Night's Omen

"What is a 'gharl'?  You've both said it multiple times, and I don't think in regards to the same creature," Jill pointed out, looking between the two men.  Gareth's mouth widened into one of his generous but sharp smiles, regarding Nicolas shrewdly past the drink he'd nearly raised as far as his lips. 

He was still a bloody mess, but it was mostly dried and he'd ditched his boots in the kitchen after Jill had taken one look at them both and insisted that they come in through the garage.  Anything that dusted off of them could be wiped or vacuumed up, but disgusting shoes on the carpet was a step too far.  Part of Gareth thought that she might insist on cleaning up first, given the fact that both he and Nicolas (especially him, if he was honest) were coming back in rough shape, but she'd taken her cue from him and offered wine right off the bat.  She'd also been delightful conversation and a spectacular hostess, without comment as to his ruined shoulder and whatever damage his clothes and armor was keeping pressure on.  He appreciated it, and was going to appreciate her helping him peel off everything he was wearing later even more.

"Yes, Nicolas, please tell our lovely historian what a gharl is, and the extremely scientific method you used to name them," he said.  Based upon the instant indignance that Nicolas drummed up, which was immediately after covered up with a tilt of his head up and a haughty tone for show, it was safe to assume that it had been a time.

"A gharl is a catch-all term for critter monsters, the kind that are scavengers and show up to the roadkill after carnage or the ones that hang around a bigger monster to do its bidding or in the hopes that there will be scraps.  Some of the smaller types of goblins fall into it, gremlins, more fae than I can count, lots of things," Nicolas said, tone turning dismissive by the end.  Gareth hummed, smile appearing again.

"And why do we call them that?" he prompted.

"Oh, come off it, you could tell her instead of playing this game, if you weren't such an awful storyteller.  Stingy on the details, I'm sure you've noticed," Nicolas said, looking to Jill for confirmation that he didn't need.  Gareth had always been very to the point, and when he gave information or told stories, it was the facts.  Nicolas loved a good story, and so he did the exact opposite.  "We call them 'gharls' because it's the sound most of them make at some point or other, it's always growling and hissing and strange sounds inbetween, gharling.  During a fight with a very nasty being that we won't name because he does listen for that, I swung the flat side of my axe to clear a path and swatted at least seven of the beasties--"

"Five at most," Gareth interjected, taking a long swig of his drink like this was usual.  They'd been large and had sharp teeth and claws, so even five was impressive, but he couldn't help himself.  He'd been correcting Nicolas' 'added details' since the storytelling had begun.

"It was ten, with more coming in to fill the space left by their brethren.  They were making all manner of awful noises, and I shouted, 'GHARL RIGHT BACK AT YOU, YOU LITTLE SHITTING GHARLS.'  It was not the most eloquent of speeches--"

Gareth snorted audibly.

"BUT I tend to let my axe do the talking, and Gareth was in a state at the time."

"In his defense, he was bleeding from every orifice in his skull and the gharls had tried cutting new holes for him," Gareth offered helpfully.  "I'd been stabbed."

"Stabbed?  He was pinned to the wall on a spike as big around as a baseball bat, and still stabbing gharls with his dagger," Nicolas pressed loudly.

"Okay, that isn't an embellishment," Gareth conceded with a slight tilt of his head, then finished his drink.

"How does your state then compare to tonight?" Jill asked as she sipped at her wine, and while she'd been drinking right along with them, Gareth had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't as much, likely intentionally.  She was no nurse, but her travels had taught her enough to handle injuries, and he could bet she was holding back for that reason, especially after the question.

"I was not stabbed tonight."

"Nope, just caught in the jaws--"

"Nicolas --"

"--of a giant nightmare dragon.  Shook him around like a dog with a rabbit, his sword halfway down its throat the only thing keeping it from biting him in two," the man finished, definitely further into his cups than Jill or Gareth, and Gareth regarded him with some strange mixture of irritation and fondess.  Nicolas had been in a fantastic mood since the fight had started, even getting knocked around as they had, so drinking and telling stories was absolutely part of his after party.  Gareth was less inclined to share the gritty details, especially when Jill looked at him with her eyebrow cocked up like that, but he also wasn't inclined to silence Nicolas.  Details about big events was what Jill thrived on, and he understood that despite Bacchus being gone on her command, she was still very interested in the state of affairs in Midnight and its downfall. 

"I had it under control," he offered, to which Nicolas laughed, but not unkindly.

"That you did.  Stabbed that bastard in the eye half a dozen times, didn't you?  Only reason you didn't kill him then was because Niall was hiding himself somewhere else in the illusion is my only guess," Nicolas said, shaking his head.  Gareth snorted, but they had already established on the way home that neither of them understood the particulars of Niall's ability.

"He's dead, though, right?"

"Hopefully.  Gareth put his sword through his heart and Alexander took his head off, so that should be pretty dead," Nicolas said, but he hadn't said for certain, and Gareth's jaw clenched, thinking back to the shadows that had taken the vampire.  Jill seemed to catch on the lack of absolute certainty in the word 'hopefully', and Gareth sighed.

"Niall was very dramatic throughout the fight, summoning gharls and changing his shape.  The entire room was a nightmarescape from the walls to the ceilings, so it's possible that he was just very dramatic in his death throes.  It's also possible that something else happened, but that would be very bad and we're not humoring it tonight."

Namely because they were exhausted and drinking, and because talk of Taranis had to be very careful lest the entity himself take notice.  That was the last thing they needed, especially if the dark man was already poking his nose around the area.  Gareth also hadn't forgotten about the phoenix flares, and he knew that Nicolas hadn't, either.  A phoenix dying would only mean more trouble, and it meant Nicolas wasn't going to be leaving town anytime soon. 

"A different story, Nicolas," Gareth prompted, eager to move the conversation away from the night's events and the injuries that were currently hurting.  "Something that isn't sore right now.  You promised the lady."

"A promise is a promise!" Nicolas agreed, and then he was off.  Gareth was content to go back to just drinking, occasionally offering corrections.

  "Pesky little shit, aren't you," Julia muttered, standing in the wreckage of a vampire feast. She knew who it was, and she'd been tracking him for a while. She glanced over at the local authorities, who were scratching their heads and tossing theories out.

"It had to have been at least four, maybe five?" one of the men said.

Julia snorted. Next to her, another hunter idly scratched his chin with his knife. He threw her a knowing glance, his almost-white-they-were-so-light blue eyes fixing on hers. At least they were on the same page about this.

"You think it's him?" Uriah asked, his voice quiet, heavy drawl still audible.

"Without a doubt," she confirmed. "Carnage is his style. What I don't get is, why is he so fixated on women? Ever notice there are rarely any men caught up in this? The last time we only found one, and I think it's because he walked in during his little feeding frenzy."

"Yeah, his body was right by the door," he agreed. "I think he's still in this town, though. Probably hiding somewhere. He's not done yet," the hunter speculated.

"I think you're right," Julia said. She turned to the men investigating. "Listen, we can take this job for you, but you need to give us space to work. This vampire will get ugly. I mean, you can see for yourself," she said, gesturing to the blood-covered walls. It was like he'd painted them.

"Alright, then," the man who seemed to be in charge agreed. He looked at Julia, but then bypassed her and spoke to Uriah. "We'll concede to you two taking care of this. What's your fare?" he asked.

Uriah raised an eyebrow at him. He'd accompanied her because he was interested in catching this particular vampire, but he certainly wasn't in charge of this situation. He was, and would always, work independently of the guilds. He didn't like rules, and he felt the few they had at the time were still a few too many. "Julia, what's your fare?" he asked, a tone in his voice suggesting that the man should probably be speaking with her, not him.

