Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 31: The Last Act part 2
PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil)
RATING: Mature
⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽
⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽
While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.
Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].
TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby,
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⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽
Gaius has sent Isseya to Paris with one mission: bring Nadya back to him at any cost. Things go about halfway as planned, and Cadence unwittingly rekindles an ancient rivalry. The fate of New York is revealed.
[READ IT ON AO3]
“Allez, for fuck’s sakes will you two move faster!”
They hear the crash and shatter of glass doors through the still-open window. No time to close it now. No time to do anything. Oh god.
“It’s a delicate-fucking-process!” Cadence snaps back, fangs bared, but this time Serafine meets him eye for eye and, well, fang for fang.
“Then be delicate, but be quick about it. We’ll try to stay together, but if splitting up becomes necessary, we meet up in the heart of the city as planned, yes?”
Nadya’s no use, still a little weak in the knees and there’s no way she was going to be able to help carry Lily in the event of an emergency evacuation from their hiding hole anyway. She hangs back, makes sure to stay out of the way, but keeps looking back and forth at the moving vampires hard enough to crack something in her neck.
“Nadya —” Serafine shoves a duffel bag into her hands; she fumbles but manages to hold onto a zipper, “— to the kitchen. Get as much of your blood as you can carry.”
She sees the flicker of hesitation in Nadya’s eyes, the way she looks over the woman’s shoulder to where Adrian and Cadence shoulder Lily’s limp weight as fast as they can without too much disturbance.
With a huff, Serafine grabs Nadya’s upper arms hard enough to hurt. Fresh bruises, that’s why it hurts. Fleetingly she remembers Valdas; the fingertip-touch.
“I need you to trust me right now. Trust that we will get Lily out of here safely. Please, petit. We are in more danger than you can fathom.”
She can fathom it pretty well, thanks. But Nadya nods and bolts off to do whatever (little) she can.
There’s a collective regret about the open window again — the next sound to catch on the wind sounds like banshees shrieking at midnight.
They’re getting closer.
“Argh,” Adrian growls in frustration, “just give her to me, here — watch the head.” He cradles Lily like a long and gangly baby; but does it all on his own. Cadence flashes him a questioning look.
BANG!
That would be the stairwell door. But which floor?
“You’re the strongest of any of us right now.” Adrian rasps in one harsh breath. His struggle and care to keep the young vampire in his arms as stable as possible is taking its toll on his still-starving body. “You’ve taken her on before, can you do it again?”
Serafine stops, rope in a loop over her shoulder (where did she… nevermind). She looks between the pair with growing panic as it dawns on her, suddenly, that they aren’t nearly as panicked about their incoming visitors as she is.
“That harpy of Les Trois Amants is the least of our problems right now —” she looks at them all in a whirlwind, “— or don’t you recognize the man at her side?”
Jax shrugs. “It’s not the other guy with a buzz-cut, right?”
“This isn’t the time for jokes!”
Serafine’s voice croaks; she lets out a strangled noise. Adrian shifts, wants to reach out for her, but has to think better of it for Lily’s sake. Nadya doesn’t let his sacrifice go unnoticed.
“Calm down, Serafine. Who is this guy?” And it pains her, that much is obvious, but she tries.
“That is Marc Antony, you fools.”
Another BANG! punctuates the silence; how they take in the reality and gravity of her revelation.
Nadya clears her throat. “You mean, like…”
“Like Gaius’ consolation prize after he failed to secure Caesar for his Court. Arguably a better choice for the King; and a terrible sentencing for the world.”
BANG! And this one is louder than the rest. They’re at the end of the hall. Probably not anymore.
“Processlater—runnow!”
Nadya turns and the door splinters open at her back. She grabs for the duffel strap across her chest, barely one foot off the ground—
Then the world is going sideways, Nadya’s going backward, and her head slams into the dated plaster hard and heavy and hurting. She slumps down, head hanging forward, and struggles to swallow down her bile.
Black boots come into view, their owner looming over her.
Isseya crouches down, dusting plaster from her leather pants. “Hello again, little Bloodkeeper.”
