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Soulless, Breathless, Heartless | IC

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Zarall To Hunt a Monster

 

Wind tugged at her hair and clothes, brushing against her feathers as giant black wings pumped up then down then up again. Beneath her, the lines of the city blurred. Winter had brought storm clouds, heavy with moisture just waiting to be released. The cold frosted her inadequate hoodie, a thin layer of ice beginning to form upon her wings and in her hair. Everything was stiff and numb, desensitized of touch. With a snap, she brought her wings in against her body and began to plummet.

 

Lights from the surface grew brighter, closer, washing away the darkness of the night sky. Zarall's ears popped from the change in altitude, the harsh sounds of traffic finally breaking through the din of rushing air. Flakes of frost chipped away in her descent, several pieces breaking off as the angel forced her wings open, catching and updraft and speeding over the rooftop of an eighteen-story hotel. She dove back down, weaving around buildings and twisting to avoid collision. It made her heart race.

 

Shifting her wings back, she felt the pull of the resistance threatening to force her wings out entirely. The muscles in her back ached. Dipping one wingtip, she curved gently in her return to the earth. Booted feet lighted upon the rooftop of an old bar, out of business for being caught one too many times selling alcohol to minors. Quietly, Zarall moved to the ledge and peered into the alleyway below. No humans. Lunging over the concrete lip, she kept her wings out to catch her fall. Only the small tap of her boots announced her landing. She tucked her wings close, not yet desiring to fold them completely.

 

"About time, Zarall. I was starting to worry something might have sidetracked you." Hazel eyes glinted as the light of a phone screen flashed. "It's almost eleven. Are you and I all there is?" Imelda pushed off from the dumpster she had been using to lean against. They were nearly a foot apart in height but Imelda's muscled physique belied just how much more strength the woman possessed. Dressed in a plain brown jacket and bootcut jeans, she looked almost harmless.

 

Except her eyes. They were supposed to be an ordinary brown.

 

The angel frowned. "You're on edge." she noted. The woman nodded once, stuffing her calloused hands into her pockets. "I was searching for Odessa; she's slipped away again.... It's not safe but I couldn't find her," she answered. "The others should catch up with us soon, if they decided to do this. Until then, just assume we're alone tonight."

 

Imelda shook her head, short hair shifting with the motion. "I don't like this. These things shouldn't be here, or anywhere. Do you need me to sniff it out?"

 

"Yes." Flexing her wings, Zarall pressed them against her back, the touch of glamour sliding across her shoulders to hide what she was from human eyes. She watched a smile flicker across Imelda's face. The woman once described what she saw to Zarall. "Like a ghostly presence!" she had phrased it. There but not there. Supernaturals could do that, see through an angel's glamour.

 

And an angel could sense the other that mingled within a werewolf's mortal essence. 

 

The small Hispanic woman gave Zarall a toothy grin before tilting her head slightly up and at an angle. Her mouth parted open, not unlike a canine scenting the air. She stood there for several moments before starting to move, her pace relaxed but shoulders taught. Zarall followed the werewolf at the same pace for a few blocks before Imelda jerked her gaze left and picked up her speed. "Zarall -"

 

She saw it too. 

 

Something moved down the street, vanishing behind a small building that had closed for the night. The city was changing, transitioning from business and commercial into residential. From the corner of Zarall's gaze, another motion caught her attention. "Damn,she hissed, recognizing the unearthly shape that was keeping pace. 

 

A sound split the cold night air, a strangled mix between a beastly howl and a human scream. It chased a shiver down the angel's spine. Imelda broke into a sprint and Zarall's wings thrust open to push her into the air. The creature they hunted was already feasting.

 

"Imelda, on your right!" Zarall warned, catching the movement just as a form leapt, almost materializing from the shadows. The werewolf snarled, rolling to dodge the being and kicking a leg out to catch it in the back. "I had hoped we would have more time before they started to arrive," the angel muttered. "Let the demon follow us; it's not the priority threat tonight."

 

"Well, no duh," Imelda snorted, snatching at the creature's arm and throwing it through the fence that closed off someone's front yard. Cringing, she mumbled out an apology for the damage but kept running. Her hazel eyes caught the light of the waning moon. 