"I'll let you know when we're done," she said. Her voice was gruff; she was tired. They'd traveled for two days with very little rest, and this was the first thing they'd seen upon entry of the town. "Let's get settled and I'll come up with a figure."

"I think maybe you might be outmatched," the man said. "We've had these creatures in the past, but never like this."

Julia looked at him, and the man felt like she was looking through him. "It's just a vampire," she said flatly. "If he can bleed, I will bleed him." The way she spoke gave the man the impression that she'd been doing this far longer than he had originally assumed. He wondered what could have happened to her in her life that made her quite so - so stone-like, really, but he thought better of it to ask.

---

The next night, Uriah had gotten a tip that a man in black had left the tavern near the inn they were staying in, and the description matched the vampire. He got Julia, and they set off in the same direction he'd gone. If he would have known that the vampire was already developing such a unique ability, he might have come more prepared, but as it stood, he'd never met something that could best him.

They heard someone scream, but it was brief - like it had been only their imagination. Julia had been looking down at the ground, noticing the way the path had been disturbed. The scream caused her head to shoot up. "Well, guess we're on the right path," she said, looking at her comrade. "Let's go end this." She drew a wicked-looking knife from its sheath at her thigh, and set her jaw.

When they entered the alleyway, Uriah first as was customary (since he was a fucking rattlesnake and far more durable than Julia was), they spotted the man they were searching, and at present he was ripping the throat out of a woman - literally. He didn't notice them, which is how Uriah got as close as he did before something happened. Julia saw the man's head turn, and then Uriah just dropped to the ground, covering his face.

"I can't fucking see!" the hunter shouted.

Well, there went her tank. Julia emerged from the darkness where she'd been hugging the wall just as the vampire dropped the woman and went for Uriah, and threw her knife with a grunt. Her aim had been good, but the vampire shifted, and the thing aimed for his heart instead buried itself hilt-deep in the soft tissue of his shoulder.

"Ah, you little bitch," he spat, his voice more irritated than angry. He ripped the knife out and threw it aside, and Julia lost it in the shadow of the space they occupied. "You, stay right here," Jeremiah said, patting the blind hunter. For safety's sake, he took away the man's sense of touch, and watched as he crumbled to the ground, blinded and now floating in some personal void.

Julia had another knife at the ready, but before she could loose it, her own vision failed. Everything went black. She knew that the vampire would be on the approach, but couldn't guess as to his speed, already getting a sense of his confidence. She guessed that he would walk to her, and she threw the knife about where she figured he'd be. She had guessed correctly, but because Jeremiah was now focused on her, he saw the move coming, and batted the knife away as though he were smacking at a mosquito.

She felt herself being picked up, and the hard contact with the brick of the wall knocked the wind out of her. She sputtered, struggling for air, trying to pull her limbs in to guard herself as a solid crack to her side was felt. Well, there went a few ribs. It was incredibly painful, but she wasn't screaming - more like, angrily grunting and growling, trying to break free of his grasp. She kicked out a few times, and she felt her knee contact something soft, and then had the sensation of falling as she was dropped onto her side. Apparently, a well-aimed knee to the groin worked on vampires.

  Julia dug her fingers into the earth below her, trying to crawl as fast as she could in any direction that she didn't hear the vampire swearing. "Uriah!" she called. She heard the hunter moaning, but then she couldn't hear anything at all. God damnit, how many abilities did this motherfucker have?

"No, no marco polo," Jeremiah hissed, righting himself finally. Now that Julia couldn't see or hear, he had a moment to pause and take a breath. Two hunters? Had he really drawn that much attention to himself? Maybe he shouldn't have snuffed out his entire bloodline so quickly. In truth, he'd been searching for his sister, but had only found cousins and the like, and he'd decided perhaps he didn't want a family after all. Killing them had been a chore, though; they'd all moved away from Salem and he'd had a hell of a time finding the last of them. She'd been the easiest kill, though, he thought, glancing back to the lifeless body with a head nearly fully detached from his fervent biting.

"Well, since neither of you can see, and only one of you can hear, I guess I've taken all the fun out of this," he said glibly, folding his arms to look upon his get. "Two hunters. Adding you both to my kill count should build me a little credibility, I think. Maybe it'll draw that sister of mine out of whatever woodwork she's gone and thrust herself into."

As he reached down for Julia, saying something about "Ladies first," he only saw a flash of red, and then felt his world go upside down.

"Don't mind if I do," a feminine voice said. It was a stark contrast to Julia's rough sound, and Jeremiah realized a third contender had entered the fight. He held his hands up to strip her of her senses, but a sharp boot to his face stopped him from getting there. "No, no," she said, as though she were correcting a child. "That's quite enough of that."

Despite being unable to see or hear, Julia reached out, grabbing onto Jeremiah's arm with an iron grip. She pulled another knife out of her load and began stabbing feverishly, marking up the left side of his body as his face was being crushed under the heel of the newcomer. With enough of his energy being spent on trying to stay alive, he released Julia and Uriah from his hold.

"Quick, get him before he - " Uriah shouted, but it was too late. He watched as the hunter's boot phased through the man who had just disappeared, and hit the ground, hard.

"Damn," she hissed. "I wanted to crush his skull."

"Jo," Julia heaved, rolling onto her back. "Glad you could make it." She was worse for wear - Uriah didn't take any damage at all, this time around. It seemed it had been Julia's turn. "I kicked him in the dick," she laughed, blood staining her teeth as she smiled. It hurt to laugh, though, and the smile faded into a wince as she moved her hands down to her side. "He kicked me first."

Josephine knelt down next to Julia, a frown on her usually quite pouted mouth. "I told you they still had feeling down there," she said softly. She took the girl's hand, and clasped it with a firm grip. "Sorry it took me so long," she said, and the apology was genuine. She looked over her shoulder to where the rattlesnake stood. "Come on, help me get her up. This town's got to have a doctor somewhere. I'll rip him out of bed if I have to."

"Josephine, always a pleasure," Uriah said, nodding to her as he helped pull Julia to her feet. "Might be easier if I just carry her," he suggested.

"No," Julia snapped. "No. I'm walking away from this fucking fight," she insisted.

"Alright, then," Jo said, tossing her flaming red hair over her other shoulder, the one that didn't have Julia leaned against it. "Walking it is."

"What the bloody fuck is going on?" Narkisa breathed.  

"That's precisely what I'd like to know," Gareth snapped. There had been a lot of people showing up at their door lately, and most of them had been for Jill, in reference to things that he either didn't know about or was only beginning to put together. He didn't like not knowing, but he admired the fuck out of her ability to so neatly handle such a big threat, and he'd been surprisingly touched by her reasons for not asking for his help with it. It had been a very brief, but heated discussion while decorating the Christmas tree in which she'd made clear that he wasn't a tool that she used to deal with her problems, and Gareth…wasn't actually used to that from people who knew who he really was. It was such a part of who he was that he was so often responsible for stopping these powerful evils that it was rare for someone to value him over what he could do for their purposes. It shouldn't have been like that, and he mulled it over for nearly a day afterwards, looking over at her where she read curled in a blanket on the couch or hunched over some artifact lifetimes older than she was. They'd settled that little argument abruptly with him acknowledging that she was right and offering her a lift to reach a spot on the tree, her accepting, and their evening proceeding without any further talk of it, but her statement had lingered. 