A familiar pain ignites atop her head. Isseya’s nails like claws raking over her scalp to yank her up by the knotted locks in her hair. Holding her on the tips of her toes like a puppet on strings.
“You—don’t—” teeth clenched, burning tears in her eyes keeping the woman a dark blur of red eyes and shining fangs, “—please—don’t do—this—”
Isseya snarls and leans forward, the soft whisper of her lips a stark contrast to the raw wound of her words.
“I gave you a chance to avoid this, girl. You wasted it—you did. Don’t tell me I don’t have to do shit. You’ve given us no other choice.”
Nadya can only sob; words beyond her now.
“Isseya!”
The woman whirls around at her name; shouted over the crack of splintering wood as Serafine and Antony move as blurs only distinguishable by color and size. Splinters of wood cut into Nadya’s cheeks and she tries to recoil, turning her face away in just enough time to see Cadence braced in the doorway to the kitchen.
Surprise—pain—loss—anger—hatred. There one instant and gone the next in a whirlwind. Isseya can’t tell who she wants to hate more; him for calling out to her with that voice he knows she could never ignore or herself for falling for it time and time again.
Jax comes out of seemingly nowhere at her side. Doesn’t give Isseya the moment’s rest to decide where to aim her anger as he shoves his boot in the middle of his chest. A powdery print left in the center before she goes flying backwards into the far wall.
“Nadya! Come on!”
Everything ringing in her ears.
“Get her out of here!”
Jax’s hand on her wrist, pulling her towards the open window. Adrian clings tightly onto the fragile form still in his arms, one foot over the wall and out into the night but he’s frozen in place, fixated; focus pulled to the iron-wrought grip Antony has on Serafine’s sword arm before he snaps it at the wrong angle.
“It’s been some time, Serafine.”
She snarls, bestial; in a way Nadya had previously thought only reserved for Cadence and Cynbel. “Not—nngh—long enough, I assure you!”
He laughs, deep and rich and so damn casual for the moment at hand. “You wound me!”
“Not to worry—I’m trying!”
A tight grip on Nadya’s upper arm makes her jump violently — Jax rounds in front of her hard and resolute.
“Go, follow Adrian. I’ll be right behind you.”
“But—” Back to Serafine who resorts to shouldering the older vampire through the wall of what was temporarily Nadya’s bedroom. To the thud of Cadence as he collides back to the floor, Isseya wrenching herself out from under dust and the upended coffee table to bear down on him in fury. “—Jax I can’t—”
“NO, Nadya! Not this time!” He shakes her roughly. “Do you understand me?! They want you, they can’t get you! Now GO!”
Nadya is turned and shoved towards the open window before she can get another word out. Adrian’s body angled towards her, reaching out the only way he can. He jerks his chin down to the knot of rope pooled at his feet. “They’ll cover us for as long as they can. Come on.”
“We can’t leave them!” Because surely if anyone—anyone—understands, it’s him.
And he does. It’s all over his face; and covered with the same resolute decision he had tried to pull on her back in the Cathedral.
“I—I know. But this…” His gaze drops down to her feet and goes wide with shock; fear. “Nadya, you’re bleeding.”
Huh? She wipes her hand over her head but it comes back dry. Nothing over her front, then she feels the trickle down the back of her leg. Looks down in horror to see the blood seeping into the carpet at her feet.
The duffel.
Her blood!
Isseya had slammed her into the wall and the collision must have broken the seals on the blood bags inside. “We can’t go without it!”
“Nadya—no—”
“Lily doesn’t stand a chance without it—and I did not go through that hell to lose her now!”
Adrian tries to grab her but catches himself at the last second — swooping one arm back under Lily before her body hits the floor. Nadya can hears him shout behind her but his words are lost in the chaos. She’s already skidding on her knees through the fallen doorway to the kitchen.
There’s no time to be squeamish now. Not even with the coppery smell hits her nostrils, bag hurled back over her shoulder and already dripping red through the nylon. Nadya grits her teeth and starts yanking the old bags out to scatter on the floor. You’ve literally held your own guts in with your bare hands, she reminds herself with bitter determination, this is for Lily—don’t forget this is for Lily.