 

Abruptly, Zarall threw back her wings and furiously worked to reverse her momentum. She wasn't fast enough. The figure crashed into her, jerking a grunt from her lips and slamming her into the ground. The stench of rot and death clog her nose and choked her throat. Fur and decaying flesh pressed against her tangled wings and ruffled clothing, brushing her skin. Wrong, her senses screeched at her. Wrong, wrong, wrong! It crawled through her aura, piercing like knives from the proximity. 

 

The weight was thrown off of her, air rushing into her lungs and expanding her battered chest with a throbbing ache. Imelda's snarl filled her ears as Zarall gathered herself off the street. Reaching back, she found the beretta 9 mm that was tucked into her waistband. 

 

They had finally caught up to the Wendigo.

 

[[Alert! Alert! All Mythological Task Force Agents required! A Wendigo has been sighted within the city and is responsible for several deaths already, human and supernatural alike. Hunt it down and eradicate the threat!]]

Edited by ValidEmotions

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- Zophiel -

 

Tucked away at the end of one of the quieter streets of the city, the outside lights of ‘The Hidden Gems Curiosity Shop’  flickered off for the night. A woman stepped out from the entrance into the cold air, pulling the jacket that lay over her shoulders tighter as she fished out the keys from her pocket. Under her breath she huffed something about unreliable employees as she fumbled with the 3 seperate locks attached to the door, continuing to ramble about needing a new ‘We’re Hiring!’ sign and night-shifts as she stepped away from the front-door. Shivering slightly from the temperature shift, she tutted at the weather and began to pick up a few stray newspaper pages that had been pinned against her shop window by the wind. Bright, alert eyes briefly scanned the contents of the pages as she wandered around the side of the shop to the alley behind it and tossed them one-by-one into the dumpster that stood there. The woman, Zophiel, felt the muscles tense in her back as she established there was nothing interesting in the papers, aching for an excuse to unfurl the wings that had been tightly pinned against it even though the threat of a storm loomed overhead. She glanced skywards as she chewed at her lip, perhaps there was time for a quick scan of the neighbourhood at least.

Zophiel shook off the jacket that had been draped over her shoulders, regretting the loss of warmth but resigning herself to the fact that it would just get in the way. A set of silvery wings with ashen tips flared out into view, testing out the direction of the wind and how much it would hinder their flight as their owner neatly folded the garment and placed it beside the back door leading back into her shop. She stood back up and turned her attention to the buildings around her, taking note of the spaces between them as she began to hover off the ground.

 

 Small, swept-back wings fluttered rapidly as she weaved around street lamps and made sharp turns in and out of nearby alleyways, climatising herself to the air around her and allowing the sting of the icy wind on her face to re-energise herself after a long, uneventful day in her shop. With the rather grim weather expected this time of year it had been a while since her last flight, but it didn’t take Zophiel long to adjust and begin climbing upwards after she’d inspected the length of her street. Soon she found herself surveying the tops of the surrounding buildings, continuing her ascent towards the clouds but getting increasingly annoyed by the lack of any unusual or concerning activity to be found on the streets below. As she approached one of the taller buildings of the area she dipped downwards to her left, clumsily landing on the rooftop of what she suspected was some sort of office workplace during the day. This particular building was a favourite haunt of hers, located on the outskirts of the commercial district and therefore letting her oversee part of the residential area beside it as well. It also found itself host to a thriving flock of pigeons each year, which Zophiel had managed to befriend over the long hours she spent lurking among them up there.

 

Tonight, however, seemed different as she strolled across the rooftop and admired the view of the city below her. Not a single peep was to be heard, and though it took her a few minutes to realise the change in her usual routine she couldn’t help but shuffle uncomfortably once noticed. The birds were silent, hidden away in the little nooks and crannies they had built their nests in. Even when she whistled a little tune under her breath, her usual way of signalling she had some food for them, they seemed reluctant to appear. She surveyed the city below her again, closer this time, wondering if they were just gathered somewhere else for the night or it was another, more concerning theory that they were trying not to draw attention to themselves. As Zophiel shifted her gaze towards the more residential side of the city, she felt another twinge of uneasiness. Something was making the back of her neck-hairs stand up, even though the worst she could glean from starring in that direction was the fact that someone really needed to get their front yard fence fixed. With a frown she leaned forward and squinted over at the spot, flinching suddenly when she thought she caught a glimpse of a shadowy movement by the fence. Even if it turned out to just be a trick of the light, the mere possibility of a demon stalking around nearby was enough to make Zophiel investigate.