Now, he was less pleased that the visits were apparently for him, and his eyes were narrowed on the man who was near his size who had obliterated their mailbox with an SUV that looked as though it had already hit something big and was currently trying to disentangle another from his seatbelt before it hung the fool. In the middle of the night, no less. Perfect. 

Worse, Nicolas wandered barefoot and shirtless out of the guest bedroom at the commotion, tattoos from over the centuries on full display and the shorts he slept in slung a bit too low on his hips to be considered polite, and Gareth rolled his eyes. Gareth had at least grabbed a robe, and he was pretty sure that nobody missed the way that Narkisa's eyes travelled up and down Nicolas' form, least of all Nicolas himself, who looked far too smug despite just waking up. 

"Better watch out, your daddy doesn't like competition," Cerberus told her, smirking despite the fact that he'd also looked, though not quite the same way. That dude looked older, but he also looked strangely ageless, like he was still utterly solid, and Cerberus had long ago learned to trust his instincts on people. He didn't know who the guy was, but he wasn't inclined to tangle with either of the two men they'd woken up, even if only one of them looked like he was considering homicide. 

"No way. After this, he said I'm home free. No backsies," she shot back, breaking her eyes away from Nicolas and his raised eyebrow to look at Cerberus, then back at Gareth, Jill and Nicolas. Cerberus just grunted his disbelief. 

"So why is there a crowd outside your door so late, Gareth?" Nicolas prompted, his gaze landing on Max and his expression only getting more amused. "Least of which is a wild mage. This should be good." 

Apparently that was the magic words for some reaction out of their wildling. Max had, until this point, been so frazzled with the entire evening that he hadn't said anything at all - nobody had heard a peep from him since Cerberus had untangled him from that cursed seatbelt, in fact. So when the large slightly undressed man called him out, Max looked up from his apparent mental disassociation over the evening, greyish eyes wide and thick brows up. 

"Me?" he asked, slapping his hand to his chest. "I didn't ask for any of this," he sputtered. 

"Calm down," Narkisa said, rolling her eyes. "I heard about your 'magic'," she said, wiggling her hands at Max. "We don't need you accidentally turning any of us into shrubs, so watch where you point your mitts," she warned gruffly, jabbing him in the shoulder with her finger. 

With every jab, Max jerked a little. That hurt! "It's not my fault," he protested, but still, he thrust his hands behind his back, head tilted toward the heavens as he let out a long sigh. 

"I just want to see Layla," he whined. 

"Layla?" Gareth and Jill demanded, practically in unison, but it accomplished what Narkisa and Cerberus appearing hadn't - Gareth told them to wait a moment, snapped at Nicolas to get dressed, and disappeared into the house to do the same himself. When he returned, it was with a strange mix of ancient and modern pieces, but the kevlar was undeniably modern and very high-quality. He'd apparently gotten tired of getting shot somewhere along the lines and Nicolas wasn't far behind him, though they both hesitated in loading up with weapons, almost like they were listening for something, and when Gareth looked to Nicolas, the other man's general air of amusement was gone.

"You know what that is, don't you?" Nicolas prompted, though he didn't need to. They'd both felt it before, and he knew it.

"And I know who it is, I'm certain."

"Is the Matriarch still in this city?"

"She is, and she'll have felt it, too."

"Then there's nothing more to do about it right now. One tragedy at a time," Nicolas said, shaking his head. "She'll be relentless, not to worry."

"It can't be a coincidence, Nicolas," Gareth warned, and the older man shook his head.

"Probably isn't, but one at a time. She'll take care of that one, but we're needed here."

It was easier said than done to just ignore the magical flares going up that signalled the death of a phoenix nearby, but Gareth clenched his jaw and made the trip to Midnight instead, trying to keep his mind from wandering to what could have happened to Evan to bring him down, and if it was indeed connected, as he thought it was. Midnight imploding, a unicorn in captivity and a phoenix dying all in the same night? No coincidences.

They'd chosen to drive separately from the Midnight caravan, and Gareth had tried to insist that Max stay behind with Jill where he'd be safe, but Max had be adamant about going back rather than waiting for Layla to be brought to him. Gareth could appreciate the sentiment, but watching him climb up into the SUV and the memory of him dangling in the seatbelt didn't really inspire confidence.

He was at the car, telling Nicolas to be careful with that damn axe on the backseat when Jill ran out the door after him into the cold, and for a moment, Nicolas thought she was rushing to stop them from leaving. It wouldn't have worked, but Gareth had talked her up to be much more aggressive than that would suggest.

"Stop! Gareth, for the love of Christ, stop!" she shouted. She finally met him in the driveway, and she was out of breath, like she'd run the length of her entire home - which, she had.

"I'm going, Jill," he said, his voice firm. She made a face. " Of course you're going, don't be ridiculous, did you think I was trying to stop you?" she asked, her voice shrill with disgust. She thrust something at him, and he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed her carrying it sooner.

"You forgot your sword, is all," she said.  She met his eyes, and that small, devious smirk flickered on her mouth for the briefest of moments.  It was hard to love her more than moments like this, however often he truly did. 

"Woman," he muttered fondly, leaning in to give her a kiss. He'd take the sword, too. After all, she'd gone through the trouble of retrieving it.

Cars were faster and carried more than horses, but he couldn't deny that he missed being able to dismount and be ready to walk into a fight, considering getting out of the car outside Midnight still meant grabbing their gear. They were quick and efficient from many years of practice, but he still couldn't help feeling like a much younger version of himself would be judging him for essentially driving around in a carriage in this much more luxurious future. Strange the things that had changed, and as he walked up to join Narkisa and Cerberus to storm the fortress, how many things hadn't.

"Follow me, I can show you a back way in through the dungeons. It's around the building this way," Narkisa explained, but Gareth hmm'd with an intent look on the building, then shook his head.

"No. This is a front door job," he said, and Nicolas laughed out loud, shouldering his axe as Gareth drew his sword. He was pretty sure he heard Cerberus mutter something about 'Ren Fest motherfuckers', but they were already headed for the door.

They'd been expecting trouble, but the chaos inside was a little extreme even for their usual. The Raven Guard posted by the doors seemed to be a little light for a place of that size, and they would have made quick work of them even without the aid of Narkisa and Cerberus, but it was barely an obstacle with the four of them there. It was as they pushed deeper into the building that they realized that the door had been deceptively calm, as they came upon Raven Guard fighting each other, bloody messes throughout the halls to show where fights had recently been settled, and there was a frankly ominous trail that looked as though a body had been dragged. They followed that on Narkisa's suggestion, but before they entered the large hall, the group of them paused.

"The two of you should go with Max and find Layla. Get her and anyone else out," Gareth instructed, not aware that Raphael and Stefan were already in the process of doing this, or that Layla wasn't going to be so easy to escort out.

"You didn't trust that they wouldn't betray us when we went inside," Nicolas said, no accusation to his voice.

"We don't know what's in this room or where the lines were drawn. I'd rather have fewer distractions."

"We've also never been invited to topple a fortress before," Nicolas offered with a big smile, nudging Gareth's elbow and making him grunt agreement. It was off-putting, but he remembered Justinian's visit and how concerned he'd been by Gareth's presence. Nicolas arriving would have spooked him further. Was that part of this?

Without taking anymore time to worry about it, Gareth pushed the huge doors open, stepping into the bubble that Justinian had created to keep Niall's nightmares contained, and the view that awaited them made them both stop right there in the doorway.

