#now before I go insane. It's so satisfying. to strike my controller with the fury of my entire arm just to watch that parts counter fly up

[ryuzaki-lawliett]

Personally, for me... I like computer guts more than organic ones. But a mix of the two? Liquid cooling systems filled with blood, artificial or otherwise.. Cyborgs.. I don't know. I like those.

[mobius-prime]

273. Sonic the Hedgehog #200

Turn About is Fair Play

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Matt Herms

Welcome to the two-hundredth issue of the Archie Sonic preboot! It's another big milestone issue, but unfortunately, compared to some of the others it's a little… light on content, if you will. Most of it consists of pages and pages of fighting, some of it with very little dialogue other than "Ugh!" and "Oof!" and "Argh!" It honestly reminds me in a way of those old, early-era issues that were mostly just Sonic and Knuckles beating the crap out of each other in various locales with a few pages before and after to explain why they'd decided to get into a tussle this time - only now, the big fight is between Sonic and, of course, Eggman.

Right off the bat, Eggman makes kind of a weird comment, claiming that Sonic has been a thorn in his side for "fifteen years and more." I say it's weird because no matter how you look at the timeline, it doesn’t really seem to match up. It can't be referring to Sonic's age, because Sonic is seventeen here, and he certainly didn't start fighting Eggman when he was two - the coup hadn't even happened at that point. And it can't be referring to how long the war has been going on for similar reasons. Sonic's been actively carrying on the fight against Eggman and his predecessor for about a decade now, assuming that he and the others formed the core Freedom Fighter group when he was around seven, but that still leaves several years unaccounted for. The only thing I can think of to make this comment make sense is that Eggman is specifically thinking about his previous war with the Sonic of his home zone. We know that his history was virtually identical to Sonic Prime's up until the events of Endgame, during which he roboticized himself to avoid losing outright. We can assume the fight went on a couple more years from there, and after his long stint in space as a computer program (anyone ever think about how weird Archie Sonic lore is) Eggman has been waging war anew against the Prime Zone's Freedom Fighters, and we can assume this has gone on for nearly two years at this point as well considering Sonic's year in space. I suppose, considering all that, that it could technically add up to fifteen years, but it's still a weird comment to make. Then again, we know that Eggman has been kind of losing it lately, and Sonic's careless and mocking attitude certainly doesn't help.

As their battle begins, Sonic smugly begins checking off the list of every way Eggman has failed to keep his empire in order - how "a group of kids with no real training" have continuously thwarted him in every way, how his failures always translate directly into wins for the heroes, and how even in the times he has won, such as at Knothole, it's been temporary at best, with the heroes coming out even stronger on the other side. Eggman sputters in a fury as Sonic continues to list off his failures, how he doesn't even control nearly as much of the world as he claims and that even in the places he does control the people hate him and want him gone, and how in the end, Sonic is confident he can beat him again just like always. What follows is what I mentioned before, just pages and pages of fighting as Sonic continues to trash the Egg Spider and Eggman grows more and more apoplectic and incoherent until he's reduced to screaming about how much he hates Sonic. After a good bit of bashing and spindashing, the Egg Spider is finally reduced to scrap, and Sonic, feeling quite pleased with the way their final battle has gone, strikes a nice victory pose.

And then… this happens.

Yikes. We knew that Eggman was slowly losing his grip on reality, but this is just downright disturbing. Sally tries to report to Sonic on the team's success and the Legion's retreat, but finds herself distracted by Eggman's gibbering tantrum, asking Sonic what the hell he did to him. Sonic is equally at a loss to explain what's going on, but Snively's voice interrupts the both of them, grimly informing them that this final defeat has completely broken his uncle's mind in half.

I'll admit, the first time I read this I did not see this coming despite the lead-up - it almost seemed like too much, like something of this caliber wouldn't make it into a comic for kids (well, more like teens at this point - I feel like the storylines have long since gone beyond being for young children). And yet in the end, I feel like that's exactly why Ian is so beloved as the head writer - he was willing to take things seriously, include real stakes for the characters and write in plot developments like this that would completely change the status quo. Eggman has been consistently losing his way through every Sonic game, comic, anime, and every other piece of media for decades now, and at some point, in some canon, it was liable to break him entirely. Just, no one ever expected it to be this dramatic.

Everyone else bursts into the room, and they begin to celebrate wildly as they realize the war is over, though Sonic stands amid the chaos with a look of blank disappointment on his face. Sally recovers fairly quickly and begins crying from happiness, using Nicole's handheld to broadcast the message of their victory to the entirety of New Mobotropolis, where the citizens are celebrating wildly in the streets. As they make their way back out of the Eggdome, Tails and Amy excitedly get Sonic to recount the battle to them, but he's less than enthusiastic, missing his usual dramatic flair. When questioned on his attitude, or lack thereof, he frowns and claims that he's merely tired after the fight, which they accept without question.

I'm not surprised Sonic doesn't feel right about all this. I'm sure he thought the finale to the big showdown was going to be, well, epic, with Eggman angrily sputtering about how he'll get him next time only to have his ego taken down a notch by Sally's end-of-the-war speech. It can't feel at all good to beat your enemy so hard that he literally goes insane, even if he is a genocidal maniac. After all, Sonic isn't cruel - he doesn't fight for the express purpose of torturing Eggman, he fights to protect the people and the world he loves. Causing such extreme mental anguish just isn't something he's interested in, and yet his actions have led to it anyway, causing some serious emotional conflict for him. But hey, he's Sonic, and in the end he's able to pick up and carry on, satisfied that in the long run he's done the right thing. And hey, it is the end of the war! Time to enjoy, for the second time, a new era of peace and prosperity with no more dire threats to the world and his family and friends' safety! Right? R…right?

Of course not! Where would we be if there was no more conflict in this comic?! I mean, granted, there was an entire era in the past dealing with precisely that - how child soldiers deal with trying to live an ordinary life after fighting an adults' war - but it'd be kinda weird to try to just rehash all that a second time over. Plus, Sonic has grown up since then - I feel like if the story truly did end here and there were no more villains to face, Sonic would ultimately be able to adjust and live a happy and fulfilling life without all the constant hero work to keep him busy. But as it is, there is another situation brewing - don't tell me you forgot about Snively's little online romance! After securing Eggman in a straightjacket and padded cell within the Eggdome, Snively makes his way to the landing pad on top of the Eggdome, ordering all the Legion's members to meet him up there. He's ready to introduce them all to their new leader, who will be taking over the running of the Eggman Empire now that its namesake is, ahem, indisposed. And this new ruler just so happens to be…

T-the Iron Queen? You mean that one-off character from waaayyy back in StH#60? Yeah, see, I did hint at this back in my review of that issue. I think I've mentioned it before, but Ian is very fond of bringing back old, forgotten characters and concepts from the earliest days of the comic and breathing new life into them, finding ways to weave them back into the story to become much more interesting than they had been before. The Iron Queen, here, is a technomancer, and quite power-hungry (and apparently has a thing for tiny gremlin men, despite being married to a gigantic Mobian bull). I will admit that she's not my favorite villain of the series, but she's not a bad one at all, and indeed it's her arrival that catapults us out of the sixth era and into the seventh, as we get ready to face down the menace of her Iron Dominion! Man, so much for peace. Sonic never does get a break, does he?

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone -03

Masterpost

Inhuman scream.

She's covered in vampire blood already but this guy just won't go down, his eyes very dark red, she slashes at his chest again, using his dodge to wrap her legs around his neck, her momentum knocking him down. She's up faster, tangling with his friend, claws scratching over her already dented armor, she kicks the woman in the stomach with both feet, dropping onto her back but bouncing right back up. The guy tries to grab her from behind so she elbows him in the face and steps on his foot, ramming her shoulder into him and twisting so he rolls right over, crashing into his female friend. Takes the second to retrieve her knife, gun's too far out. They're already scrambling up again. She flashes her teeth and they return it with their fangs, plunging towards her.

Rolling out from under the bigger guy, the woman lands right on top of her, sinking her fangs into the bite guard that makes a pitiful noise. She flips them over and socks her on the jaw. The guy grabs her by her hair, yanking her back which hurts like a bitch but she's not one to cry, kicking his knee out, satisfying crack , slashing the silver knife through his ribcage, howl , splattering blood, trades blows with the vampiress while he falls to his knees. The woman tries to bite her arm again but she whips the creature around, breaking her arm behind her back, inhuman cry, slashes precisely through the guy's neck, blood spluttering, and then she snaps the woman's neck, tossing her onto the asphalt like a rag doll.

Something drops from a lamp post and she spins, ready to fight, already covered in blood and gore, but it's just the black cloak who strides towards her confidently. She snorts, walking away to retrieve the gun.

He nods towards the three vampires, the one she shot straight through the heart, the one with the bleeding neck and the one with the twisted spine who still tries to crawl away. "Tell me you didn't enjoy that."

She doesn't say anything, just checking the ammunition left. It's obvious. Well, she should clean up.

"Do you mind if I drink her?" he asks. "Since you didn't hit her with silver."

She stops, tilting her head, then shrugs. The woman howls but can't get anywhere before he crouches over her, black cloak covering, and then it's deadly quiet. She walks over and hacks the bleeding vampire's head off.

He feeds in complete silence. When he straightens, the woman's body is crumpled, dry but there's only little blood around his mouth. Not like a young vampire in a blood frenzy. "So you hunt vampires," she states. "And you feed on vampires."

"Young vampires," he specifies, licking his lips. "With human blood left. Vampire blood smells and tastes foul."

"Has other advantages, though," she remarks.

He grins. His fangs are streaked with both gold and dark blood. "You could have it. Just say yes."

"I'm not loyal," she counters. "I don't follow orders. Schmidt wouldn't like that."

"You would," he returns. "It's not a choice."

She snorts. "Not even for you?"

"No," he replies. "He turned me. I have to obey him."