 

The angel glanced once more up at the sky, contemplating the signs of a brewing storm with a grimace. Absentmindedly she toyed at the silver chain resting around her neck, reminding herself of the acorn-shaped pendant adorning it as she shook her head and stretched out her wings once more. With a sharp exhale Zophiel leaped off the edge of the building and catapulted herself back into the air, unknowingly making a beeline for the Wendigo and those trying to contain it.

 

- - - 

 

- Julien -

 

Faintly illuminated by the glow of a nearby street lamp, a tall and rather lanky-looking man was lurking in the general perimeter of the local hospital. Despite the better lighting towards the entrance he seemed quite content to stay where he was, starring out at the street before him and eyeing the occasional car or person that wandered by the building.  A mere glance at his uniform would suggest the man was some form of security for the venue. It consisting of black trousers and steel-tipped boots with a simple button-up blue shirt adorned with the hospital’s logo over the chest pocket, and a name-tag that read ‘Julien’ in elaborate cursive. Hanging off Julien’s belt at his right side was a pouch that appeared to contain some sort of radio transceiver, though anyone that knew the man personally would be forgiven for suspecting that it didn’t get a lot of use. Too many buttons. The security guard had thought at the time when his new employer handed it to him. Everything had far too many buttons these days.

 

Dull, tired eyes now contemplated the lukewarm cup of Earl Grey in Julien’s hands as he gently swirled it around a few times, hoping perhaps that the movement would somehow squeeze a bit more heat out of it. Actually drinking its contents was somewhat out of the question, but he couldn’t help but feel wistful over the scent and a bit guilty for the waste as he shuffled over to the bin beside him and dropped the still-full paper cup into it. Even now he was still a little fascinated by just how easy and cheap it was to find things like tea these days. With hands now exposed to the icy chill of the air Julien checked his watch, grumbled to himself over the time that was displayed there, and then buried his hands in the pockets of his uniform as he begun to pace back towards the entrance. Soon his shift would end, freeing him for the rest of the night, and the thought of where he was going to find his next meal was getting a little difficult to ignore. He’d ‘borrowed’ a few too many blood packs recently from this place, and he worried that if any more went missing this week someone on the staff would start to notice their absence. 

 

Julien had lived here for almost 2 years now, and he detested every minute of it. There was always something he could find to complain about if given the opportunity, the fact it was too busy and too bright being among his favourite of rehearsed rambles. Most insufferable of it all though was the fact that nothing was familiar to him any more, right down to the trial-and-error method he had to use to figure out how to sustain himself without his old Menagerie. Leaning back against the outside wall of the hospital the vampire pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and groaned to himself, trying to force his attention back to the doors beside him before the next person wandered through them. Problematic patients always seemed to show up just before he was allowed to clock-off, after all.

Edited by Lycanious
(Grammar fixes)

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r e y d r i s   c a r m i c h a e l             vampire elite 

 

The second floor of The Sunset Lounge was surprisingly empty. A few couples drifted off to the darkened corners, hidden behind lavish potted plants or taking to one of the various rooms that lined the walls. The largest of these rooms was contained behind a set of large, elegantly decorated wooden doors in the center of the open hall; they were hand-carved out of mahogany and could have been several hundred years old by virtue of the price alone. Two men stood stationed on either side of the doorway. An identical comm unit sat in their left ears, and the two of them would have been near impossible to tell apart had it not been for Seamus's rust-colored curls cut close to his scalp and Don's clean-shaven fuzz of walnut hair. Their expressions were stoic, almost statuesque. Both pairs of dark eyes watched the guests that stumbled by or lingered too close to the doors, but it appeared to be common knowledge that the occupant behind them was not to be disturbed. 

 

The tall, ragged scruff of a man that ascended the sprawling staircase must not have received the memo though, for as soon as he crested the steps he made an immediate bee-line for the double doors. 

 

Seamus was the one to intercept him with a large hand pressed hard against the man's chest. "Easy, pal," he said, in a voice that was low but not threatening. Yet. 