Justinian and Corinne were off by a wall, joined by Iloquil and Deja, who were fussing over Justinian. He seemed to have been stabbed with some spikes, and while Corinne didn't seem particulary injured, she was covered in blood. Near the door where Gareth and Nicolas stood was a body that he had a sneaking suspicion had once been Verity Celestino, though her face was a gory mess and less recognizable for it. The entire room was crawling with creatures, and as someone who considered himself very well acquainted with the monsters of the world, Gareth was fairly confident in thinking that they werne't anything real, or of this world. The walls seethed with bodies that seemed to move over their surfaces like water, if water had the viscosity of oil instead, and the air above them was a sea of twisting, unbelievable shapes, some of which seemed barely capable of maintaining flight.

All of that would have been enough to be startling, except that the center of the room was Alexander, bloodied and singed, staring down a massive black dragon from where he seemed to have darted away for a breath and to regroup. Gareth noticed that he must have collected up a fire iron for a weapon much earlier in the fighting, considering the gore attached to it. It was an impressive figure that he cut, but the dragon did not look as though it cared.

"When was the last time you saw a black dragon?" Nicolas asked conversationally.

"This isn't a real black dragon, it doesn't look right, look at the face. It's Niall."

"Well, I hope it fights like a black dragon. I haven't had one in centuries." Nicolas grinned at him, hefted his enormous battle axe, and charged in with exactly the amount of gusto that one could imagine. Gareth sighed, following him and cutting around to the flank as the dragon roared in Nicolas' face and Alexander dodged out of the way of its swinging, sharp tail.

One benefit to fighting with Nicolas was the fact that the man was incredibly good at keeping an opponent's attention. There was something about that laughing, smug face that made enemies want to punch him in it, and while it didn't mean that Alexander and Gareth got away with jumping in and killing the dragon, it offered them breathing room whenever the Niall dragon was too occupied with the axe trying to get at him. His scales were tougher than Gareth was used to, which was probably why Alexander had been having such trouble with the fire iron; considering his sword glanced off of them the first few times he'd swung it, he could see how being the only target of the dragon's attention and being unable to get a good hit in might have been frustrating.

Apparently, even with two other targets, Alexander was starting to lose patience with the whole process. Nicolas was denting and even taking bits of scale away from the dragon's hide just by sheer force with that supernaturally sharp axe, but trying to hit the same place twice was increasingly difficult because Niall did not play by any rules that any dragon ever had to.  One sharp, pointed tail split into multple lashing, almost tentacle-like appendages with a sharp, bladed edge to each.  Gareth dodged one nearly taking his head off and came away with a bit of blood dripping down from his (fortunately still attached) ear and Alexander took one very wrong while blocking Justinian and the group struggling there. 

Gareth hadn't been paying much attention to them, but as Alexander went down in a brutal, bloody mess, he caught enough of the shouting from the group to understand that Justinian was still holding the mental blockage around the space they were in, Deja and Corinne had been fighting off the creatures that were peeling away from the walls to strike at them, and the spikes that had been shot at Justinian were spreading barbed roots within in, winding out from the spike in his chest and leg and dropping him to his knees.  Gareth could see at a glance that the roots from the one in his leg had broken the skin on the other side of his thigh, wrapped tightly around his pant leg with thorny bits drawing blood through the fabric and then plunged back into the muscle of his calf.  Iloquil was trying to tear at the ones she could reach, burning them with her touch whenever they broke skin, but she couldn't exactly burn them out completely without setting her mate alight.  Justinian was old and powerful, but he was still susceptible to being burned alive. 

Alexander appeared again a moment later, looking worse for wear despite being in a fresh projection, and he didn't bother jumping back into the mess with the dragon.  Instead, he collected up the sword that Niall had dropped near the group earlier and cut into the creatures that were coming from the walls, three of which had apparently joined forces to try pulling Corinne into the wall with them.  Her hand passed impossibly beneath the surface and she screamed, yanking backwards and freeing herself from the sucking force of the wall in time for Alexander to cut the creatures in half.  He pulled her further from the wall immediately, glancing her over and then cutting into more of them.  With Gareth and Nicolas on the dragon, he could spare the attention here.

"Can you hold Niall's power in this space, Corinne?" he asked, flicking a glance over his shoulder as he took a diving creature out of midair with a quick slash. 

"I don't know, I--"

"You can.  You have the best control I've seen on a vampire, and his power is entirely about lost control.  You can rein it in.  Justinian has to get out of here, or Niall's nightmares are going to tear him apart from the inside," he told her firmly.  She swallowed, but nodded.  She'd killed Verity, and she could damn well hold this crazy bastard in check.  "I'll guard you, just ease in and take the burden from Justinian."

It was obvious in the set of Justinian's body when Corinne had taken on the force of the enormous shielding bubble, because he didn't necessarily collapse, but the rigidity had entirely fallen out of him.  He clutched at the spike in his chest, perhaps trying to pull at it or dislodge any of the roots within, but he screamed and found nothing more than bloodied hands where he'd tried. 

"Iloquil, get him out of here!" Alexander shouted, and that was the last word on the subject.  There was no reality anywhere, Niall's or otherwise, where she would stay and risk her mate's life for anyone else.  As soon as Justinian was free of the space that Corinne was now maintaining, the spikes and roots would be gone and he could heal.  The attention that Niall's insanity had spared for Justinian and the others turned to Corinne next, but with Alexander and Deja both guarding her, nothing would touch her.  It left the monster hunters to do what they did best, but Alexander had seen enough of them to have faith, even if they were looking a little worse for wear. 

Nicolas was blood-streaked and there was a suspicious smear in the same general size on the stone about fifteen feet away that suggested that might be why he was currently screaming back at the dragon, his axe lodging itself into the shoulder of the great beast and making Niall scream even more deafeningly.  So they'd gotten through the scales, excellent.  Gareth was covered in dust and blood of his own, with a pile of rubble nearby and multiple twitching lengths of tail-tentacle on the floor behind him; he looked furious as he stalked back in towards the dragon's head, swinging his blade up to slice through a new tail that darted toward him.  It went the way of the others, landing in a writhing mess of blood that was making the floor slick there.

"This is getting fucking ridiculous," he muttered, ducking under the head in an attempt to help Nicolas dislodge his axe, which came free with a sickening wet sound and no blood, but a sticky black goop. 

"That doesn't look good," Nicolas offered at the sight of it, the black mess actually squirming across the blade of his axe.  "A new gharl?"

"What now?" Gareth snapped, but he didn't get a chance to worry about the back gunk before the dragon's head came around at them.  He swung his sword around in time to plunge it into the dragon's mouth, but it was in the same movement that Niall's jaws clamped down around him, drawing a furious scream from his throat and lifting him off of his feet as Nicolas went back to swinging at the scales that were already damaged at the dragon's shoulder and throat.  Gareth's movement was limited, what with his arm and a large chunk of his upper body being stuck in the dragon's maw, but he jerked the blade around as much as he could.

The smell of the goop coming from the dragon's wounds was only slightly worse than the breath that escaped its throat when it shrieked around him as those steak knife teeth shook him around.  He pulled a dagger from the sheath at his boot and wasted no time in stabbing that bastard in the eye as many times as he could hit it, the gore adding to the scent profile choking Gareth as surely as the teeth tearing at him, but the truly frustrating part was that the dragon's head should have been a certain way of killing it.  Gareth had to have plunged his sword or his knife into its brain, and it was writhing and screaming like it had been a terrible blow, but it wasn't stopping.  He was fairly certain that the only reason he hadn't been bitten in half was that the sword was lodged in such a way that biting down any further would plunge it deeper than he could currently reach, but this wasn't going to last.