Inside the fridge there are only a handful of bags left. She had grabbed as much as she could and look how that turned out. The rest is useless; smeared, splattered in uneven patterns over the tile around her. The cold plastic slips through her red fingers; once, twice, and with a scream of wordless noise the third time she manages to get them close enough to scoop into the bag at her feet.
“Come on… come on…” Stupid fingers stop slipping on the stupid zipper! Fuck! She has no other choice she can see, and bends down to bite hard on the metal and yank the duffel closed.
Yes! Once the bag is securely back around her Nadya scrambles to stand, to turn and run as fast as her legs will carry her back to the window and Adrian and—
And instead she collides with a vampire as solid as stone for the second time tonight.
“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Miss.”
Nadya looks up just in time to see the last of Serafine’s attack knit closed across the curve of Antony’s cheek. He shakes it off like one might a pesky fly; all of his focus trained on the heavy hands he rests on her shoulders. “The infamous Bloodkeeper… you really are the talk of the Court. I found myself unable to pass up the opportunity to meet you in person.”
She tries to break free; even when it feels like he’s pressing her down so hard she’ll break through the floor she tries as hard as she can. But the tile is slick with blood and he’s two thousand years old and at this point she’s experienced this enough to know exactly how badly it can go.
“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”
Antony’s amusement falters; the barest betrayal of a frown. “I see. Best we take care of this swiftly, then.”
Before he can move the sound of a cracking neck breaks the strangely echoing silence.
“My sentiments exactly.”
Then there’s a different grip on Nadya’s wrist — people need to stop manhandling her this is getting ridiculous — and it’s tugging her to the side just in time for a blurred movement to send Antony soaring through the air and back into the interior wall.
The lights flicker once—twice—and die. The room plunged into darkness. Sparks flashing from torn wires in the hole in the wall, the electricity crackling violent and intense.
Gooseflesh prickles over her arms and Nadya holds her hands up, like that’ll defend her from anything, but no touch comes.
“Are you okay?” asks Cadence; and when her eyes adjust to the lack of light she finds him on one knee in front of her; looking over her blood-soaked clothes to see how much of it is freshly spilled. “You should have listened to R—”
The sound of shifting wood and rubble cuts him off. Antony stands from the mess with tears in his suit and a piece of his lower jaw sitting at an odd angle. He sets it with a quick twist of his neck and steps out of the heap; eyes leveling bright and red on Cadence’s face with an unfamiliar recognition.
Cadence locks with tension in front of her. She knows that reaction all too well, now. Both of them do.
“I admit none of us really believed in your miraculous return, Pathicus,” Antony muses, cracking his knuckles on each hand, rolling his shoulders; proving he can shake them off with barely a thought.
“I’ll give you cover,” hisses Cadence without turning back to look at her, “when I say run… you run.”
“But on the bright side, I’m glad for it.”
“Cade—”
“No arguments. Yes?”
“Yes.” She finally says, and only then does he let her go.
Cadence stands, feet planted and shoulders squared. Something about the sight makes Antony’s upper lip curl.
“I would have loathed not to have been there to do the deed myself.”
“You and quite a few others.”
“Seniority rules.”
Nadya swallows her heart back into her chest. It pounds so fast, so loud — she nearly misses it.
“RUN!” He shouts, moments before the heel of Antony’s palm slams into his lower jaw.
Blood splatters in droplets on the floor. Tiny little garnets that slick and smear underfoot as strength battles strength battles something else — something a little more like the will of survival.
Cadence collapses back, limbs flailing, and collides with the small kitchen table. The wood is weak, can’t bear the full brunt of his weight, and together they crash to the floor violently. The loud noise is enough to shake Nadya from her stupor and send her practically dancing back on both feet to avoid being caught in the heap.
She’s terrified. Again. That seems to be happening a lot lately.
But she doesn’t want to abandon him like this — no matter how strong his opponent is. The last time she did it hadn’t been Cadence who came back.
What if this time is the same?
Perhaps the scariest part is how human Antony’s eyes look as he swing his head around. Gaze level, watching Nadya brace herself in the middle of the doorway trying to decide whether to run forward or back, and still that same warm brown color. Not how a vampire is supposed to look, she thinks.