 

Any other person might have wilted under the intense attention of the solidly-built bodyguard-- especially considering the predatory gleam that never seemed to diminish in his gaze-- but the man appeared more annoyed than anything else. He glowered up at Seamus under thick eyebrows and knocked the hand away from his shirt. "Don't 'easy, pal' me, Seamus," he bit out through a soft, rasping Spanish accent. "I don't need clearance." 

 

Seamus shrugged. He seemed good-natured, but there was an element of danger to him still, even as his shoulders relaxed.

 

A few feet away, his brother interjected, "Being her pet doesn't mean you get special privileges." He sounded bored, but like Seamus, was still intent on watching the man in front of them. 

 

The unkempt man rolled his eyes. "That's exactly what that means," he said, before slipping between the two of them and to the doors. Neither bodyguard seemed keen on stopping him this time. 

 

The room beyond was surprisingly large, and looked to be more like a suite than an office. It was open and spacious with a few pieces of luxury furniture placed throughout, and the plush area rug centered on the floor was likely threaded with actual gold. There was no doubt that everything inside was authentic, either, from the man's experience. Overall, the entire room exuded expense, just about as much as the woman sitting in the armchair did. He almost didn't see her-- the chair was turned around to face the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, its back too tall to see any hint of a person over the top. But when a slender arm reached out to pick up a glass of scotch off the side table, the man approached the windows to stand within her peripheral. 

 

Not that he needed to; she knew who it was the minute he came up the stairs. 

 

"Lucas," came a soft, clear voice, lower in timbre for most women but carrying with it a tone of authority and the rich, sleek accent of France ghosting at the edge of his name. She didn't look to him at first, but kept her stare fixated on the windows or something in the night beyond. In the window's reflection he could see her more clearly: she wore a fitting black suit with the collar of the blouse beneath it popped open into a plunging neckline to reveal a bare throat and collarbone. There was no tie tonight, and her dark hair was no longer in the elegantly coiffed bun it was normally kept in during business hours, but loose down the front of her suit jacket and shoulders. Even still, just the sight of her was enough to evoke the automatic impression of high class and a caliber of affluence that Lucas always thought was more for show than practice. It was almost enough to detract from the fact that he knew the truth about her, until he was reminded of it by way of her eyes. The crisp gray-blue color of her gaze staring back from the glass would have unnerved anyone else; the lack of humanity wasn't easy to miss, especially when she made no effort to conceal it. Lucas wasn't one for caution, though. He ignored the unfocused stare and took out a plain silver Zippo out of his coat. When he flicked the cap open with a lazy flip of his wrist, her eyes finally swiveled over to him. "You don't come here often."

 

"Evening, missus," he said, though he didn't sound particularly enthused. Her expression betrayed nothing, except perhaps a faint sense of indifference toward whatever he came here to say. Which was her usual response to any news he brought her, even if it was useful. "Got a tip for you. Figured it shouldn't wait for you to stop by Silver Shot." 

 

The scotch was replaced onto the table again, the click of it against the glass surface almost precise in its echo. "Of course." It was as though she were an apathetic teacher entertaining the babble of a toddler, Lucas thought mildly. Still, he didn't care much about what kinds of things vampires thought about when brooding in their offices over hundred-year-old scotch, so it made little difference to him what kind of persona they kept. 

 

"A wendigo's been spotted in town," he informed her. The wavering flame on his lighter popped to life under his thumb, and he watched it a moment before snuffing it and continuing, "Took down a few people already." 

 

 Reydris's pale gaze roamed over Lucas for a brief second, taking in the disheveled old coat he wore and the stained scarf he kept wound about his neck. His hair was long, about shoulder length, and with a handsome wave to it. The thin, almost patchy beard at his jaw made him appear more of a beggar than she suspected he was. Lucas was a mystery, to say the least. How he managed to come across Task Force exclusive knowledge was baffling, and she had a feeling that whatever answer he gave when questioned about it would be a sack of lies. She wasn't sure that she necessarily wanted to know, anyway. "Wonderful," she said, and this time her tone took the faint color of exasperation to it. Her gaze tracked over to the windows again.

 

Lucas waited a minute as if expecting an additional response. When none came, he flicked the flame back into existence again. 

 

Reydris took his silence as judgment and scowled. "I'm not part of this Force to be a hero, Lucas," she said, almost snapping, though the irritation in her voice was mild at most. "I'm not a goddamn service dog. I don't heel when they call." 