"I've never heard of that," she states.

"It's not that common," he admits. "But for him, always. How else do you think the large nests like in the castle work?"

"Mind control," she repeats. "No, wait, you're dead, you don't have a mind. And you want to get me into that ?"

"It's not my choice," he admits again. "But I would prefer to have you around rather than having to kill all your friends."

"But you're not remotely controlled," she argues. "There has to be a way around this. He can't have given you super specific orders without loopholes."

"You ask too many questions, dollface," he returns. "I should get going before day strikes."

"The fuck did you just call me?" she asks with amusement, wiping dark blood off her face. "How fucking old are you?"

"Don't you know that?" he asks back. "Think about it. It's really not the worst thing in the world."

  "I was fucking worried!" Clint exclaims. "What the fuck even happened, you look like you took a blood bath, where were you, are you hurt, just, what the fuck ?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she hurries to say. "Just, we need to talk. Before we get back."

Clint looks her up and down pointedly. "Like that? On the street?"

Fair. She ducks away into a side passage, hoping nobody comes by at this time. "I'm fine. Really. Just vampire blood."

"What the fuck happened," Clint repeats. "Did you- did he bite you?"

"Absolutely not, I promise," she assures him. "I'm clean."

"You don't look clean," Clint points out. "But- oh. He wants to bite you."

"Kinda," she admits. "It's complicated. But I'm definitely clean. I'm not sure whether he's telling the truth but- Schmidt might want to recruit me into his charges."

Clint snorts. "Oh yeah. He's definitely lying."

"That's what I thought too," she agrees. "But what else could he want?"

"You're a hunter," Clint points out. "You kill vampires, you'd rather walk into the sun than help one."

She's not so sure of that anymore. "No, you're right. I just don't see- nothing else makes sense either."

"He's playing you," Clint says softly. "Don't think too much about it, it will never make sense to you. It's just a game for bored monsters. Just make sure you don't get hurt, okay?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "Sure. Just- yeah. Okay."

  "Again?!" Fury asks. "This guy's definitely fake. There's only so many times you can get not killed by a real black cloak."

"Definitely real," Clints counters. "I saw him. He was flying around like a giant fucking bat."

Natasha massages her right side, wincing. It was hard enough to get out of the dented armor, even without all the bruises. "Raise your arm," Bruce demands. "Ouch, that looks painful."

"He's playing some stupid mind games with her," Clint explains. "God knows why. But she should really stay in before he snatches her up again."

Feels wrong under her skin. "He could snatch anyone up," Fury states. "Should we all just tuck in nicely when the sun goes down?"

"He hasn't killed anyone yet, as far as we know," Clint points out. "Except the baby vampires. And he only ever abducted Tasha, right, Tasha?"

"Far as I know," she mutters while Bruce inspects the mark from her bite guard. "He said he was stalking me."

Fury looks very displeased. "She'll have to stay in anyway, with those bruises. Let's see what he does in the meantime."

"Yeah," Clint agrees. "Let's do that. I'll jump under the shower now."

Fury steps up to her while Bruce moves to feel her ribs, making her wince again. "Sure you're fine?"

"No bite, though the armor bruised her bad," Bruce replies before blushing. "Sorry."

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replies as well. "Just a little scuffle with some vampires."

"You killed the wrong ones," Fury remarks with amusement. "Not the big one."

"Tried, but he's a tough motherfucker," she admits. "Never seen anything like it."

"I know." Fury shakes his head. "Get some rest. We'll work something out."

He leaves and she's left with Bruce who's still awkwardly feeling around her ribs. She stretches her neck one way and the other, the dented bite guard having taken a toll. "Nothing broken, right? It doesn't feel broken."

"Doesn't seem so," Bruce mutters, not looking up. "You're really lucky."

There's a black cloak stalking her, for whatever twisted reason. "Not really, trust me."

Bruce pulls back, staring at her. Oh boy, here they go. "Could you promise me something?"

He looks so honest , so simple. Kind like she never was. "Like what?"

"I don't wanna have to say that ever again," he states determinedly. "That you didn't get killed just because you're insanely lucky."

Lump in her throat. "I don't actively try to get killed, you know."

He huffs, turning away, and she knows she fucked up again. She twists, painfully, and pulls a shirt on. Her right side's really bad. Yeah, she's never gonna jump through a window again, but it's not like it was her decision this time either. "I'll try. I promise."

That's not the same thing and they both know it. And now she'll extract herself from this uncomfortable situation, like she always does, leaving a foul taste in her mouth, and neither of them will be happy. That's the way it always goes.

"Thanks," she states, pulling on sweatpants and picking up the dented armor. "I'll take a shower and go to bed. I'll… I'll see you around. Dinner or something."

  She sleeps through dinner and misses it, as always. Tony and Pepper are already out, Clint is downstairs training, Bruce and Sam are playing checkers in the living area. It still smells of eggs and bacon, which is ideal when some people are just getting up and others are heading to bed already. "Hey," Sam remarks, staring at the board in concentration. "We left you some, don't worry."

"Appreciate it," she replies, scratching the egg out of the pan. "Who's winning?"

Sam huffs. "Bruce insists there's a guaranteed draw but so far, no."

"With perfect play," Bruce specifies quietly. "Tony and I worked out a computer model that solves- well, should solve- nevermind."

Great, it's awkward. She checks the plan on the wall. "Mhm. Someone might have to take my Wednesday shift."

"Yeah, talked about that at dinner," Sam agrees. "Just wait until Fury changes it."

"So what are you going to do now?" Bruce asks. "When you're not on patrol?"

"I was thinking about going to the Archive," she suggests. "Do some research on the black cloaks. Maybe I can figure out who that one is."

"Might be useful," Sam agrees, stopping in his movement. "Wait. You're looking at me like I'm about to make a horrible mistake."

Bruce blushes. "No, no, it's, just- yes. That one. Over there."

Sam groans, dropping the piece. "Oh man, I always miss something. Okay. Give me a minute."

"Sure," Bruce agrees. "So you… saw him? You know what he looks like?"

She puts her plate in the microwave. "There are probably no pictures. But if he was turned during the first Uprising, judging by the color of his eyes… well, Schmidt wouldn't have turned just anyone, right?"

"Oh yeah," Sam mutters sourly. "He was very racist about that."

"I mean, the fang thing changes the sound of the voice and pronunciation and all," she admits, crossing her arms. "But I think he might have been American. Vocabulary-wise. Before he turned into an inhuman monster, of course."

"Natasha," Bruce suggests softly, which she hates. "Does that really matter?"

"Maybe," she returns defiantly. "And what else am I supposed to do? All those booby traps won't help, let's be real."

"I mean," Sam adds, finally placing the piece. "He hasn't murdered us all yet, so that's definitely in their favor."

  Prague's a good place to research this. There's still files from the Protectorate Bohemia-Moravia. She heads out in the morning, the sun itchy on her skin. Tony's right, she wasn't out in a while, at least in daylight.

She knows the basic story, that Johann Schmidt, ardent Nazi, was the first to become infected with the vampire disease or whatever you want to call it, secret research facility in Northern Italy, tucked away inside the Alps, and then he started turning other people. The Nazis were intrigued at first, another potential weapon in the raging war, but the more Schmidt started insisting on the superiority of vampires, the more they became spooked. And they already had a Führer, no need for another megalomaniac messiah. So they made plans and when Schmidt's Uprising came, they squashed it with the same thoroughness they used to kill six million Jews. Never got Schmidt, though, and a couple of others who allegedly spread out over the continent, hiding. Waiting. Until a few years ago. God, it's really just a few years, it feels like centuries.

It was mostly German history, since the vampires were never used in the war, and hence the German files are the best place to look for her black cloak. This archive is never particularly busy, though the Government removed some files for their own research. She checks in, locks her stuff away and proceeds to the registry.

Nobody really knows how many vampires there actually were. The Nazis document 24 killings, with at least ten escaping, including Schmidt. Who knows how many more they never even saw. Who knows what other seeds Schmidt planted, so to speak. It doesn't take many vampires to spark a global outbreak, though, if you are well organized.

The 24 are easier to identify. Especially the former German soldiers. Some were friends, allies of Schmidt who seemed to really have believed in the whole new better human thing. Then again, as far as she's concerned, every Nazi is a monster already. Her family had plenty of stories about the war and the suffering, about Leningrad, Moscow and Stalingrad.

There's not much on the 24 either, though. Allied uniforms were found in Schmidt's abandoned facility, suggesting either some cooperation with a Western power, their killing of allied soldiers or, most interesting, that potentially there were prisoners of war among the turned. She doesn't really understand the description of machines in the facility but it certainly looks like there was research in many directions.

She learns about Zola, too. Arnim Zola, Swiss scientist, eugenicist, racist, but brilliant. Must have had an absolute meeting of the minds with Schmidt. He's believed to have developed the vampire virus or disease or whatever it is, though it is not clear whether he actually took it himself. Schmidt commonly described himself as the first of a new kind of humans, after all. However, Zola's body was never found.

She moves to a clunky computer to request American military data on which units they had in the area during Schmidt's activities and who went missing. Though they probably won't answer her, because why would they bother. Same thing for the French resistance. She tries to figure out what other forces might have been there. Maybe the British.

"Oh my," a startling voice remarks. "You actually left the house, in broad daylight."

She turns around and Tony's already dragging up a chair. He looks a little ruffled but it appears to have been a calm patrol. "You even know how to use a computer?"

"Excuse me," she throws back. "We put the first man in space. Don't forget that."

"Yeah, hurrah," Tony remarks sarcastically. "Doing research, I see?"

She flips the folders open again. "There's pictures from Schmidt's facility. Does that mean anything to you?"

Tony studies the picture with interest but frowns. "From a corny black-and-white picture? No. Also, never judge a machine from the outside."