But this isn’t a vampire. This is… yeah she’s still trying to wrap her head around the reality of how that sentence ends. Marc Antony, the vampire.
“Shame you don’t listen very well.”
Marc Antony, the vampire; who is no longer across the room and instead right up in Nadya’s face. Who snatches a hand out and grabs her wrist hard enough to break. “I won’t say this is my favorite part. But those of us who know how the game is played… we don’t break the rules when we don’t need to.”
There’s a blur of darkness over his shoulder; movement too fast for her mortal eyes. Then Nadya cries out in surprise; sharp pain, bright white behind her eyes squeezed tightly closed, and the hold on her wrist is gone in the next instant.
Bloodied knuckles in a grip tight around a tanned throat, the wounds already healed over. The no-doubt expensive leather of Antony’s boots squeaking against the floor, trying and failing to gain his footing. But Cadence is taller and holds him aloft and pinned against the far wall with ease.
That… is Cadence, right?
Because she’s not sure. Between the safe at Persephone and the top part of the Feral’s head torn off and flying across the Manor hall and the way there’s no comparison—none at all—when Jax is backhanded hard enough to fly through the air and every warning Serafine ever screamed through her tears; she just isn’t. Countless times, all of them unmatched — and what they meant about who—or what—was actually standing in front of her now.
“C—” She tries to call out a name, but her voice freezes on which one to say. She doesn’t know.
“You know… there were more than a few times I was beaten to a pulp by Carlo’s men.” And the sheer relief when she recognizes the name from New Orleans is enough to punch the air from Nadya’s lungs; tears salty on her tongue while she cradles her wrist close.
“I was fresh from the war. Still new to this life, or so I thought. They had been in the de la Rosa family for a generation, some of them longer. Between then and now… I think I get it.”
Strands of blond hair fall thin in front of Cadence’s eyes. Nadya can see the bright red of them reflected in the backdrop of the night sky from the kitchen window. He lifts Antony higher and with no effort at all.
“I lost to those men because I expected to lose; because I thought there was no other option. I thought I was younger, so my body acted like it.” Shoulders tensing, rolling back; for the first time a flicker of concern wavers Antony’s steady frown. “Following that same logic now… I’ve got quite a few centuries on you, don’t I, domine?”
He tosses Antony aside like a doll; like he weighs nothing at all. A flick of his wrist that sends the former Roman general right in the path of the fridge. The metal catches him, cradles him; door bending inward and the contents of the shelves joining the mess on the floor. The lightbulb inside shatters under the pressure and the distant, white-noise hum of the fan splutters and dies.
But this time Antony was ready. This time he leaps back to his feet without respite and brushes the fall off of his shoulder with a flippant hand. “There’s that look. That arrogance. I prefer it this way — better a fair fight than none at all.”
Everything shifts; the air, the tension, the looks on the vampires’ faces. So fast Nadya almost misses them. Maybe she would have — were she not the Bloodkeeper. But she is, and she doesn’t miss a thing.
Because she can feel it all.
Centuries piled on in staggering weight and animosity; changing both everything and, outwardly, nothing at all. But he’s leveled the playing field now. Nadya feels it. Antony, too.
They all do.
“What… are you?”
His shoulders sink slightly, but he doesn’t turn around at the sound of Isseya’s voice. Not when it’s a whisper, and not when it’s a cracked, splintered fragment of a scream. “Answer me!”
“I don’t have an answer to give.”
“Lies.”
“If I did, I would. Everything would be so much easier on all of us.”
The vampiress steadies herself on the door frame, impressions of her fingertips pressing down and breaking the drywall.
“‘All of us,’” she repeats — like she doesn’t know the language, “meaning…”
The blond vampire looks up and Nadya’s heart stops.
It’s an opening Antony cannot and will not waste. Rushing forward, fangs bared — but even he isn’t fast enough to avoid the hand that catches him by the back of the neck. Claws piercing flesh, blood spotting along his collar. He tries to turn, to see the face that caught him by surprise, but doesn’t get the chance before the grip closes down and his neck snaps with a sickening crack.