 

He shrugged. "Olivia Drake's son was killed." It was said as easily as though he'd told her the moon was round. It was a simple, offhanded statement. 

 

A brief spike of pain blossomed in her chest, and Reydris closed her eyes for a moment against the sensation. She knew immediately it wasn't an affect of her power-- that instead was an eruption of tingling electricity under her skin, as if she'd been given goosebumps at five times the intensity down the length of her spine-- but something else, something more vulnerable, eking out from the chasm her heart had once settled in. Something akin to humanity, to sorrow, and skirted too close to what Reydris might have once considered sympathy. She shied away from the thought and convinced herself the distant ache was nothing but a side effect of the truth he spoke. As she opened her eyes again, Rey's hand instantly sought the glass of scotch. The rest of it, at least two finger's worth, was downed in a single tip. 

 

Lucas watched her in impassive silence. 

 

"Well," she said, standing from her chair. She strode to the bar cart on the west side of the room and abandoned the empty glass beside the crystal decanter there. "That is unfortunate." 

 

"Que es," he said, slightly softer. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he added, "And bad for business, too. You've got other clients that live in that area. Shame if they were to all meet the same end."

 

Reydris wanted nothing more than to growl and throw him from her office-- he had the audacity to seek her out on this night and all but guilt her into even considering an intervention with the wendigo, when she cared absolutely nothing of what came of it or its victims. It wasn't as though Lucas had any particular sway over her, either. A run-down, ratty-clothed human would never have such an influence over a vampire in all of recorded history. He was mortal, and weak, and not even a friend; just a human informant that exchanged his information for a permanent seat at her bar.

 

Yet, somehow, it was like he knew. About her, about Amaya. Her lip twitched, and though her knuckles grew pale from the fist clenched at her side, she did not cast him from her space. 

 

Lucas pulled something from an inner coat pocket and stuck it in his mouth. His lighter flicked back in eased practice and lifted to the end of the cigarette pursed between his lips. He didn't see her move, but before the flame could come within an inch of the butt, the cigarette was suddenly gone; Reydris stood a pace away, having crossed the room within seconds and plucked it from his mouth. The purloined cigarette sat pinched between two elegant fingers. She flicked it at him, and it landed a foot away from his boots. 

 

"No smoking in my office," she said, eyes narrowed a fraction. 

 

He stooped low to pick it up, and gestured at her with it. "The cost of my information, miss," he said, "is a smoke." 

 

The desire to kill him surged bright and hot within her, but she held it at bay with the slight bare of her teeth. Her lip curled back in annoyance, but instead of raking out his throat with her claws like she was abruptly desperate to do, she waved a hand at nothing and snapped, "Fine. Take your smoke. If I smell so much as a hint of nicotine when I return, I will personally hunt you down and drain every last ounce out of you myselfAre we clear?"

 

He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled the smoke in a perfectly formed loop. The ring expanded and wobbled until it dispersed into the air. "Crystal," he answered. 

 

 

Seamus and Don had been surprised to see Reydris leave the office before midnight-- or at all. But they said nothing as she left The Sunset Lounge, and thankfully didn't follow when she hit the streets and disappeared into the shadows of the towering city buildings. Lucas had offered no additional information about the wendigo, but to his credit, neither did the official alert that she received from a talking rat shortly after departing her establishment. Jason Drake had been a young man, too young to legally step foot in Rey's clubs, but she had met him once or twice accompanied by Olivia's proud tutting. She couldn't picture his face, but that didn't bother her much. Better that she didn't recall much about him or else that knot of grief might go twisting itself up in her chest again. She could only imagine that the next few weeks and months, perhaps even years, would see his mother more frequently at Rey's bar, and she would have to save all the sympathy her old husk of a heart could muster to keep that woman from drowning herself in alcohol. She did have a vague idea where Olivia's son lived by extension that his mother's place was nearby, and it was enough to get her started in the right direction. 

 

The time alone gave her some additional time to think. Reydris hadn't gone on a hunt in a long time, either for food purposes or because that damned angel Lotus had somehow coerced her into helping keep the peace. She didn't normally get her hands dirty with such mundane tasks-- Rey had several businesses and hundreds of supernatural clients to keep happy between them, hardly enough time to throw herself to Task Force duty-- but as she ran, darting effortlessly down the street like a blur in the wind without so much as a tap of her polished loafers on the asphalt, she mused it wouldn't hurt to put herself in the field a little more often. The bite of midnight air in her lungs was enough to infuse a bit of calm within her and a little of that old hunger that had been left behind when she turned to willing human meals rather than hunting them down in the dark. It was enough to stymie that dull hurt in the back of her mind and the memory of what this night had been three hundred years ago, but she knew, once this was over, it would haunt her thoughts for the rest of the evening.