As though having heard his thoughts on the matter, the great doors to the hall opened, and a glance in that direction revealed Layla, who strode across the room leaving peace in her wake, the floors and air around her seeming to return to normal.

"Look!" Nicolas shouted up at Gareth, who was busy, but still looking.  "Even the gharls won't go near her!"

Gareth did not comment, but he was right; the creatures that Niall had created to terrorize all of them were keeping a wide berth from Layla, who was headed right for their master.  She stopped directly in front of him and he dropped Gareth so suddenly that he nearly lost his grip on his sword as he struck the stone flooring, the scream choked in his throat as he felt the air go out of him, but he was free, blood pouring down his side as he dragged himself to his feet.  She stared the dragon down as it roared in her face, her hair rustling, but that was the only movement she granted him.  With a hard look, she swiped at the air in front of her with the same sort of energy that Gareth would have expected out of someone throwing everything off of a table - if that table were upright like a chalkboard. 

There was no denying the effectiveness, however one decided to describe it (Nicolas later said that she'd swatted him like a fly), as the dragon roared its last and the illusions collapsed in darkness and stench that faded as quickly as if an unseen wind tore them from the room.  Niall was bloodied and wild-eyed on the floor, and honestly, Gareth wasn't sure how he was still functioning except that he was absolutely out of his mind.  Rather than give him even a second longer to collect himself, Gareth plunged his sword into the vampire's heart, and he felt Alexander come up behind him as he yanked the blade back.  A swift strike took Alexander's blade through Niall's throat, which should have taken his head off, and seemed to until a sudden geyser of liquid darkness flooded up from the floor beneath him.  It enveloped him, sticking to him and filling in his injuries as his mouth screamed wordlessly because it was no longer connected to his lungs to produce air.  They all backed up, staring as he was swallowed up by the shadows that collapsed back into the floor like they'd never been there at all.

Gareth stared intensely att he place he'd been, blood-smeared, wide-eyed and angry.  "Was that him dying as dramatically as he fought, or should we be concerned?" he asked, his voice more gravelly even than usual with the pain he was in and the struggle they'd just survived.

"I'm worried, personally," Nicolas offered, and the look they shared said they both knew exactly what that was.

"It's not a worry we'll be dealing with right this minute, at any rate," Alexander cut in, leaning in to support Corinne.  He hadn't yet dropped the sword he'd picked up, and Gareth couldn't blame him. 

"My dear, thank you for your timely entrance," Nicolas went on, turning to give Layla a bow that somehow managed to still be charming despite the blood, sweat and gore on him.  Gareth grunted his agreement and nodded, sheathing his knife and switching his sword to his other hand because the left side felt like giving out.  This was going to take a little time to clear up. 

Justinian and Iloquil returned a few moments later, both on their own two feet, which was better than when Justinian had left.  He looked worn, but the spikes and the roots coming from them were gone, leaving exhaustion and anger in their wake.  Alexander and Corinne joined them, and it was only in the wake of everything that Gareth even noticed Max hovering behind Layla, staying out of the way but close.  He shook his head and started for the door, unwilling to linger longer than they had to.  Nicolas also seemed to sense that this was the end of it, and stepped up beside him. 

"Do you think we'll be back here in a few years for Justinian?" Nicolas asked, seemingly idly, but Gareth snorted.

"Did you see the look on Alexander's face when we walked in?  I think he'd beat some sense into him if Justinian even considered trying this whole mess again," he pointed out, which Gareth didn't honestly think would be an issue, anyway.  Justinian had to have spear-headed this whole takeover, or he didn't see how it would have gotten this far.

"Good, let's get back to your beautiful woman, then.  She'll be eager for the story, and I brought good booze.  You're going to need it tonight," he said, flicking his eyes to the bloody mess that was Gareth's left side, and again, he grunted his agreement.  At least he'd gotten the leather seating, or the car would be ruined, too.  Another point in favor of horses.

prompt list

Aurora was on a short leash with just about everyone. She sat in Lucien's office, wondering what she'd done now, when the door opened and the esteemed leader walked in. She watched how he moved. He looked so much different than she had remembered in her few interactions as she'd risen through the ranks at Crimson, but the years had been hard on all of them, and the leaders had been no exception. Christian Shane's entire family had been killed, and he'd taken a leave of absence that she suspected was going to turn into a more permanent arrangement if the rumor mill was to be believed. Generally, she didn't partake in the chatter that was around her as she worked her day to day, but this was a persistent one, and she'd been more privy than most to the ongoings behind the scenes thanks to her relationship with Bacchus.

"Snow," Lucien said, her name the only greeting he offered. He sat down in the chair, and then leaned back in it a little. His cold eyes focused on her, and he pressed his lips together, as if trying to decide exactly what he wanted to say. So much of it bottlenecked at his throat. This was a delicate situation, and one he'd spoken at length about with Astrid, Indrani and Dev, but ultimately, the decision had fallen back to him as to whether he wanted to divulge the information he was about to tell her. In the end, he'd decided that he would, but now that he was sitting here, he wondered if he should.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked. Typically, when someone asked this, they would make a face, or flinch, or behave in some way that would give the impression they were concerned. But from Aurora, it was just a blank question, as if she were asking something much more simple. It didn't go unnoticed by Lucien, and it only dredged up conversations that he'd had that she also didn't know about as to where she was at, mentally.

"No," he said, and he offered no more exposition on the matter. When she didn't press him further, he leaned forward. "Aurora, there are some things that I need to tell you. I believe that, despite the moment having already passed, it will give you a little more clarity about the gravity of the situation that eventually lead you here."

"Shit," she muttered. She sighed, shifting in the chair. May as well get comfortable - usually this turned into an hour-long lecture about how there was concern for her reckless behaviour.

He held a hand up. "No, no," he said, and he did smile a little, if only because he could see where she was going with this. "I think you'll find I'm very unlike your last guild leader." What he meant was, he didn't do lectures. Lucien was short and to the point. He let his health professionals worry about the rest; he didn't feel that he needed to be as deeply involved with them as some others did. It was probably how Zaine had gotten as far as he had, though that would be getting addressed, and soon.

"So you're not going to launch into a diatribe about how I disappoint you?" she asked. She didn't crack a smile, but there was humour in her tone.

"Of course not. I do think, though, that you need to get a better picture about the secondary and tertiary orders of effect, particularly those that have been rolling off in a colossal avalanche after you buried a knife into Bacchus' chest."

"Okay," she said, nodding. She sat forward. "Hit me."

"The night that Midnight actually fell, did you know that Evan was taken?" More like, hit by a fucking Escalade, but, details.

She frowned. "No," she said honestly. "He's a big boy, he can take care of himself." And how. She'd never forget their last conversation. He'd taken some incredibly well-aimed shots at her, and they'd hit their mark as much as they could have. That one had stung for a few days after, but it was nothing that sleeping off some hangovers couldn't fix. Aurora was quite resilient.

"He died, Aurora."

Now she made a face. "No he didn't, she scoffed. "I saw him a month ago - and, I saw him several times after Midnight fell before that. Granted, it was about a year later, but he was definitely walking and talking." She was referring to the time he'd come to the cabin. Boy had that been swell. Having to convince him that she and Bacchus weren't in a relationship had been a great time, and he'd been far more receptive to what Bacchus had to say than what she did. "And, I talked to him on the phone quite a few times before that even happened," she added, as if to further dispute what he'd said.

"Do you think I'm lying?" Lucien asked.

"No, not at all. I think you have bad information."

