. ”She won't stop until everyone is dead or subjugated.” His voice was eerily alike that of the Nixies he just helped kill. ”The Lady of Ice, Sovereign in the North, comes for all of us now, we killed her subjects, we stopped her plan. She takes it seriously and very personal. I hope you all are ready for a war, because the spawn of Niffleheim sure is. I have no doubt we just played into her plan with coming here. Well except for the good Doctor saving your sister Hoyle. That is gonna piss her off.”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the calm and collected part of him screemed at him to calm down. That the enemy was out there, not here. But the sired would not listen, not even when Atticus clealy had to deal with Siya, and the fact that there was still the matter of Hoyles sister. Henry was like a cornered animal.