 

Reydris followed her nose; the further from the city she traveled, the stronger the coppery tang of blood seemed to permeate the air. Sounds eventually drifted in with the scent until the blood was masked by the foul, sickly odor of decaying carnage and the guttural scream of an unholy creature rent through the suburban quiet. 

 

When she finally came into view of the beast, she noticed two other forms already engaged. One winged, though not a pair of wings that Reydris steadily recognized. Considering she had meager connections to angels to begin with, it came as no surprise that the face attached to the wings held little significance to her. The other one, though, that smelled like wet dog to Reydris's sensitive nose, provided a marginal amount more of familiarity. Perhaps she'd encountered the werewolf at one of her bars at some point or another, though it wasn't enough to provide Reydris with memory of a name or even which pack she belonged to. She watched for a few beats, surveying the wendigo as it collided with the angel and sent her sprawling backwards. It wasn't until the werewolf, still human, barreled into the creature that Reydris side-stepped out of the shadows to avoid the flurry of claws. One of the wendigo's antlers swung close, a tine cutting through Rey's suit jacket sleeve. 

 

Reydris glanced down at the hole it left behind and scowled. "I like this suit," she muttered, mostly to herself. Then, in the span of seconds, the nails at the tip of each finger sprouted long and talon-like. Moonlight caught in her glare to reveal the color as eerie and lifeless as the moon itself. The wendigo was slashing at the werewolf girl, snarling and braying with a monstrous ferocity as it lunged for the young woman's face. When it twisted around to snap at its quarry, Reydris ducked under the next swing of its antlers and raked her own claws into its sickly face to hook into an eye socket. The beast roared as she tore, and when she stepped back to avoid its retaliating swipe, instinct bubbled up to the surface and Rey brandished her own fangs, long and curved, in a savage snarl right back at it.

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- Morgan -

 

It was a quiet night in this remote corner of the city. Which made sense, few still lived in the area. A site of urban renewal most of the buildings were either being taken down or built back up. And those conditions weren’t sought after by potential home-owners. So now Morgan strolled down the street alone, a reusable bag held in his left hand, his light footsteps seemed deafening in the silence that surrounded him.

 

As he walked, his eyes occasionally drifted sideways from the path, to catch a glimpse of a sly racoon, or a lonely crow, catching up on their stolen meals in this solitary area of town. His eyes would often follow them as he walked, only drifting back to his path when his head could no longer turn to follow them. He turned off the main road and into an alley. Obscured from the street lights by the two large buildings either side of it, the alley was almost invisible. Not even wide enough for two to walk side by side Morgan strolled down it, undeterred by the darkness. He stopped at about three-quarters of the way through beside a dark wooden door.

 

The contents of his bag rustled as he scrounged inside his pockets before retrieving a small set of keys. With a dull click, the lock opened, and Morgan stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. There was a small lamp situated just above the entrance, it’s dim light illuminating a descending stairway. Morgan placed the small keyring on a hanger to his right and headed down.

 

He arrived in a surprisingly ordinary living space, panelled wood floor, checked rug, a lounge and coffee table set up beside a fire. Morgan walked through, into the kitchen, depositing his bag on the counter. He continued through, weaving between the tight hallways before opening into a large stone room, another stairway leading to the floor. Gazing from the balcony Morgan saw the thin frame of his creator, the pink haired wizard Salamis.

 

“Hello sir, I have returned with groceries. Do you have any preference for food this evening” Morgan’s voice echoed throughout the room.

Salamis turned and looked up, his eyes appearing three times their normal size due to a large pair of spectacles seated n his hooked nose.

 

“Ahh, back so soon Morgan? Dinner can wait, I’m nearly finished todays work and I don’t want to lose my momentum,” The man said, his hand brushing through the large pompadour adorning his head. He stirred the oversized bubbling vat beside him and pulled out a long pale object, a leg.