"I can assure you, I don't." He paused, and then sighed. "Listen, there was much debate as to whether or not to even tell you this, but we figured that you'd find out sooner or later - "

"I literally just saw him a month ago, don't you think he'd have mentioned it?" she argued.

"No, Aurora, I don't. What I can't figure out is why you think he would."

Oh, so it was going to be this kind of conversation. "Alright, Lucien, you've made your point," she said, holding her hand up as if to stop the entire thing from going any further. "Okay, so, he died. He's clearly walking upright, and fine if his mouth is any indication of things."

Christ on a cross, but Lucien could see what Stav had warned him about. "Listen, I'm not going to get into the weeds over why a Phoenix entering its death and life cycle is a big deal, but the bottom line is it attracted a lot of things into our area that we may not be equipped to handle, and at the end of the day, it's all directly related to something you did. I didn't bring you in here to try and appeal to your humanity, or to guilt trip you - like I said, I'm not Batten, and I don't find it productive to try and get people to care about things that they clearly don't. I'm telling you this because in the coming months our workload is going to increase, and we are going to be dealing with things that we've never seen before. So, maybe next time, before you take a side job and run into something thinking only of the end game, try to stop for a fucking second and think of the bigger operational picture."

Lucien rarely swore these days, as he'd found that if he withheld it, when he did swear, it would have more of an impact. Obviously, by the look on her face, he had been right. "Do you understand me?" he asked, his tone dropping dangerously low. He was asking more than just if she understood the question; he was asking if she understood that if she fucked up, he wasn't bailing her out. She was not among friends here; there was no Stavros, and no Evan, and really, nobody at all who could help dig her out of a mess if she got into one. She would be on her own, and with some of the things he saw coming at them very soon, it was not a good way to be.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I understand."

"Good. That's all, Snow. Close the door behind you."

---

"So then he's like, 'I'm not going to try and appeal to your humanity or guilt trip you', and I just -"

Bacchus stopped what he was doing, watching Aurora gesture as she recounted her conversation with Lucien. She moved the wine glass as she spoke, and then stopped to take a sip, which was a good time for him to take a second to actually absorb what she was saying. Fucking couldn't get a word in edgewise when she was like this.

"Wait, stop," he said, holding the hand up that held the knife. He was cutting up chicken for the dinner they were in the process of making, the dinner that she was supposed to be helping with but instead had helped herself to the white wine he'd picked and hadn't done much else. "Go back to the part about Evan dying. You glossed over that."

She shrugged. "Yeah, he says he died. Well, that he entered the death and life cycle, or something? Look dude, I don't know, I'm so not versed in the otherworldly edicts, okay?"

"Aurora, that's a really big fucking deal," Bacchus said. He set the knife down, moving the chicken into the breading, and then hurried it into the dish that was bound for the oven.

"Not really, though? He's fine, trust me. He's walking and talking and just as pleasant as ever," she said, waving her hand with the glass again. She nearly spilled her wine on herself, and mumbled something as she reached for a paper towel to dab at the blue tanktop she wore.

He washed his hands and then picked up the kitchen towel, drying them as he tried to process this. "Yes, it is," he said, and his voice was all serious. "Aurora - Aurora, put the fucking wine glass down!" he snapped. He very rarely lost his patience with her; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even raised his voice to her, but boy was she fucking pushing his buttons right now. She set the glass down, eyes wide, and her expression was utterly mystified, which only furthered his anger.

"Do you fucking understand what happens when a Phoenix dies? Or when any supernatural creature that powerful dies, for that matter?" he demanded.

"No," she admitted. "But - "

"I swear to fucking Christ, if you say 'he's fine' one more time, Aurora, I will leave you," he said, pointing at her angrily. That seemed to shut her up, and she sat down wordlessly into one of the chairs, staring at him. Fucking finally, she'd stopped talking.

"When something like that dies, it can be seen, and felt, on a global level by anything that's powerful enough to pick it up. And scavengers of all sorts, shit that you can't even fucking imagine will be coming to see if there are any bones they can pick their teeth with. You forget, I was dead, and when I was dead I got to see all manner of things that go bump in the night, and I promise, they are worse than anything Midnight, or any vampire for that matter, could throw at you. Aurora, there is shit out there that you just don't have any idea about. Shit that in my two-thousand years of living I tried very hard not to upset, or fuck with in any way, shape, or form. And say what you will about how you killed me, but up until that point, I was a bad motherfucker, and when I have to be the one that's actually afraid here, that's fucking saying something."

"You're afraid?" she asked.

"YES, Aurora," he yelled, throwing his hands up. "I don't understand what is broken in your fucking head where you can't see danger when it's right in front of you anymore, but believe me, knowing this now... This changes things. I have to completely scrap my lecture this week, I've got to get ahold of Nicolette and Diamond. I'm sure they're already tracking, but I need to get into the archive. We have to prepare for the absolute fucking worst. God damnit," he said, slamming his fist down on the table.

She jumped at that; finally, something that got a reaction out of her. "Jesus, Bacchus, calm down, I'm sure it's not that bad," she said, though there was an edge to her voice that he didn't often hear.

"It is that bad, Aurora. It's that bad, and more. And, aside from all of that - how can you sit there so utterly unaffected by all of this? Weren't you supposedly in love with this guy?"

"So I'm told," she said cryptically.

He left the kitchen, and she waited for a second, and then got up to follow him. She was shocked to find that he was getting his coat, and she all but blocked the front door before he got to it, arms folded. "So you're just going to leave, then?" she demanded.

"Aurora - " he started, and then stopped, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Not only do I have a mountain of work in front of me now, very suddenly, but I have to admit, I'm a little disturbed by how impassive you are at all of this. I kind of lost my appetite."

"I'm not impassive - what do you want me to do, though? Do you want me to cry? Or yell? Or run and hide? You pick, Bacchus."

He just stared at her for a moment, in total silence. "I want you to feel something about it, at the very least, Aurora. In the time that I've known you, up until a few months ago I was around you every day, and honestly, I watched you change from who you were into who you are now, and who you are now is just... cold."

"You're calling me cold? After the things you've done?" she asked. It wasn't shock in her voice that made it so quiet; it was rage. She moved from in front of the door, though, and in fact, opened it for him.

"I was cursed. What's your excuse?" he asked.

"Get out," she said.

"Don't have to fucking tell me twice," he snapped, and walked out of the door, not even stopping as it slammed behind him.

Rhys snatched a firepoker and stirred at the logs in the large fireplace, trying to give herself something to do to take her mind off of what she'd seen that day. She prodded at the top log, not satisfied with her action until she'd given it a good whack and sent an array of cinder and ash up the flue. It landed just off of the pile with a thud, a small puff of thick debris spilling forward, threatening to exit the mouth of the fireplace.

"Stop," her brother said. "Stop and just talk to me."

Her back to him, Rhys pursed her lips, thankful that he couldn't see the face she made when he spoke. Talk? In all her years, Severin had rarely wanted to go that route; in fact, she was more than a little surprised that he was even still awake, much less downstairs in her personal space. The living room was large, too, it was just that, at the moment, Rhys had a lot of space she considered personal. And it was no wonder; having seen Evan earlier in such a condition had left her feeling raw. If such a strong creature could be taken down, then what hope did the rest of them have?

She put the poker back in the bin that held the rest of the tools for the fireplace; tossed it, really, almost as an afterthought. The noise was so loud that she sucked in a small bite of air. She'd forgotten Nissa was upstairs, and realized just as she'd thrown the item that the noise could offer as an alarm for the girl. Van Helsings were light sleepers for the simple fact that most of what they hunted often came under the cloak of night when most of the world was asleep. It didn't bode well for a hunter who couldn't wake at even the slightest out-of-place event.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said, and though she'd turned to face her brother, her chin was tilted upward. After a few moments where she heard nothing that sounded like footsteps above them, she looked at him more fully. "It's just been a long day, Sev. That's all."