"They found allied uniforms," Natasha adds, flipping a few pages. "Though it is not specified which. What if some of the turned were actually prisoners of war?"

"What if they just sucked them dry? What if they did infiltration?" Tony asks back, crossing an ankle over his knee and leaning back. "But okay, let's go with it for now."

"How likely is it that a Frenchman, American, British soldier, whatever, how likely is it that a captured enemy soldier decides to follow Schmidt?" she asks. "By their own wishes?"

"By their own volition," Tony corrects. "I don't know. Nobody said they chose to be turned. But yeah, that raises questions about after."

"There must be something," Natasha insists. "Think of freshly turned vampires, a whole bunch of them. It would have been absolute mayhem. Schmidt must have had some way to control them."

"You mean, other than being the most powerful vampire ever?" Tony remarks. "Well, whatever. But I hear you got kidnapped by the black cloak."

She snorts, turning back to the screen. "Yeah. God knows why."

"Look, I don't like asking this," Tony says. "But maybe… did he try to flirt with you?"

She spins around. "What?! "

The library lady shushes them angrily in passing. As if anyone else cares. Tony fiddles with his hands, uncomfortably. "You know vampires sometimes have children with human women. Vampire women can't, but males do. There's a couple of cases. So maybe-"

"Tony," she tries.

"It's just that he seems really focussed on you, for no reason," Tony continues. "And he let you go an unbelievable number of times. So I think it makes the most sense if-"

"Tony," she tries again.

"I know that's not something you want to talk about," Tony says. "But you should consider what he actually wants is a vampire monster ba-"

"Tony!" She almost hisses. "I can't have kids."

Tony blinks, dumbfounded. "Oh. Sorry."

"Not a big deal," she says, though it is. "But I'm definitely not going to give birth to some weird abomination."

"Maybe tell him that," Tony suggests. "Casually. See how he reacts. Maybe he leaves you alone then. Or he murders you."

She snorts. "Yeah, that knowledge will be super useful when I'm dead."

"Still the best theory," Tony insists. "I mean, he doesn't know you can't- yeah. Just keep it in mind."

"That's fucked up, though," she remarks. "So, you're just gonna sit there and talk or are you gonna help me research?"

  She sleeps through a few more days and nights until the bruises feel better. Fury is awake when she goes downstairs.

She always says their stronghold is in the powder tower, because she likes that ghastly piece of stone, but that's actually just the smallest part. Mostly, they took over the Opera house and the former national bank. There's even a cool tunnel in between. The national bank relocated outside the city, together with the whole government, and the opera just had to close when nobody left the house at night anymore. Some of the singers were reportedly bitten, too.

Fury is reading a newspaper, frowning. The sun is still up outside. "I moved your shift. Don't even think about it."

Neither of them is known for their friendliness. "So I'm just going to stay inside until he comes here to kill us all."

"This place is safe, Romanoff," Fury insists. "Remember that. In every way."

She huffs. "I would prefer if you had an actual plan ."

"We're getting a transfer," Fury announces. "From Munich. Very capable. Stark's working on something, too. I can't do more than that."

"So one more person is going to die?" she asks coldly. "You know what, I'm going to spend the night in town."

Fury's one eye scrutinizes her. "You're not going on patrol, are you?"

"I'll stay indoors," she promises, grabbing her jacket. "But not here."

  She has a number of apartments around town, empty, abandoned rooms. Some people are superstitious about it or believe vampires come back to where they last found prey, but not her. Well, she hunts vampires, so maybe her risk assessment is not that solid.

It's an old building in Vinohrady today. Used to be a pretty neighborhood, as far as she heard. She opens the window when night falls, breathing in, then sits down by the door, silver gun right in front of her.

She really doesn't know what to do. Killing him isn't realistic, she could never be a vampire monster but sentencing everyone to death… She always liked the moral clarity about being a hunter. She just kills bad monsters to protect good people. Of course, Alexei already had made that more complicated. This time, there's just no good option.

There's a whiff of air and then he's crouching on the window sill, perfectly balanced, nods towards her gun lying there on the floor. "You're gonna shoot me?"

"No," she replies, which is exactly what she would say if she was going to shoot him. "But you never know what comes through an open window."

He drops to the floor silently, walking through the room. "Seems like you wanted to meet."

Wanting is greatly exaggerated. "What if I can't decide?"

"It's not that hard," he insists, studying a broken cupboard. God, he almost has his back to her. "But I have a full moon. 30 days. Then you have to decide."

"So ten more days," she states. "And then you're going to kill all my friends."

He sighs. "As I said, not my preferred option."

"But what if I'm really just undecided?" she asks. "Schmidt never sent a black cloak to wipe us all out, but now he sends one to recruit me. That clearly has more value to him. Maybe he would be willing to wait a little longer. After all, he's old as fuck, what's another moon or two."

He looks amused, turning back to her. "You want an extension? For what?"

Hell, if she knew. "Could you get one?"

"I don't know," he replies, turning on his heel and wandering towards the window again. "Probably. If I really believe you'll still agree."

"So I have to convince you of that," she states. "Or figure out how to circumvent your mind control thing."

He doesn't say anything, just stares out into the darkness. She gets up and steps a little closer. "No, really. You keep saying that you don't want to do that. What's keeping you from not doing it?"

"He turned me," he mutters. "I have to. I just have to. If he says- I have to."

"But you didn't grab me and abduct me," she argues. "So there's a margin."

He turns, baring his fangs, making her shudder. "What do you want ?"

"I wanna get you out of this," she blurts out. "Just tell me how ."

He closes his white eyes, breathes. He doesn't always breathe. "No."

"Why?" she prompts, because she's reckless as fuck.

"It hurts ," he hisses. "Just thinking- No. God, just- why can't you just agree , I promise it's not that bad, that would be so much easier ."

"But I won't," she repeats.

He breathes again. "Yeah. You really remind me of myself."

"You didn't want to be turned either, did you?" she asks, leaning against the wall.

"My memory is fuzzy at best," he replies. "You know, I- if it's about the mind control thing, I could bite you. Instead of Schmidt. He wouldn't be happy about it but I guess it wouldn't be too bad."

She snorts. "So I can be your slave instead? No thanks. Also, then he gives you the order to give me an order, that just makes the chain a little longer."

"I might not even have control over you," he remarks. "I never tried. Maybe it doesn't work for me at all."

"Then he'd definitely murder me." She groans, head dropping back. Wait. She just bared her neck. Tucks her chin into her chest again. "No, really. Who were you, before all of this?"

"I'm not sure," he replies hesitantly. "But I remember how I was. Stubborn. Self-righteous. Like you."

"I'm not- I know I did bad shit." She hesitates. "You said you- know."

"I know you beheaded him," he says weirdly gently. "Before any vampire came even close."

However the fuck he knows that. She controls her breathing. "He was- experimenting. With vampire blood. He turned people, just as a source of- But the worst was, with dead people, he put vampire blood in dead people, and they would get up again and follow every command they heard, like- like- golems or something, and I- he was just turning into a monster, more and more every day, way worse than the monsters I hunted, and- yeah. Everyone else thinks the vampires ripped him to pieces, and they did, but I really killed him and made sure he wouldn't come back either."

"But you learned from him," he points out. "How long have you been injecting vampire blood?"

She doesn't answer, doesn't want to. "You smell better now," he remarks. "I didn't figure it out at first but… do the others know?"

She shakes her head. "It- it does make you stronger. And heal faster. I just wanted- And it's barely detectable, at the right dosis."

"I understand," he says.

She huffs angrily. "No, you don't."

He sweeps the black cloak back and rolls up his left sleeve. It's- between the white skin, there are metal bits, crude fillers, more on the outside, interrupting the pale skin that still looks human by comparison to the metal . He turns the arm casually, revealing the angry red bite mark on his forearm, seems to never ever go away. "After he bit me, there were issues. I don't know why, but parts of my arm turned grey and foul. So they cut them out and put metal in instead. It- it helps."

"It hurts ," she whispers.

"Yes," he admits. "It hurts. But it's stronger now."

"For what ?" she asks angrily. "So you can do better what he says? So it hurts when you obey him and it hurts when you think about disobeying him and- don't you see that?"

He steps back. "I really don't know what you want from me."

"Yes, you do," she hisses. "Come on. We can figure this out. Together."

"No," he replies. "We can't." And then he drops out of the window and is gone.

[featherbraincd-aa-blog]

               ❛    ---------------   why   did   you   do   that?!  ❜                ❛    ---------------   though’   it’d   be   funny,   ain’t   it?  ❜

 his   mind   dutifully   switches   off   as   claire   begins   to   yell.     despite   her   head   trauma,   she’s   retained   her   altruistic   personality.     no   accident   could   force   that   from   her,   just   as   no   amount   of   distraction   could   force   apathy   from   him.     he   doesn’t   care;     he   doesn’t   care   about   his   work;     he   doesn’t   care   about   his   hobbies;     he   doesn’t   care   about   the   people   that   constantly   insist   on   hovering   around   him   like   flies   surrounding   a   corpse;     and   he   doesn’t   care   about   the   gaping   wound   on   his   hand   either.     really,   he’d   known   all   along   that   grabbing   a   knife   so   sharp   by   the   blade   would   cause   his   skin   to   give   way,   that   serrated   teeth   would   sink   into   soft   flesh--     it   just   hadn’t   been   enough   of   a   deterrent   to   not   do   it.

 she’s   forced   his   fingers   out,   worried   eyes   surveying   the   gash   before   going   back   to   his   face.     there’s   nothing   that   she’s   looking   for   there,   just   an   empty   mask   that   provides   no   answers,   no   reason.

               ❛    ---------------   this’s   a   bad   cut,   crow.     you   fucking   idiot!!    i   told   you   not   to!!   ❜

 guiding   him   to   sit   down   prompts   nothing.     he’s   doing   as   directed,   surprisingly   docile,   and   she   knows   immediately   that   such   behaviour   is   cause   for   concern.     she’s   trying   to   talk   to   him   now,   nudging   his   shoulder   with   a   warm   palm,   but   he   doesn’t   feel   it.     he’s   left   his   vessel   altogether.