 

“It appears to be coming along nicely,” Morgan proclaimed. His eyes drifted to the wall where several bodies in various states of completion were hung. The majority were the remains of previous models that had been destroyed and scavenged. At the end closest to the stairway a female torso and arms hung, currently missing legs and a head.

 

“Yeah, she’ll be quite the stunner I tell you!” The wizard chuckled heartily. He wiped his brow and dropped the leg back into the vat. Scurrying down the ladder he was perched on, he walked to a bench where various vials, jars and fabrics were laid out.

 

“She’ll be very powerful too, not just a looker. But, there’s still weeks away before I even start the head,” He continued, his voice trailing off.

 

“Seems the angels are having some trouble again,” He stated, folding up his overlarge glasses and placing them neatly on the counter, before replacing them with a more normal pair.

 

“Wendigo been prowling around and the super-folk can’t seem to handle it. So go show them the might of us ordinary folk m’boy!” Salamus said, a confident smirk splattered on his features as he brushed his hands through his long pink beard.

 

“Very well sir, please don’t stay up too late. There are leftovers from last night if you get hungry while I’m out,” Morgan said in his usual neutral tone.

 

Salamus waved him off and began searching through his various jars. Morgan turned and left.

He emerged back into the dark alleyway and glanced down at his watch. It wasn’t a device to tell time but more like a compass that points towards strong sources of magic. It was currently pointing to his left, indicating several kilometres away. He didn’t have the superior strength to move like werewolves or vampires, nor the wings of angels.

So Morgan instead waited for a late bus headed in the direction he wanted.

 

Several stops later he stepped off the bus and continued on his way, guided by his watch. Though now he could begin to sense the magical air around him, as he grew closer to the source. He weaved his way forward, following his own senses now, no longer guided by the watch and found himself standing a few meters away from the large beast.

Positioned around it were 3 other figures. One, obviously an angel, one baring fangs and claws was likely a vampire, the last one he wasn’t sure. He strode up towards them raising his left arm as flickering orange flames began to swirl around it casting a dull light on the area.

 

“Hello, my name is Morgan, and I was asked to come and assist in the pursuit of the wendigo” He said dully as he thrust his flaming arm forward, his punch burning an impact into the creature’s hide. He ducked as the beast swung its army angrily at him. Morgan backed away and raised his right arm now, a glowing ball of molten rock began to bubble in his hand as he starred blankly back at the monster.

Edited by Marcus Pheonix

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Imelda | Moon Called

 

The stench filled her nostrils, threatening to make her gag as her overly sensitive nose twitched at the powerful aroma. Sometimes she missed the days of her human-dull senses. Imelda caught sight of the Wendigo at the same time as Zarall, the angel doing her best to reverse direction and only getting tackled to the ground. The werewolf had to act quickly; there wasn't time for her to shift. Growling, she rushed at the monstrous form, arms wrapping around its emaciated shape as her shoulder rammed into its protruding ribs. The force of the impact was enough to get the Wendigo off the angel, their bodies tumbling to the street. A hoof caught her in the thigh and she snarled through the pain, gripping the beast's wrist before it could rake its claws across her face.

 

Beneath the smell of rot, Imelda caught a whiff of something else. Disengaging from the Wendigo, it swiped at her again, sounding out its rage and hunger to her touchy ears. It lunged for her but never reached its target. Instead, a figure swept out from the shadows behind it and dug claws into one of its sunken eyes. Dark hair swayed with the violent movements more than from the breeze. Vampire, Imelda's senses finally told her. 

 

"Hello, my name is Morgan," someone spoke up from a little further away and she stole a moment to see who. Fire danced in a spiral around their arm - they looked male but the scent was confusing her until she realized why - and thrust it forward. Good, she and Zarall were no longer so alone anymore. Help actually arrived much sooner than the werewolf honestly had anticipated. It made her grin briefly as she hurried back and away from the fighting. 

 

As the Wendigo roared again, trying to hit its assailants with anything it could, Imelda's skin grew tight, her pupils dilating as pain washed through her flesh in irregular waves. The beat of Zarall's wings drifted over her head just as she hurried to pull off her shirt and then pants; she didn't want to leave here with unsalvageable clothes if she could avoid it. Almost as an afterthought, she quickly took stock to make sure the Wendigo hadn't ripped anything too badly.