Antony’s eyes are closed before he even makes it to the ground.
Isseya steps over his body — still a body, Nadya notices, not a pile of ash — and closes the gap between herself and Cadence. One hand with fingertips still stained with Antony’s blood comes up and strokes the cut of his jaw.
The pair share the same look; like reflections. Longing, loss, pangs of regret. After a moment, Cadence finally reaches up and presses his palm against her cheek.
“I’m not him.” He whispers hoarsely.
Together they stand still; years stretching through the passing seconds. Finally Isseya lets her eyes flutter closed. The tears clinging to her dark lashes finally get the chance to fall.
“I know.” She shudders a gasp; breathes through the daggers in her chest sharper than they were all the years before. “Consider this to be my last act of free will.”
So that’s what Valdas had meant.
There’s a shine in Cadence’s eyes. He parts his lips, looks for a moment like he’s going to do it — he’s going to tell her about the Cathedral, about what happened, about…
The moment passes when Isseya steps away.
“He won’t stay down for long, resilient bastard,” she looks over her shoulder to Antony’s unconscious form, “though I’ll admit I’ve been waiting to do that for weeks now. It’s not as satisfying as I thought it would be…”
Nadya swallows. “Is he still…?” But Isseya’s sharp look cuts her off with a flinch.
“Yes, he’s still alive. And I can’t be gone when he comes to. Not if I have any intention of returning to Valdas.”
There’s no question about it. So why does Cadence ask?
“What if you came back with us? We could —”
“No.” The sharp edges, barely easing up, are back without warning. Isseya’s glare is cold and growing all the more distant. “I wouldn’t — I couldn’t. But—neither can you.” She looks between Nadya and Cadence both. ���It would be a death sentence, and would make this, here, look like a kindness. Surely you know by now.”
“Nadya!”
Shit.
The anger in Jax’s growl breaks any spell that might have held them all there — maybe for eternity if they weren’t careful. Nadya dashes back into the living room and gasps, hand coming over her mouth, at the mess of mangled bruises and gaping wounds riddled across Serafine’s body.
Jax is kneeling at her side; looks up just in time to push every ounce of his frustration in one long look, before he jerks his chin up at her.
“The blood. Now.”
Nadya struggles to pull it over her head fast enough, skidding to her knees beside Jax in time for him to grab it and rip the zip apart with brute strength. He grabs one bag and forces it into her mouth; thankfully it doesn’t take much more than that for her survival instinct to kick in and fangs to descend and tear the plastic open. She takes several long drinks before her hands have the strength to grab on; reaching desperately for the second and tearing it from Jax’s grip without hesitating.
His sigh is weak, croaked and now without effort. With tentative fingers Nadya reaches up and brushes away some of his hair matted at his temple where a cut still oozes thin blood. There’s one blood bag left — she doesn’t think twice before all but forcing it into his hand.
“You too,” she insists — thankfully for them both he’s too exhausted and weak to decline.
It’s not much between the pair of them. Enough to stop the bleeding and fade most of their bruises to mottled greens and yellows but not much more. Nadya would offer her wrist, neck, ankle up to help any more if she could but she still has a few wounds of her own and her wrist is most likely very broken and not at all palatable.
Serafine slowly comes to, French mumbled and thick on her tongue as she tries to take in her surroundings. “Ad…ri…”
“He’s fine,” Nadya says — and throws a look to the window and the rope still draped over and out, “he got away. He’s safe, probably heading to the meetup point. Take it easy, you’re still healing… but…”
But she hesitates because saying anything more would be akin to lying.
Jax eases himself up with grunts of effort; helps Serafine do the same only when he’s steady on both feet. “If you think this is gonna go undiscussed, Nadya, I swear to god…”
“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have anything to heal with, so I don’t wanna hear it.”
“If you hadn’t—”
Cadence and Isseya shuffle out of the kitchen together and Jax practically bites off his own tongue, cutting himself off. Nadya can feel Serafine grow stony behind her and reaches out in a meek attempt at reassurance.