             「   i’m   floating   away,   free   from   care.     i   feel   better.     i   feel   so   much   better.   」

 a   mention   of   phoning   somebody   catches   his   attention.     the   doctor,   or   his   therapist   perhaps,   though   his   brain   doesn’t   acquire   the   name   to   feel   threatened   in   the   first   place.     it   does   trigger   something   violent,   though--     a   violent   lie.     muddy   hands   force   light   back   into   his   eyes,   clouded   thoughts   parting   for   a   brief   strike   of   lightning--     alertness--   as   he   grins.

                        ❛    ---------------   phah.     did   i   get   y’good?     wha’   a   wuss.  ❜

 after   staring   for   a   moment   in   disbelief,   the   woman’s   worry   is   replaced   with   indignant   mirth.     the   harsh   shove   to   his   chest,   the   muted     ❛   you   motherfucker   ❜     ...     it   all   feels   normal.     he’s   normal   again.     it’s   this,   rather   than   her   candid   frustration   with   him,   that   prompts   him   to   laugh.

               ❛    ---------------   why   did   ya   jump   from   such   a   high   place?!     ya’re   gonna                   break   your   legs   at   some   point!!   ❜

             「   if   i   break   my   legs,   will   305   expect   me   to   go   anywhere   any   more?   」

 even   he   can   admit   that   the   landing   had   hurt.     no   amount   of   training   is   going   to   have   steel   replacing   bone   any   time   soon,   and   as   he   stands   straight   again   he   reluctantly   accepts   the   possibility   of   a   sprain,     or   a   torn   muscle.     something   in   his   ankle   feels   wrong.     still,   he   forces   himself   to   bridge   the   gap   between   him   and   danny.

               ❛    ---------------   it   was   not   high,   manny.     could’a   jumped   from   there   with                   my   legs   split   like   a   whore’s.  ❜

 that   doesn’t   mean   you   should!!     you   could   have   really   gotten   hurt!!     what   am   i   supposed   to   do   if   you   wind   up   more   injured   than   you   intended?     he’s   used   to   all   of   these   questions   at   this   point--   he   just   doesn’t   care   about   them.     why   should   he   be   concerned   about   other   people’s   concern?     no   amount   of   telling   them   it’s   misplaced   is   going   to   make  them   stop,   so   the   next   logical   step   is   to   avoid   thinking   about   it   too   much.     how   is   it   his   fault   if   they   care   too   much   in   the   stead   of   someone   who   doesn’t   care   at   all?

 the   feeling   of   floating   is   returning.     his   body   feels   pleasantly   vacant,   like   an   empty   sack,   and   it’s   with   no   regret   that   he   revels   in   the   peculiar   sensation--     even   though   his   ankle   is   killing   him.     jumping   from   there,   he’d   known   it   would.

 when   he   returns   to   earth,   crow   makes   sure   to   do   so   with   a   facetious   grin.

               ❛    ---------------   wanna   watch   me   do   it   again?   ❜                ❛    ---------------   crow!!   ❜

               ❛    ---------------   why   won’t   y’ever   say   anythin’?   ❜

 the   static   in   his   ear   is   making   his   head   spin.     in   one,   the   crackling   silence   of   a   parent   who   feels   no   obligation   to   speak   to   her   undesirable   offspring,   and   in   the   other   the   thrumming   silence   of   nomi’s   house.     he’s   out,   in   paris,   chasing   something   or   other   about   his   career   as   an   author,   and   crow   is   glued   to   his   seat   in   the   kitchen,   alone,   meaning   nothing   to   society.

 his   fingers   tighten   around   the   mobile.     despite   his   better   judgement,   he   can   feel   his   eyes   growing   hot,   teeth   gritting,   caging   an   onslaught   of   insanity   as   he   listens   more   intently.     this   time,   he   thinks,   as   he   always   does,   this   time   it’ll   be   different.

               ❛    ---------------   if   y’never   wanted   ta   speak   ta   me,   why   wouldn’t   y’block                my   number?     why   wouldn’t   y’move   away   where   i   can’t   find   y’after   all                these   years,   with   the   family   y’do   love?     why   would   y’even   pick   up                   the   phone?   ❜

 even   without   his   knowledge,   his   breathing   is   picking   up,   becoming   more   erratic   as   he   speaks.

               ❛    ---------------   mama,   why   don’t   y’love   me?   ❜

 voice   cracks   without   him   even   meaning   for   it   to.     he   hides   so   much   every   day...     how   depressed   he   feels;     how   empty   he   is   inside;     how   desperate   he   is   for   things   to   change   in   a   way   where   he   can   feel   their   benefit.     instead   he’s   caged   inside   some   never-ending   loop   of   him   saying   meaningless   things   to   meaningless   people,   searching   for   some   version   of   love   that   he   can   never   quite   accept.     he’s   alone   in   this   world...     everybody   he   wanted   to   love   him   has   long-since   abandoned   him.

 when   his   palm   meets   his   cheek   in   the   form   of   a   meek,   defeated   slap,   it   already   feels   damp.     a   feeble   sniffle   is   barely   an   indication   of   the   outraged   sob   that   follows.     he’s   crying,   but   not   in   a   cathartic   manner;     instead   in   a   fashion   so   primal   and   red   that   he   resembles   something   non-human.     without   a   second   thought,   the   man   stands   up   and   shoves   the   table   so   hard   it   topples   over,   the   chair   he’d   been   sitting   on   flung   back.    immediately,   he   begins   to   break   things.     kitchen   utensils.     any   crockery   he   can   get   his   hands   on   in   his   blind   fury.     the   refuse   bin   goes   down   with   an   angry   kick,   and   in   the   pile   of   garbage   does   he   see   a   loose   feather.     thoughts   now   a   whirlwind,   it’s   no   surprise   that   such   a   sight   prompts   the   next   of   many   insensible   ideas.     hands   tear   open   his   shirt,   fingers   locking   around   soft   plumage   and   pulling.     his   brain   immediately   begins   to   scream   in   protest--   stop   that,   god   STOP   IT,   IT   HURTS--   but   the   further   he   pushes,   the   more   numb   he   becomes.     eventually,   he   leaves   his   body,   fingers   clamped   around   fistfuls   of   feathers   slowly   letting   go   of   them.     despite   it   not   being   visible,   crow   knows   the   skin   beneath   is   raw   and   pink,   like   tender   meat   under   a   butcher’s   knife.     ugly.     made   to   be   killed.

 when   he   comes   back,   eyes   scan   the   mess   he’s   made.     even   now,   his   phone   lays   on,   screen   shattered   but   still   displaying   the   call,   seconds   still   ticking   away.     even   in   witnessing   the   destruction   she’s   caused   her   son,   the   mother   doesn’t   feel   inclined   to   give   him   a   response.    

 stumbling   over   the   chair   he’d   knocked   over,   crow   clumsily   collects   the   device   and   brings   it   close   to   his   ear.     nothing...     and   now   that   he’s   had   his   breakdown,   he   feels   content   to   leave   the   conversation   there,   a   vacant     ❛   i   still   love   you,   mama.   ❜     uttered   before   he   hangs   up,   taking   in   the   mess   he’s   made.     even   knowing   he’d   done   it,   he   doesn’t   feel   as   if   he   had.     nomi   isn’t   back   for   another   two   days...     there’s   plenty   of   time   to   clean   up   and   get   his   act   together   again.     for   now   though,   he   sinks   to   the   ground,   languidly   cross-legged   and   staring   blankly   into   space,   surrounded   by   loose   feathers.     his   skin   hurts.     it   hurts   more   than   cutting   it   did.     that   satisfies   him.

 an   hour   passes   before   he   feels   in   control   enough   to   stand   up   again.     retrieving   his   phone   once   more,   he   realises   he’d   missed   three   calls   from   nomi.    he   hadn’t   even   heard   it   ringing.     with   still   shaky   fingers,   he   fumbles   with   the   device   until   he’s   tapped   out   a   message   that   he’s   okay   with.     in   his   usual   blarse,   self-important   fashion:

                                        call   at   a   better   time.     i  was   in   the   shower   x

[dargeereads]

COMPLICATE is live! Deliver series is complete.

AMAZON | APPLE | B&N | KOBO | GOOGLE| GOODREADS

The heart-pounding conclusion of the DELIVER series.

Cole Hartman is a mystery. He works alone, sleeps alone, and satisfies his aches…alone. He hasn't touched a woman in seven years. No one will ever compare to the one who broke his heart. Until he stares into the seductive eyes of his enemy. He finally meets his match in the redheaded Russian spy. But she's a dangerous risk. His obsession with her leaves him only one choice.

If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't kill you, hunt it down and take it.

This is Cole Hartman's story. But it's not his beginning. The twisted, heartwrenching story of Cole, Danni, and Trace starts in the TANGLED LIES trilogy.

You don't have to read TANGLED LIES, but if you want to read it, do so before reading this book.

RECOMMENDED READING ORDER

ONE IS A PROMISE (FREE) TWO IS A LIE THREE IS A WAR DELIVER (#1) (FREE) VANQUISH (#2) DISCLAIM (#3) DEVASTATE (#4) TAKE (#5) MANIPULATE (#6) UNSHACKLE (#7) DOMINATE (#8) COMPLICATE (#9)

Start Reading ONE IS A PROMISE for Free

Start Reading DELIVER for Free

Each book in the DELIVER series is a different couple (HEAs / no cliff-hangers), but they must be read in order.