Severin sat forward a little on the couch, and he gave her a knowing look. Wordlessly, he patted the couch next to him. "Come off it," he said, and though she had expected his tone to be antagonistic at the very least, she'd be surprised to know it wasn't. In fact, his voice was completely devoid of its usual derisive nature.

"I'm not on it," she said, her tone betraying her irritation. She went to the couch and sat down next to him anyways, and for a long while, both of them just stared into the fireplace, trapped in the amber of the moment.

"This thing with Irons has you bothered," he said. It wasn't a question, but rather a statement. A testament to the fact that he knew her well. In fact, Severin probably knew her better than anyone, which meant that often he was tasked with the burden of helping her to get her thoughts out when they started to overwhelm her. He didn't feel like they were at that point, yet, but as they'd only just arrived in New York and on the heels of significant events in the supernatural realm, he felt it might be better to try and talk to her about it now rather than later when they were actually overwhelmed.

"Everything dies," she muttered, gazing at the flames a bit longer. Finally, she broke away, and turned her brown eyes towards her brother. "Even you, if memory serves."

"Well, I didn't stay dead," he offered. "In fact, that's how we've gotten ourselves in this little predicament at current, isn't it?" He was, of course, referring to Nissa. In all the time that they'd been carrying on the work of their family, they'd only ever known that two of them would exist at a time. Van Helsing blood meant that you had the fight in you, and the knowledge behind you, but not every Van Helsing was chosen in the way that they were, to live, unaging, and to continue the plight set forth by their lineage. Nissa had been a hiccup to everything they knew, and despite the fact that it had already been several years, not a day went by where Severin did not know that they had shifted the course of nature.

"I fully acknowledge that I had a hand in that," she replied, voice cool. "And perhaps I'm just as disturbed by the end result."

"Well, I didn't see it, but I see you, and I see that obviously this effected you somehow," he pressed. "I need you with a clear mind, Rhys. If this has shown us anything, it's that despite the fall of a major organization, the worst is yet to come."

She snorted. "If the worst thing wasn't seeing a Phoenix fresh out of a new life cycle, when he's still young in his skin and still bleeding magic, then I truly do not want to see what follows," she said. She looked to the fire again, feeling a pit growing in her stomach. "I know you didn't see it, Sev, but I wish you had, so that maybe you could feel even a fraction of what I'm feeling right now."

Sev shifted his weight on the couch, turning so he faced her more. "Well, then, tell me," he suggested. He chose to ignore the fact that Rhys had no idea what he felt on the matter, mostly because he didn't outwardly show that he felt any way about it at all. Sev kept his emotions very, very close to the chest, mostly because he felt that they would end up getting him killed during some irrational hope spot that was all for naught.

"I just feel a despair inside of me," she said honestly. "I feel like nothing we ever do will matter. We will never win. We will keep fighting in this cycle, you and I, and Nissa now, and whoever comes after us, day after day, but we will never win."

He hadn't been prepared for quite that depth of expression from her, but he was no stranger to the argument that everything is bad forever, and so in spite of his shock at her revelation, he was able to speak. "I think every Van Helsing experiences what you're feeling right now," he said honestly. "But it isn't on us to question the why, is it? We just execute."

She smiled, but it was a wry smile, and it didn't meet her eyes when she looked at him. "Ever the pragmatist," she mused.

"Yes, Rhys. Yes, I am pragmatic, because that's what we need to be." He sighed, realizing that this was not a battle he was going to win, because it wasn't a battle at all, at least not where he was concerned. "Having to come to terms with a harsh reality doesn't mean you can't want something better," he reminded her. She rolled her eyes at him, but he continued. "If you get caught up in this net of 'why', trying to determine your place, or our places, in the meta of all of this, you will drive yourself mad," he said firmly.

"Yes, of course," she said. "I do agree, and I do know that you're right, but on some level, I just feel as though I should dedicate more than a cursory thought to seeing an old friend recycled due to a seemingly mundane course of events that culminated when he was hit by a car," she spat.

"Wait, he was hit by a car?" Sev asked, jerking back in shock. "How did I kick him off of a roof, but he gets done in by a car?"

"Well, an SUV."

"It doesn't matter!" he said, shaking his head. "That was a long fall to the ground, I don't care what kind of vehicle ran him over. Why do I feel like we're missing parts of this story?"

"Probably because we are," she reminded him. "Evan held a lot back, and Katrina didn't tell me anything."

"Of course she didn't," he mumbled. "No surprise there."

"So I guess, on one level I'm bothered because of the depression bit I'm feeling, but on the other level, how do we compete against our bigger enemy in all this? How do we win a battle against chance?"

Severin had no answer for her, there. Mostly because he'd always found that regardless of how many times he successfully beat the odds, it only ever took one time for them to beat him back, and boy what a beating it was. Wordlessly, he held his arm out, and his sister leaned into him. He tried not to think about all of the things they were talking about, but he'd be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that on some level the feat that Rhys was expressing didn't mirror his own.

They stayed that way for a long time, quietly leaning against one another, watching the fire as it burned lower and lower. There was a certain irony to it, Rhys thought. "I wonder what else saw his light and came," she said softly.

"I don't know," admitted Sev. "But whatever did, we'll be ready for it. I'm not keen on dying twice."

Look both ways before stepping out into traffic.  Evan knew this, did exactly as he was supposed to, and he'd glanced down to light a cigarette in the time it took the giant black Escalade to appear and plow into him with enough force that even his very durable supernatural constitution was utterly rocked instantaneously. 

He was in bad shape.  He knew it even in the street, when the big man in the even bigger vehicle had gotten out not to lose his shit because he hit someone, but to scrape Evan off of the sidewalk and stash him in the back of the black Escalade, not that it had slowed his mouth down all that much.

"I don't know about you, but I...I'm not good to drive," he slurred while the guy tossed him in back, and it might have been the slightest bit satisfying that he got a huffed laugh, even if he was otherwise ignored.  He lost track of time, which meant it could have been a minute or an hour that he was back there before he was at it again, head tilting and then exploding with pain from doing so.

"Y'know, way easier ways to get a guy's attention.  Not partial to flowers, but sure you could'a found something," he offered up drunkenly when consciousness rolled back in, swallowing down the agony that tore through him, and that wasn't good.  The driver didn't seem to notice anything, but Evan knew what it was, and if he wasn't the one experiencing it, he would have been a lot more desperate to make tracks.  As it was, flares meant he was too far gone to get too far on his own unless he could stop them, and he was pretty well fucked physically.  It had been a long time since he'd last been pulverized like this, and while the pain was excruciating and something he could do without, it wasn't the part that was most upsetting - he was alone and vulnerable.

The next one knocked him out cold, his inner fire flaring up spectacularly, but the pain of it dwarfed the damage that had been done, like being burned alive each and every time it burst forth from him.  A phoenix was usually immune to their own fire, for obvious reasons, but in death they literally burned out, and it was the most horrifically painful experience of their lives every time.  When Evan put it off, it was because it was beyond simply dying as mortals knew it, and that was without the fear of being brought down among enemies.  When next he regained consciousness, he was being moved none too gently, and he didn't even have words for how he felt.  That alone was telling.

"He's fucking burning up, Loic, what do you want me to do with him?"