“What are you idiots still doing here?” Isseya snaps. Looks briefly like she has much more to add to it but she bites her tongue instead. “You are weak, and ill-fed, and need to leave. Neither Antony nor I are gravely injured. If you’re still here when he wakes up, you’re fucked.”
“What’s going on here?” Jax snarls, but the question is aimed principally at Cadence.
“She’s giving us an opening. We need to take it.”
“She came here to kidnap Nadya!”
“No, Jax, he’s right.” Nadya doesn’t smile at the vampiress — after all the pain she’s felt at the hands of this woman she doubts she ever could. But they aren’t in any position to be looking gift horses in the mouth. “I don’t trust her, but…” The look she gives him is imploring.
What other choice to do we have right now?
“This is bull —” Jax stares at each of them in disbelief. “— this is insane! We’re not trusting her. And we’re not running. We get Adrian and Lily and we get on the first plane home. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m taking the fight to him.”
“Returning to New York is no longer an option.” Isseya meets the rebel’s glare with her own.
“I beg your fuckin’ pardon?”
The Trinity vampire sweeps a long look over them, the furrow in her brow slowly easing from disgust into… disbelief?
Raw, unfiltered disbelief at that. “You don’t know.”
“We’ve been… not here.”
“Obviously.” And both Jax and Serafine look ready to shoot down any questions she might ask, but Isseya surprises them both — she doesn’t. “Otherwise it would not have been so easy to find you, I see now. If you had known what happened… only the suicidal would have stayed somewhere he knew to find you.”
Cadence stands hunched, eyes trained down at his shoes and the bloodstains in the carpet. She’s already told him what she keeps withholding from them — awesome.
“What do you mean… what happened?” asks Nadya warily. No one else does.
“Three days ago, the last of the resisting faction was captured at the harbor. The ones you called your Clans — those who did not immediately bend the knee. I wasn’t there myself, but there were thirty, maybe forty left who were captured and taken before the Godmaker at his Court. Those who swore fealty to him were allowed to live. Those who did not…”
Her words are left hanging, but it’s not exactly hard for them to fill in. Just like it isn’t hard for Nadya to know she’s full of bullcrap — she has to be. No, really, she has to be. Because if she isn’t, that means…
That means…
“Enough of this. Go—run—hide wherever you can for as long as you can. But do not dare show your face back on his shores. He wants the Bloodkeeper,” she nods to Nadya, “he would not say why, but I don’t dare to guess. Whatever you must do, do it. But he cannot have her.”
“Tell me you’re not believing this,” mutters Jax under his breath, and from the looks of it he fully expects Serafine to take his side. Only… she doesn’t.
“Maybe not everything… but I know better than to think she would be so willing to send him to his death.” Cadence shifts under the scrutiny of the woman’s glare. Isseya, however, doesn’t seem all too perturbed by it.
“If he comes with us, we will at least be safe long enough to regroup.”
Three days ago… Because Nadya still hasn’t quite let that part go. How could they?
“Allez, Nadya, allez.” Serafine keeps a firm hand at her back, all but shoving her towards the window and the rope to freedom(?)
Instead she digs in her heels and tries to look back to Isseya, who lingers one last look at Cadence’s back before she makes for the kitchen.
“Isseya!” She calls, but goes ignored. “Isseya, wait! What happened to those who didn’t join Gaius?”
“Help me,” growls Serafine, then there’s another pair of hands helping urge Nadya out into the night.
“Isseya!”
“Nadya — stop.”
“No—shut up! Isseya! Tell me what happened!”
The shadows of the apartment swallow her up before Nadya can get her answer.
“We have to go back.”
“No, Nadya.”
“No—she needs to tell me what happened—”
“I’m sorry.”
Jax has never apologized to her before. Not even when they were facing an army of Ferals. He shouldn’t be apologizing now.
“Jax… she…”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and pulls her into a one-armed embrace for safety before he begins the rappel, “I’m so sorry.”
“…No…”
He holds her tight and kicks off. Serafine and Cadence keep pace on either side; agile movements down rails and pipes towards the rapidly approaching ground.
Without another word they disappear into the night.
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