📚 ebooks (all retailers worldwide): ONE IS A PROMISE | TWO IS A LIE | THREE IS A WAR DELIVER | VANQUISH | DISCLAIM | DEVASTATE | TAKE | MANIPULATE | UNSHACKLE| DOMINATE| COMPLICATE

🎧 Audio: ONE IS A PROMISE | TWO IS A LIE | THREE IS A WAR DELIVER | VANQUISH | DISCLAIM | DEVASTATE | TAKE | MANIPULATE | UNSHACKLE | DOMINATE COMPLICATE audio coming April 13

ONE IS A PROMISE - FREE

One promise. One forever.

One look and I knew Cole was mine. My dark rebel in leather. My powerhouse of passion, devastating smiles, and impulsiveness. When his job sends him overseas, he promises to return to me. A promise that's destroyed in the most irrevocable way.

Two years later, an arrogant suit invades my heartbroken loneliness.

Clean-cut and stern, Trace is everything Cole wasn't. At first, he's a job that will rescue my dance company. But as he intrudes on my life, our hostile relationship evolves. He knows I'm still in love with Cole, but his dedication is my undoing.

Then a catastrophic moment changes everything.

Promises resurface. Lies entangle. And an impossible choice shatters my world.

I love two men, and I can only have one.

TWO IS A LIE

Two lies. Two men who don’t share.

I never stopped loving Cole. Not when he left me. Not when he disappeared for three years. Not when he crashed back into my life in a violent explosion of testosterone and fury. His sudden reappearance questions everything I thought I knew, including how I came to love another man.

Trace is an intoxicating breeze of seduction over ice. My rock. My second chance at forever. And he’s committed to annihilating the competition.

The battle that ensues wrenches me back and forth between them. Fighting and f*cking. Resisting and submitting.

Together, they entangle me in a web of lies, rivalry, and desire that weaves as deeply as their devotion to me.

I love two men, and if I can only have one, I choose none.

THREE IS A WAR

Three means war. Three sides vying for forever.

Cole. My first love. The bad boy with the dangerous smile and passionate temper draws attention like a lit fuse on dynamite. But his dark molten eyes spark only for me.

Trace. My second chance. Over six feet of Norse god in a tailored suit, he calculates every move and seizes my hungry breaths with an iron fist.

Me. The free-spirited dancer, torn between two men with no resolution in sight. I tried leaving, staying, refusing, and surrendering. What options do I have left?

I love two men, and I do the only thing I can. I fight.

DELIVER, Book 1 - FREE

His name was Joshua Carter. Now it’s whatever she wants it to be.

She is a Deliverer.

She lures young men and delivers them to be sold. She delivers the strikes that enforce their obedience. She delivers the sexual training that determines their purchase price.

As long as she delivers, the arrangement that protects her family will hold.

Delivering is all she knows.

The one thing she can’t deliver is a captive from slavery.

Until him.

And her stubborn slave thinks he can deliver her…from herself.

VANQUISH, Book 2

Her life is like a prison cell. A self-made, to-hell-with-the-free-world existence that locks from the inside. Stop judging. Her agoraphobia doesn’t define her. It simply keeps her safe.

He belongs in a prison cell. The 6x8, make-me-your-bitch variety that locks from the outside. But he’s free. To hunt. To take. To break. And he just found a sexy new toy.

Capturing her is the easy part. Her fucked-up mind, however, makes him question everything he does next. But he’s a determined bastard. If all goes his way, this will hurt like hell.

DISCLAIM, Book 3

Camila was seventeen when Van Quiso kidnapped her. Ten years after her escape, the shackles refuse to release her. Not while there are still slave traders preying on her city. She will stop at nothing to end them. Even if that means becoming a slave again.

Returning to chains is her worst fear—and only option. They won’t know who she is or what she intends to do. She’s prepared for every complication. Except him. The one who decimated her sixteen-year-old heart.

Matias is charming, gorgeous, and dangerously seductive. He’s also untrustworthy and enshrouded in secrets. After years of no contact, he finds her—on her knees, wrists bound, in the clutches of her enemy. Will he sabotage her mission by needlessly saving her? Or will he keep her in chains and never let her go?

DEVASTATE, Book 4

“What is the price you’re willing to pay?” “Money isn’t an issue.” “I’m not talking about money.”

Tate is on the hunt to find his best friend’s sister. Eleven years ago, Lucia Dias was abducted. Presumed dead. He never met her, so why does he care? Some might call his efforts noble, but his motivation is more perverse, bordering on obsession.

When he follows a chilling lead to Venezuela’s Kidnap Alley, what he finds is neither a corpse nor a captive.

Amid poisonous lies and crippling depravity, the price of love is devastation. And he pays. With his body, his blood, and her life.

TAKE, Book 5

He’s a notorious crime lord, a kidnapper, and an artist. Scarification is his outlet, and he just captured a new canvas. Kate refuses to surrender beneath his blade or the cruelty in his beautiful eyes. But she’s drawn to the man inside the monster. A man who makes her ache with his touch. Who owns her with his kiss. A man who worships her as deeply as he hurts her. She can run, but there’s no escape from a bond carved in scars.

MANIPULATE, Book 6

Tula Gomez is in the most ruthless prison in Latin America.

She only drove to Mexico to help her sister. She did nothing wrong. But her quiet life changed in an instant.

To survive the violent, cartel-controlled prison where men blend with women, she pledges her loyalty to the notorious leader in exchange for the one thing she needs most. Protection.

When she agrees to seduce the suspicious new inmates, Martin Lockwood and Ricky Saldivar, she doesn’t expect to enjoy it. Sure, they’re gorgeous, irresistibly alpha, and insanely talented with their hands and mouths. But they’re the enemy. She can’t fall for them.

Torn between her cartel loyalties and two men who want her as deeply as they want each other, she questions who is manipulating whom. Her search for answers leads to a passionate ménage, a soul-crushing secret, and an impossible choice.

UNSHACKLE, Book 7

No woman can resist Luke Sanch’s chiseled features, honed physique, auburn hair, and intense green eyes. While deadly in combat, he’s an indomitable weapon in bed. He can coax an explosive release with only his mouth and annihilate with insidious, mind-blowing pleasure. When he infiltrates La Rocha Cartel, he must seduce Vera Gomez to determine whether to rescue her. Or kill her. Nothing can distract his icy, lethal focus. Except the cartel’s most feral captive. The nameless, raven-haired beauty is his key to dismantling Vera Gomez. But the ferocious little fighter challenges him at every turn and unknowingly battles her way into his heart. A battle that delivers him, physically and emotionally, into shackles.

DOMINATE, Book 8

There are many reasons to jump off a bridge, but Rylee Sutton only needs one. Her husband’s betrayal. Just before she leaps, she receives an email from a stranger. The boy’s message is meant for his dead girlfriend, but his anguish speaks to Rylee. It saves her life.

Over the next decade, Tomas Dine continues to email his dead girl. As he evolves from a teenager into a hardened, vicious criminal, Rylee is there, reading every intimate word. He doesn’t know she exists.

When she comes forward, he despises her, his cruelty unforgivable. But she doesn’t back down. In a carnal battle of punishment and passion, hatred dominates. Until he loses her. Amid looming danger and unsolved murders rises a devotion forged in strife. Love is lethal in his ruthless world. To survive it, they must fight for answers—and each other.

COMPLICATE, Book 9

The heart-pounding conclusion of the DELIVER series.

Cole Hartman is a mystery. He works alone, sleeps alone, and satisfies his aches...alone. He hasn't touched a woman in seven years. No one will ever compare to the one who broke his heart. Until he stares into the seductive eyes of his enemy. He finally meets his match in the redheaded Russian spy. But she's a dangerous risk. His obsession with her leaves him only one choice.

If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't kill you, hunt it down and take it.

AUDIOBOOKS

ONE IS A PROMISE: Audible | Narrated by Lisa Zimmerman TWO IS A LIE: Audible | Narrated by Lisa Zimmerman THREE IS A WAR: Audible | Narrated by Lisa Zimmerman DELIVER #1: Audible | Narrated by Teddy Hamilton and Abby Crayden VANQUISH #2: Audible | Narrated by Ryan West and Jo Raylan DISCLAIM  #3: Audible | Narrated by Christian Fox and Emma Wilder DEVASTATE #4: Audible | Narrated by J.F. Harding and Tracy Marks TAKE #5: Audible | Narrated by Soren Gray and Kate Genevieve MANIPULATE #6: Audible | Narrated by Christian Fox, Aiden Snow, and Lila Summers UNSHACKLE #7: Audible | Narrated by J. Tipstone and Lacy Laurel DOMINATE #8: Audible | Narrated by Matthew Holland and Samantha Summers COMPLICATE #9: Coming April 13 | Narrated by Joe Arden and Lisa Zimmerman

PAM GODWIN

New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.

Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.

Instagram

Facebook

Amazon

Bookbub

Twitter

Goodreads

  BOOKS BY PAM GODWIN

Trails of Sin Series KNOTTED (#1) - FREE BUCKLED (#2) BOOTED (#3)

Tangled Lies Series ONE IS A PROMISE (#1) - FREE TWO IS A LIE (#2) THREE IS A WAR (#3)

Deliver Series DELIVER (#1) - FREE VANQUISH (#2) DISCLAIM (#3) DEVASTATE (#4) TAKE (#5) MANIPULATE (#6) UNSHACKLE (#7) DOMINATE (#8) COMPLICATE (#9)

Trilogy of Eve HEART OF EVE - FREE DEAD OF EVE (#1) BLOOD OF EVE (#2) DAWN OF EVE (#3)

Stand-alones DARK NOTES BENEATH THE BURN DIRTY TIES INCENTIVE SEA OF RUIN KING OF LIBERTINES - FREE

[strainingfororiginality]

Chapter 11.5 - Sacrifice

Note from Author: If you are a fan of Ozryel, you’ll enjoy the next chapter.