"I have no fucking clue, why would Niall send him to me?  I don't even know what he is," another voice snapped, presumably Loic, and at least there was that.  Someone knew what was going on, but it wasn't these two stooges.

"Whatever he is, i need to drop him before he actually starts burning me, where do you want him?"

"Wait, do you mean--"  The man didn't finish his statement before reaching out to touch him, and while the touch was no different than anyone else's, Evan was a little pleased with the timing of that particular flare, even if Cerberus dumped him right there on the rug with a shout and Loic yanked his burned hand away.  Evan passed back out, but both of them had gotten theirs.  He came to again to find that he was actually still on the rug, though the two men were using it like a gurney to carry him somewhere, Loic bitching all the way about the fact that it was blah-blah years old and priceless.

"My bad, I'll try to die less inconveniently," he muttered.

He was left in a room on that rug while Cerberus gave a completely irreverent salute and left Loic standing there, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.  He could sense the fiery beacons the really unassuming and utterly wrecked man that had been dumped on him was putting out, the magic hemorrhaging from him each time it burst forth.  He wasn't thrilled that a priceless rug was now covered in the man's blood and likely about to burn up, but at least he was on a cement floor to do it, so hopefully the rest of the house wouldn't go up with him.  That was the least of his worries, considering it was the heat and sense of fire about him that was making Loic think that perhaps he knew what kind of creature the man was, and he wasn't particularly thrilled about having one die in his home, assuming the remark from the guy was to be trusted. 

He just wasn't sure if he should be calling a healer, finding somewhere to dump him before he actually burst into flames, or trying to get information about what to do with him after he was reborn (and how that whole thing worked).  He knew immediately that he had no pull with him, which wasn't terribly surprising if he was indeed a phoenix, but watching one apparently in its death throes was surprisingly....affecting.  It was sad, mostly, and he didn't know where that came from, but it was the primary feeling keeping him from trying to find somewhere to toss him that would keep him from dying right there on that rug.  It was over an hour before he started to see something other than just the man in the magical flares, like he was losing his form with each burst of flame, and it started with his eyes and mouth, actually, like he was on fire and burning from within with a bright glow that became visible when he screamed with the most recent magical outpouring, and on the next one came the wings and feathers - feathers that Loic might have called iridescent only if he was too uncultured to understand that the shifting colors came from within instead of being affected by the light striking them.  They made their own light, and even in the grief of such a creature lighting up like this, they were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Maybe it was because this was the dying gasp of such a fantasical creature that made them that much more beautiful.  It was the way of a phoenix to burn its brightest when it was about to go out, and Loic had accidentally earned a front row seat to this one.  The next flash of flame and light had a creature resembling a bird laid out on the carpet, and Loic's breath caught.  He thought it resembled a bird for the same reason that he struggled to use the word 'iridescent' for its feathers.  At a most basic description, bird was correct, and he struggled to decide if it looked more like a bird of paradise, beautiful and peaceful, or like a raptor with its graceful and deadly talons and hooked beak.  It had sharp eyes, still aglow with its internal fire, but a maddeningly beautiful voice, calling out with the most excruciatingly despairing song.  Even Loic, who was not the most emotionally available individual, found himself choking up, and he nearly stepped away just to escape it, but how could he leave?

The answer to that question came whether he was ready for it or not, as his front door essentially exploded inward with a scream of rage that felt like it reached all the way down into whatever was left of his soul.  It drew him out of the entrancement of the phoenix dying before him with a jolt, and he literally impacted the doorway when he jumped, then darted up the stairs to find himself face to face with a devastatingly beautiful woman whose hair was so red he would have sworn it was actually on fire.

Wait, no, it was.  It was on fire, and her eyes glowed with that same internal flame that the man downstairs had before he'd lost his human form.  "Oh, shit," he breathed.

She squared her shoulders, head tilting as she regarded him, and then she was on him fast enough that even all of his instincts for battle hadn't done more for him than allow him to grab at her arm as she wrapped her hand around his throat and smashed him into the wall beside the basement door.  He gasped despite not needing to breathe, her grip burning into his skin like a hot iron everywhere he touched her, and if she didn't release him, he was pretty certain that she'd just burn him alive right there. 

"Where.  Is he?" she demanded, her voice lovely and promising no less than the immolation that he was already afraid of, and he struggled to draw the air in that was required for speech under her touch.  Again, she tilted her head like the bird her other form must have also resembled, like she was puzzling him out before he burned him up.

"Downstairs, downstairs!  He was dropped here, I didn't know how to help him," he told her quickly, gesturing with the arm nearest the door to the basement, and she jerked her head towards it, then released him without another word.  She swept down the stairs, and it was only then that he even realized that she was wearing a long dress that clung to her form, spitting embers around her that sputtered out in her wake.  He wasn't so sure that he wanted to follow her, but he did in case he could help and somehow prevent her from setting the entire place ablaze. 

She was knelt at the side of the dying phoenix on the rug, and if he thought she'd missed the blood all over it, he was insane, but she was so much more concerned with Evan himself.  She'd been like a thing possessed from the first flare that he'd put up, and it had taken her this long to locate him, what with him having been on the move when it started.  There were other creatures that would be searching for him, and moving him again would be the best way to keep them away from him, not to mention getting him to the safety of her home, but he was so far along that she wasn't sure she could do anything until he'd finished.

"Oh, my child, you've really made a mess of yourself this time, haven't you?" she sang at him softly, sadly, as she reached out to stroke his face.  He hadn't told her what he was into, but he'd always been more impulsive than she liked and so very in love with the human race.  She had those that she liked, but he actively chose to live and exist among them, where she liked her castle in the sky and inviting only those that she chose into her presence.  She wouldn't truly change anything about him, but it was times like these when he left her on a mad search for him that she wished he could be more cautious.

There was very little apology in the response he gave, but it was all pain, and she shushed him softly.  "I'm here, and I won't let anyone have you.  Go on, get it over with, you'll be safe," she promised, voice gentle, but firm.  Holding out for as long as he had gave her the time and the beacon to find him, but now it would only serve to help draw others in and keep them in this awful place longer than necessary.  Granted, she knew that it was easier said than done to die, especially for something as long-lived as they were - there was something deep inside of them that fought to survive, and Evan more than most.  "Shh, I'm here, let go."

It took another thirty minutes before the phoenix on the rug went up like a bonfire with a scream, setting the rug up with him, though the flames ebbed before they reached the outer edges.  Katrina didn't move, and patiently waited as the flames died down to smoldering ashes - ashes that shifted around after another moment, which was when she reached into them to scoop something small and seemingly very fragile from them.  She clutched this thing to her chest, her hands glowing with that same fire that had been part of her since she'd appeared prepared for a small war to find him, and she rose, regarding Loic harshly.

He threw his hands up, stepping away from the door and gesturing her through it.  "I'm not here to stop you.  Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"No.  I brought my own," she snapped back, and he followed her at a distance of a few feet until she got out the front door, where he could see that she was telling the truth.  There was an elegant black car waiting for her outside, which she slid into the back of when her driver stepped out to open the door for her.  She rolled down the window and stared at him for a few seconds.  "Release the shapeshifters, they don't belong to you."

With that said, she turned away and the car pulled out before she'd even rolled up her window.  He stared after it, a little shellshocked after the whole thing, but he got the very real impression that it could have gone much worse.  The burns were healing slowly, which just went to show how badly she could have hurt even someone like him, and he looked to the house.  Release the shapeshifters, indeed.  Consider that done, if it meant never having to see her again.

list incoming