Disturbia (Rihanna Cover) - Kina Grannis

Nothing heard, nothing said

Can't even speak about it

All my life on my head

Don't want to think about it

Feels like I'm going insane

She was definitely getting better. Taking a deep step away from the canvas, she tapped her lower lip and surveyed the creation from side to side. Setting the paint brush down, she tilted her head from left to right as her eyes crawled over every single detail. Over the defined muscle tone of the torso, over the curve of skull, over the jaw line.

She didn’t mean to paint this again. She had stared off wanting to follow the tutorial in the YouTube video she was watching. They instructed, in great detail, how to paint a ballerina. She fucking hated ballerinas.

Hmmm. And this … this was definitely not a ballerina. She smiled but as she continued to stare at the strange figure she painted, she grew solemn and plucked the canvas from the easel and walked to the others leaning conspicuously against the wall. She turned it around so she couldn’t see the image and leaned it against the rest.

No. Stop this. It’s weird and stupid.

She turned back to the now-empty easel and thought about starting again, but opted for another glass of wine and re-visiting the balcony. The frigid wind assaulted her face and she walked to the spot she always did, running her fingers across the ‘X’ in the railing as she stared out across the city, urging herself not to look down.

Don’t. Don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it.

But even as she said it, her eyes betrayed her instruction and she looked down into the blackness below her. She gulped and her hands trembled, but even so … something felt close. Something pierced through that blackness and she teared up, her heart leapt at the feeling of it as, yet again, the wind hit her.

What was it? What was leaking through that thing below her? What was creeping through it? What was distracting her from everything here? She should go back inside. She shouldn’t come out here again. She should focus on the present and now. Yesterday is dead. In fact, she snorted at the thought, yesterday is deader than it has ever been, but, she looked down, and again, felt it. With every fiber of her damned being, she felt it.

Something was coming. It felt almost like a promise. It was powerful and fierce; unrelenting and unabashed; determined and stubborn. It was …

Hope.

The Rookie - The Chainsmokers

"I’m here! Who wishes to be first?!"

Even Quinlan froze. His breath trapped in his chest, refusing to escape as he wondered what might possibly happen next. He rarely felt nervous, but as the everything and everyone came to a stop to gaze upon the … Angels, his skin felt a prickling of sweet apprehension before all hell broke loose. Ozryel bellowed her challenge and the US Army met it, with furious and regrettable intent.

First, the snipers popped in the distance and bullets approached her from multiple angles. Her arms fell to her sides. Her eyes closed slowly. Her chest expanded as she took a deep and powerful breath in and held it, biting her lower lip.

Second, the Abrams’ were moving their barrels. Their targeting was being shifted from Quinlan’s location to that of the Hayyoth.

Third, further humming could be heard approaching from the distance.

There was a most delicate tremble in her hands and it was obvious she was expending an incredible amount of concentration on whatever was about to happen. Everything around her stopped. The dust particles, the smoke, the wind, all halted and remained still in a ten foot radius from her and as the dozen bullets breached this invisible wall, they slowed, coming to a halt in the air and hovering quietly before her. When she opened her red eyes, her iris glowed brightly, shining with crimson light. Reaching up, she plucked the one closest to her out of the air, the one directly in front of her face and she smiled gloriously at the object. "Silvered bullets?" Her chuckle was both terrifying and satisfying. “Oh my poor children … did you think you would be fighting strigoi today?” She dropped the bullet and wiped her fingers off on her armour. “How … quaint.”

As the embered glow faded from her eyes and they returned to their normal dull, everything around her moved again and the remaining bullets simply dropped to the ground.

That. Quinlan swallowed hard. That was The Power of Creation. She was controlling the Earthly molecules around her on an atomic level.

"You’re going to have to try quite a bit harder than that, I’m afraid."

His distraction was absolute and he failed to stop his prisoner from escaping. The Agent bounded down the runway, fleeing towards the next barrage of moving vehicles, still holding his new stump to his chest as he screamed at the top of his lungs. "TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT!" He was useless to Quinlan now, so he allowed the man his freedom.

"Really?!? You can’t be serious!" She bellowed after Smith/Johnson in disbelief. “You have just witnessed what a tiny shard of my blade is capable of! Are you really that eager to taste its full power?!”

Almost in perfect response to her question, the vehicle-mounted 50 calibers began to unload from all around and the snipers began to pop in the distance again. The Hayyoths reacted instantly.

Dibs on the cowards.

Michael moved towards the snipers and as he half-ran, half-flew off into the distance. As he moved, he cut into the ground, leaving a path of destroyed earth and dirt billowing behind in his wake.

She contested immediately, but her brother had already covered half the distance to them. "No! Dammit! Unfair!" She shouted after him, sidestepping the bullets that aimed to penetrate her. “I wanted them! Bollocks.” As if on perfect cue, Quinlan heard an artillery shell being slid into the barrel of the left most Abrams and Ozryel turned, her grin returning as she mused quietly to herself. “Eh, I suppose you’ll do.”

She darted towards the row of tanks and Quinlan was at first confused by what he saw. As she ran, with each incredibly fast step, she swung the celestial blade, alternating left and right, striking it hard against the ground on either side of her. At first, he assumed it was a childish show of agitation until he began to hear the vibrations building in the blade.

Good gods. She was … she was charging it. Striking it with the full power of her strength and allowing the blade to absorb the kinetic energy from each of the hits. He looked down at his own weapon and and regretted not getting proper instruction from Barqan when he had the chance.

Speaking of the Djinn king, Quinlan turned to survey his whereabouts. No longer the main target of the soldiers, he began to ram his body against and thrust his horns into everything around him, overturning all that was engaging him.

He might have watched further but the very distinguishable sound of an artillery shell being shot out of the barrel rocked his attention back to the tanks and Ozryel had already cleared the distance to them. She leapt into the air, bringing the sword above her head with both hands. Her trajectory arched up and then down towards the barrell and she cut it perfectly in half. The projectile was still thundering through its shaft when it met the edge of her blade. Metal bent and curled away from her fury as she continued to cut through to the end of the barrel, gracefully landing with each of her feet between either side of the driver’s hatch.

The charge that she had built within the blade was released with the savage strike and as it carried through, it sliced the entire back two-thirds of the tank in half. It all happened in an instant and she waited as the metal of the iron beast creaked and cracked ominously and then each half fell away from the other and the tank split open before her, its occupants clambering out and madly running for freedom.

Grinning as always, she tapped the tip of blade on the hatch door, where Quinlan knew the driver was still hiding and it popped open. She stepped to the side of it and waved its occupant out, flicking her chin to the left. He climbed free and she watched as he tried to scramble away from her as fast as possible and she purposefully tripped him as he darted to jump down, sending him crashing to the ground on his shoulder.

"Ooops. Sorry! Sorry!!!" She lied, chuckling as he got to his feet and she permitted him to escape. The other gun stations on the remaining three tanks were manned and they opened fire on her. Bad decision. Now they had her full attention.

They all watched in silent awe until Fet finally said something. He said what most of them were already thinking, and no one really knew how to feel about it. No one really knew what to make of it.

"Did ya guys see dat shit. She just cut dat tank in half. Wait, is dat …" The Ukrainian pointed, shaking his head over his own words. “Nah. Nah … Is dat … da Mast--”

"No fucking way man." Dutch refused. “Nuh-uh. Nope.”

"Mein …" Thomas stuttered and his voice cracked, watching the tall and slender white-haired Archangel continue to spit threats at the entire United States Army as she waved around a silver sword, egging them all on madly. “Mein … Meister?”

"Fuck." Dutch stood, invigorated with purpose and courage. “That one there. Bring it here. Quickly now!” She pointed to the pelican cases, barking an order at Gus, who was crouched closest to them. “Get your toy too, love. Can’t let them have all the fun, can we?”

"They said to stay down!" George pressed, but she was opening the case and Gus was moving to open one of the others. His toy? Ah shit. “What are you doing?” George pushed and she flipped the top open, beginning to turn equipment, a crazy grin painted on her face.

"I’m gonna cut the head off the snake." She purred at her equipment as it booted up. “I ain’t gettin’ nicked again.”

"What does that mean?" Jacks asked, his eyes flew wide as Gus began to piece together a large and complex sniper rifle from his case. Holy shit.

"It means …" She began typing frantically on the keyboard within and signals began to dance across the tiny screen. Military radio chatter played out of the speakers and her grin only grew wider. “Gotcha, you wankers. Let’s see how you like being jammed.”

It was quieter now. Some of the large caliber rounds that fired in the far distance had even stopped and he could hear the faint screams of terror closely following cries of agony as bones broke. Michael was apparently not in the same forgiving mood as Ozryel seemed to be. Then it was even quieter as no distant gunshots were heard.

Why are you just standing there?

She reached out to him. Wait … Had he really just been standing there … gawking?! Yes. Yes he had.

Stop gawking and clear the damn runway, Pale Child! Or do you wish me to carry you all the way to Siberia?

Sliding his sword very gently back into its sheath, he jumped into action instantly as the thought of her carrying him was absolutely unacceptable. He had no doubts she would attempt to coddle him like a baby should that situation occur.

The vehicles parked before the jet were deserted. He had already flipped one out of the way, and that left only two other black SUVs. As he began to pull them away, he glimpsed Michael returning, joining Ozryel in smashing the tanks until the first drone strike was launched from above. The Angel clearly heard it before Quinlan did and he was airborne and out of sight to meet the incoming missile head on.

Disturbia - Rihanna

It's a thief in the night

To come and grab you

It can creep up inside you

And consume you

A disease of the mind

It can control you

It's too close for comfort

The drone slammed into the grassy knoll between the asphalt paths, cratering into and smashing across the dirt. Michael landed hard next to the smoking object, the impact brought him to a knee before he huffed back to his feet and he was upon the final tank. Its top was swiveling to target Oz, who was ripping another one apart with her bare hands, crushing the weaponry before plucking the humans from their hatches and tossing them to the ground below.

Michael took a deep stance on the front of the tank and began to bend the main barrell up and over itself in a curve. The metal creaked as it gave way to his angelic strength, but he struggled. Oh gods, he struggled and his muscles flexed with the effort. This should have been an easy thing for him to do. It should have required little effort, if any at all.

Entirely unaware of the disablement of their main cannon, the men within attempted to fire and the explosion that erupted within the belly of the tank was substantial. He was expecting it, but he was entirely unable to stop it and the force still sent him flying back, tumbling and rolling across the ground like a rag doll.

"Michael!" Ozryel shouted his actual name, leaving her partially destroyed tank behind as she sprinted to his resting location, bending to him. “What is wrong with you?”

"I …" He could continue to deny it. He could assure her, but it didn’t matter. She knew him. Better than anyone, in fact, and he accepted, up to this point, she had been allowing him discretion. “I don’t know, Oz. Something’s … ” He held a hand to his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. “Something’s wrong.”

"Lot’s of things are wrong right now, brother." She pulled him to his feet, as he faltered and she bolstered. “You need to be more specific please.”

"I’m not ... recharging, Oz." His divinity wasn’t returning. Since the Chamber of Rebirth, his power had been draining. She braced him, as he stumbled, she reinforced.

"Is this …" He choked. “Is this what it feels like to fall, brother?” Simply asking the question pained him. He didn’t really wish to know the answer, as he had been certain this was the cause. “Has Father entirely forsaken me?” He doubted and she reassured.

"What?!? Don’t be absurd." She shook her head, reaching up and putting a hand on either side of his head as she reached into him. She wanted to feel for his pool. She wanted to know if what her brother was saying was accurate but in the unusual darkness of his divine soul, she saw no light, until there was light everywhere. White, gold, amber, indigo and green and she heard his voice.

Oh ... Ozryel. Ozryel. Oz.

She tried to retreat, to back out of Michael’s mind but she found herself powerless against his light.

Ozryel, how I have missed you, dear brother …

He reached for her and she pulled herself free, both psychically as well as physically, staggering away from him as she did. Bending over to catch her breath, she struggled to speak. His voice lingered through several more sinister words as the connection faded.

Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon.

"Ooof." She stood up straight, cracking her neck as she calmed her heart. “That was a terrible idea. Do NOT let me do that again.”

"Oz?" Michael’s voice trembled. “What is it? What did you see?”

"It’s that little cock sucker brother of ours. No. You aren’t falling, brother." She reached for him again, grabbing his arms with her talon-like hands as she pulled him close. “He’s draining you. Taking your divinity as you are creating it.”

"What?" Michael refused. “No. That’s not possible. That’s--”

"Trust me, Golden One. I have had him in my mind. I am well aware of what he is capable of." Goosebumps trailed across her skin as the recollection of her own fall from grace flashed across her mind. “Your child is connected to you and he is connected to her. He is taking from you, through her.”

Relief washed over Michael’s brow for a moment, realizing his previous statement to be false but concern soon returned as he realized the implications of it. "But … What does that mean? What does that imply? Is she--"

"It means we should not dally further." She tightened her grip on his arms and her eyes began to spark with red lightning first. “I apologize. This will be incredibly unpleasant.”

Michael screamed in both shock and agony as she charged him with her own divinity without any notice.

The Enemy - Genevieve

Don't wanna be the picture I'm not part of the show Not gonna play along And act like I don’t know There's no hiding in the future No promises we owe You'll never have to lie to me I'll never be the enemy

Every time he had to sprint through the pulse, Uriel cringed, but persevered, as always. He flew fast and hard, following the rings to their origin. As he approached Old Rome, he squinted from high in the sky, pinpointing the very center of it. It was coming from a courtyard. All the souls bustled around, unaware of the affect the being was emanating.

He landed quietly behind her and took two steps towards the seemingly human woman, who sat at the small metal table outside. She took a drink of her cappuccino, set it down as she folded her newspaper and spoke to him.

"Hello, Uriel."

All the hair on his body pricked as her tone was both calm and relieved. He had been completely silent in his approach, but he knew, with her, it didn’t matter. She simply already knew he would come. She always knew.

"Sister." The title was honorary. She wasn’t like them. She never was. As he came around the table, he gazed upon her human form for only a brief moment as she finally released it. The skin, which had been humanly warm, changed to a light and dull gray. Much like the Djinn royalty, Sandalphon had been born covered in glyphs, but unlike the Marid, her glyphs moved and rotated, shifting around each other like the gears of a clock. While her hair remained the rich, dark brown, her irises deepened to an intense and saturated blue. Her nose and ears faded away and she waved a hand towards the empty chair across from her.

"Do have a seat, please." She smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

"It’s been …" He pulled the chair out and sat down. “ It’s been a long time, Andy.”

"You’re not wrong there." She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “In fact … Much longer for me than you could even imagine, brother.”

"What am I aimin’ for?!" Gus called from his position on his belly in front of the open plane door. Much to George’s continued dismay, the Boxer exposed himself courageously as he squinted through the viewfinder of the expensive weapon.

"Start with the Radar." She replied and he looked back, giving her the most annoyed expression he could manage. Rolling her eyes, she spun her fingers in an exaggerated circle. “Oh good lord! The spinny one! SHOOT THE SPINNY ONE.”

"You coulda just said that." He retorted and looked back across to the direction he was targeting. Adjusting the dials on the scope, the top of the Control Tower came sharply into focus and he moved the weapon to the spinny one. Aiming for the base, he was grateful for the lack of wind and he squeezed the trigger gently. Not much happened and he unloaded more rounds into the mechanism until it toppled over and stopped spinning. “Next?”

"Go for the dishes." She instructed.

"Which one?"

"All of them." She cackled.

"It’s clear!" Jacks screamed from the cockpit. He had watched the dhampir drag the vehicles out of their path.

"Ok, you guys are up." George waved the pilots over. “Move it!” Their reluctance required him to physically pull them up as he ushered them to the controls and Gus began to unload more bullets into the communication gear on the tower. “Get it started!”

"Hey…" Someone was tapping George on the shoulder and he spun to see a big grin on the Ukrainian face as he offered a grenade to George. “You think you, or da strigoi, got the better arm?”

The runway was clear and Quinlan brushed his gloves together to rid himself of the dirt from the tires when Michael screamed in the distance, Ozryel barked orders at him again, and gunfire erupted from within the plane.

What in the ...

"Into the plane! Chop, chop, children!" She was clapping at him for his attention as the pair of blackhawk choppers approached from the South and the next wave of military assault began to barrell towards them from all directions. “Quickly now! Move your pitiful little arses!”

Wait. Children? Quinlan jumped suddenly as Barqan was standing beside him and he had no idea how long he had been there. The Marid was back to his human form and moved as silently as smoke. Being surprised was something Quinlan had not felt since he was quite young and he glared at the Black King. As the blackhawks approached from the South, they barreled towards the angels and Quinlan turned to the plane, following her instruction as they opened fire on the Hayyoth.

Ozryel stepped in front, shielding her other, whose skin danced with subtle red fire now, from the high caliber rounds. They hit and sparked against her armour. The other chopper took a position on the other side and began to unload. Quinlan took a step forward, but Barqan gripped his arm and they watched as the Angel of Death retaliated without mercy.

She was already moving, taking several large strides back towards the partially destroyed tank and the gunfire followed her. She was laughing? In fact, she was snorting wildly as she gripped the mechanism that housed the treads on the left side of the tank, her talons pinching deeply into the metal and she spun her body, torquing it back towards her assailants. The movement was graceful and she hurled the metal beast into the air, hitting one chopper and sending both crashing into each other. She was still snorting as they both fell to the ground.

Oh … gods.

Quinlan might have gawked longer, but the plane engines began to hum behind them and Barqan pulled him along, urging him into the plane as vehicles approached on either side again.

Damnation.

As he approached the plane, the ground fell away and Quinlan realized he was in the air, the smoke carrying him and setting him into the doorway as the Djinn in front of him.

The dhampir stepped over the Boxer and headed towards the cockpit. Bending over the pilot, he looked out the window at the approaching vehicles and hissed in discontent. More armoured SUVs. They were hoping to barricade them in.

Quinlan’s eyes swept the other runways. He noted a better option, pointing across the grass. "Laggiù. Quello."

The pilot compiled and the plane lurched forward and turned to the right, bumping over the grassy field as they attempted an escape from the approaching military. Turning left onto the clear path, the pilot uttered a small prayer and pushed the throttle forward.

Stay with the plane.

She commanded Michael as she took to the sky, pulling her blade and heading for the incoming third chopper. This one wasn’t meant as an assault, but she could see it was landing to pick someone up.

Jesus, Oz. The plane isn’t import--

Unless you want to carry Quintus to Russia, stay with that goddamn plane.

Oz--

Get them a good distance away. I will catch up.

He grunted, moving to protect the moving aircraft from the second barrage of soldiers. Even at the speed of sound, it would take them over seventeen hours to get to Baikal and he was unsure if he was even capable of flying that distance himself in his current state.

More shots echoed and they were met with cross fire from Gus, still wielding his massive gun, still laying bravely on his belly at the door while struggling to target the shooters as the plane rocked back and forth. Explosions hit the cars as George and Thomas took turns chucking grenades that Fet eagerly provided from his own precious pelican case.

"Boom." The Ukrainian laughed each and every time.

But it wasn’t enough and Quinlan turned back to the door, pulling his sword out again, planning to assault the caravan by jumping onto the closest trailing lead SUV.

Don’t you dare get back out of that fucking plane, you little shit. I’m not carrying you.

Quinlan cringed. Damnation. No one was going to carry him anywhere! He heard Michael’s voice, ripe with annoyance, as always, but he had no idea where the angel was until the golden knight flew into sight from the side, picking up speed and overtaking the front SUV, pacing it as he looked within, smirking at the driver, his wings high and curved above him as he glided.

Close the door. I got this.

Quinlan hesitated, but Michael pulled his shoulder in and rammed the side of the vehicle once, then twice, sending it into a savage roll out of sight and then he targeted the next ones. Quinlan complied and reached out, pulling the door shut, even through Gus’ and George’s very vocal protests.

"SEAT BELTS!" The dhampir commanded, waving a finger at everyone as they lurched left and right with the jostling. “We are going ... right now.” The dhampir turned, sprinting back to the cockpit, but he found the pilot was pulling the throttle back.

Punch it.

"Non fermarti!" Quinlan screamed at the pilot.

"Non possiamo decollare! Non c'è spazio!" The man pointed at the barricade of vehicles clogging the runway ahead of them. Damnation. These soldiers were like cockroaches.

"Non fermarti." Quinlan bent forward and sneered, pushing the throttle with his hand, even as the pilot protested and tried to fight him. It was half-command, half-threat.

She heard the voices of the man barking orders from within the barricade in front of the plane. "Target the wheels! Take out an engine! Disable that plane any way you can! We want them alive!" The gunmen aimed and Ozryel surveyed the scene. Michael was taking out the cars that trailed them from behind, but there was no protection from the front. She could sprint, but she wouldn’t be fast enough.

There was too much distance and she closed her eyes as her heart broke in half. Her grin faded as she gazed upon the man within her reach and her mind washed over all of his memories. All of his life. All of his loves and hates and accomplishments and failures. Everything that made him unique and beautiful and alive. She had planned to just toss him to the side so she could get to the fool he was protecting, but …

"I am … so sorry ... my child." Her tone shook with tormented agony and she embraced, yet again, what she had always been … all of her long existence: God’s Unrelenting and Merciless Right Hand. As she pushed the blade into the meat of his chest and it pierced his heart so the weapon could absorb the power of his soul, she brought her forehead against his, tears streaming down her striped and pale face. “David Benjamin … I will remember you.”

And she would because she always had. Each and every time she closed her eyes, she saw their beautiful faces. All of them. She remembered all of them. Each and every soul. And Ozryel was angry now, over what they … over what the Rainbow Child ... had forced her hand to do yet again. As she turned and unleashed the blade’s power, sending the wave of force towards the barricade, she screamed as loud as she could, her voice cracking in pure torment as she wept.

Faster, boy! FASTER!

"NO! È un suicidio!" The man resisted for the last time and Quinlan grabbed his shirt collar from the back, pulling the pilot directly up and over the back of the seat. He slid into the open chair and pushed the throttle forward fully. He hadn’t flown a plane for quite some time, but the memories rushed back to him immediately.

"Santa merda! Stiamo per morire!" The co-pilot screamed and Quinlan grinned madly as they picked up incredible speed. The pilot was quite right. There’s no way they had enough room to take off and Quinlan almost felt like he was playing chicken with the military.

It’s about to get bumpy.

"Brace yourselves!" Quinlan relayed the warning to everyone behind him and when he was certain they were going to slam into the vehicles head on, something hit the bottom of the plane, jostling everything within at the same moment something incredible struck the SUVs from the side. He couldn’t discern its origin from the cockpit’s view, but he knew it was her. The force of the blast was reminiscent of what his sword had done to the Abrams, but this was far more powerful. And, just like his strike, it ripped across the ground, tearing up dirt and asphalt as everything and everyone in its path was blown back with the explosion.

"Ah shit!!!" He could hear Fet’s concern from behind. “What da fuck is--”

The metal of the plane creaked and the ground lifted away as their front wheel clipped the very top of the debris left in their path.

Yeah yeah yeah - Radio Edit

Find me a man, who will do me right

And keep me singing all through the night

Can you find me a man, who will love me good

And I be loving now, and I be love you singing

She watched as her brother flipped in mid air, pressing his belly against that of the plane. His wings didn’t have much room, but they were still a flurry of motion, cutting through the air and flapping with large graceful strokes as his muscles flexed and he heaved the plane up off the ground. He continued to push until the plane’s engine took over.

Both soared into the sky and when they were far enough away, Ozryel took a deep breath before she wailed wickedly into the sky. This time, her scream wasn’t out of anger. This time, it was strategic. She needed to wait for them to get far enough away, otherwise it would have crippled their plane.

Her face changed as the volume of her cry grew. Her features became serpentine and she sheathed her dangerous weapon. As her psychic attack hit the soldiers around, all of the glass shattered, every new soul present dropped to unconsciousness. A few of the old souls still lingered. The Scream had no affect on them, because they had heard the voice of Heaven before and were immune to its crippling volume.

Her target scrambled and she smirked. Of course he was an old soul. Of course. The more defiant ones commonly were, weren’t they? She bent and grabbed the handless man, swirling him around and pushing his back against the chopper than had meant to be his escape.

The static that had been flowing through the discarded walkie suddenly turned to voices as the Hacker’s jamming signal moved out of range.

Target is airborne. Over.

"Hello there …" She scraped his mind as she smelled him, her face still half-snake and he flinched. “Timothy … Eric … Richards.”

Air support incoming. Over.

"Not a ghost at all, are you? You’re just a child. * Just a boy* … albeit, quite a troublesome little boy, aren’t you?" She pawed through his most open thoughts and his racing memories. His dead grandmother. How sad and bitterly sweet. “You should be ashamed. What would your grams say? She was quite the faithful soul, after all. She prayed often.”

Raptor One and Raptor Two are a go to engage target. Raptor Three and Four to follow. Over.

"Oh my." She feigned concern. “Raptors? Now that sounds like fun.” Ozryel flexed her wings as she looked down at the walkie, cocking her head to the right before she looked at him again. Raptors. She pawed through all the memories of the millions that the Master had taken and she grinned even wider. “Those wouldn’t happen to be Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptors, would they?” He glared at her, trying to pull out of her grip. “And where might they be flying out of, Mr. Richards?”

20 minutes to interception. Over.

"Go fuck yourself." He spat at her. His courage, though it be foolish, was quite impressive and she was proud of the man … boy. He managed a little laugh. “You failed. We wanted everyone alive, but now they’re just gonna shoot ‘em out of the sky.”

"Oh, Timmy." She chuckled at his defiance, using the name only his grandmother had ever called him. “You’ll find I’m not nearly as patient as my son. You can either tell me ...” She ran her taloned hand through his hair with strange affection. “Or … I can just take it …” She flicked her split tongue against her overly sharp canines. “And trust me … you’ll definitely prefer the former.”

He resisted.

Good.

They were at a good altitude and Quinlan slid out of the pilot’s chair, allowing the Italian man to replace him. "Dobbiamo andare in Siberia."

Lake Baikal.  The gate to Hell.

Michael confessed and Quinlan tilted his head. Lake Baikal? He knew it well, for the city closest to the lake, Irkutsk, was where the three old world ancients had lived before their demise. He was far from shocked. This was not coincidence, and nor was it coincidence that the three new world ancients resided in the same state as the gate to Heaven.

"Russia?" The pilot repeated his instruction as he sat down and took over control of the aircraft. “Signore …” He spoke English, but his accent was thick. “We cannot. The flight plan is to Rome. Per Mr. Feraldo’s inst--”

"Take us to Siberia. Irkutsk. I will not repeat myself." He turned to leave but the man protested further.

"Signore!" The man argued. “We cannot! We have not been fueled for that flight. We are fueled to the distance of Rome.”

"Hmmm." Quinlan tilted his head in annoyance. “Very well.” It was very much on the way and he thought about picking up more than just fuel while they were there. Perhaps it would be a good place to stop after all. “We will refuel there. Then onto Siberia.”

"They will track us, signore. Questa è una follia." The man spoke as he picked up the radio to speak into it, but found only static and Quinlan grinned, returning to the back of the plane and he found the Hacker already on her equipment.

"Can they track us?" He questioned her immediately.

"They ain’t gonna track shit, love." She hummed as she typed away. “We’re ghosted. We’re good.” She smiled at him with glorious mischief.

"Good." Quinlan breathed a sigh of relief and surveyed everyone present. No one seemed newly injured, but the stewardess was hunched over an empty row of seats, staring out the window.

"Cos'è quello?" She pointed at the wing and Quinlan moved to survey what concerned her.

The archangel was on the wing, seemingly affixed, his wings pulled tight around him so that nothing but their metallic surface was visible. He was affixed with his gauntlet fingers hooking over the edge of the wing. Overall, he looked like an aerodynamic pimple.

Can you make it inside?

Quinlan reached out to him, but was not met with any response. The dhampir shook his head and regretted even trying to be amiable. He gruffed one finally thing towards the angel as he finally took a seat to compose himself.

Still an ass, I see.

PRTCL (ft. Spyder) - Nicky Romero, Spyder

She cut through the clouds with absolute precision, pushing herself faster and then faster still. Without her weaker brother in tow, she pushed the limits of her speed beyond that of just sound. The freedom of the open skies was something she had missed and she enjoyed these moments, as she hurled towards those very aggressive targets.

She was so very proud of man. So utterly proud of their ingenuity and progress. They had made it to sky finally. And not only that, they had made metal angels. How marvelous! She so looked forward to the challenge that awaited her. She wanted them to do their very, very best, regardless of the fact that she knew they would break against her. She was still so fucking proud.

The air hit across her face and her third eyelids held tightly closed. They were translucent and allowed her sight while protecting the moisture of her eyes from the onslaught of the wind as she flew. Hoping she was heading in the perfect direction, she would cut off their pursuit mid flight.

This … she hummed to herself as she heard their incredible engines purring in the far distance finally … This was going to be fucking glorious. There was a shift in the wind and she diverted her path, ever so slightly, to follow it and when she saw their distant and fast shapes, a tingle erupted in her extremities as she almost became nervous with excitement.

She thundered towards them with vicious intent.