 

There was shotgun fire and Imelda glanced over to see Zarall firing from the air, keeping out of reach of the beast as it leapt upward, almost snatching an ankle. I hate this. Shifting always took too long and she pushed as much as she could, even when it only intensified the pain. Bones began shifting and she grunted, dropping to the ground on her knees. She'd seen other werewolves shift, even watched her own transition as best she could in a full-body mirror once. It was never a pretty sight and usually varied from change to change. 

 

Joints popped and cracked. Suddenly, she was hit and rolled across the ground, her skin igniting with fresh pain from the contact. Claws tore into her back and side, scraping the edge of her shoulder, and she bellowed from the pain. Demon. It was a scent she was familiar with but always had a hard time describing with actual words. Somehow, someway, it always made her think of despair. Surging to her feet, she managed to grab the shadowy creature and throw it off of her. That hurt, too. Nothing was aligned as it should be and she staggered without her balance. 

 

More gunfire but the Demon wasn't returning to attack Imelda. In her blurred vision, the woman caught sight of Zarall harassing the creature instead of the Wendigo. Appreciation flooded her expression, even as her jaws stretched and she lost her ability to form words. Snarling and growling, Imelda already noticed her height had changed and thick fur was sprouting across her skin, as blotchy with blood as it was already. 

 

"Focus on your change. I'll keep you covered. A warning would have been nice next time," Zarall spoke up, slipping in a dry scold at the same time. Imelda snorted in response, rubbery lips tugging at one corner. Her spine ached as her tail grew out. What hurt most were her legs, though, and the pain brought her back to her hands and knees. For a moment, her push to shift wavered and she began panting heavily, a whine threatening to bubble free. She clenched her jaws shut to stuff the complaint back into her throat. 

 

Her ears elongated and twitched, picking up the sounds of more creatures coming. Imelda snarled a warning, jerking her head to point her nose in the direction it came from. Zarall's feet touched the street to Imelda's left, wings spread wide like a feathery black shield as the angel's shotgun was fired. That made two Demon contacts but her ears told her there were more. Were they out of time already? They'd only barely begun to engage the Wendigo and now Demons were spilling into the moonlight. 

 

Past Zarall, she caught a glimpse of the Wendigo lunging, biting and swiping at the Vampire then at the Golem, harried from different sides simultaneously. But the Vampire appeared to be faster than the Golem. Her ears swiveled back and to the side, her gaze swinging to locate the source. Her hazel eyes made out several more pairs glowing in the darkness across the street. She managed to count four or five - or was it six? - before losing track as the Demons bled out from hiding. The colors of their eyes betrayed what elements they aligned with. Zarall was going to have a hard time as most of them weren't of the fire type.

 

She couldn't leave the angel's back exposed, however. Twisting she rose, shakily, to her still changing feet and braced herself as the first Demon leapt at her. She grabbed its body and threw it sideways but a second beast slammed into her furred chest. Two more came at her while the farthest pair veered towards the Wendigo, Vampire, and Golem. Two rapid shots echoed in her pointed ears, blasting one of Imelda's opponents in what might have been a shoulder. A black wing arched forward and swatted at another demon. All together, there were eight demons once Imelda could track them. She and Zarall faced five of them.

 

Zarall | Contact

 

She swore as the Demons made their appearance. Re-holstering her shotgun across her lower back, Zarall pulled out her Beretta once more, firing rapidly as Imelda struggled. Damn werewolves and their slow change. Many didn't like to admit it to anyone, especially strangers, but Imelda had explained the vulnerability to her one night; the knowledge was useful and important to have. Still, that hadn't made things any easier. If she had thought about it and they'd had the time, she likely would have suggested Imelda to shift before hunting this creature down. 

 

The wolf was back on her feet now though, far less human than she had been several minutes ago. Too bad for the woman's undergarments though, ripped apart before they were removed. Zarall took to the air again, firing from a safer distance as Imelda began throwing out her claws and snapping her teeth. Pain was often a great source of fuel for ferocity. Aiming at an Earth-type demon, she briefly praised their luck that the creatures hadn't started to use magic yet in their assault. However, the angel knew it wouldn't last long so time was of the essence. 

 

Stealing a glance at the Wendigo, she checked on the Vampire and the Golem. Demons fed off of chaos so they rarely attacked anything that created it. However, Wendigos were a neutral - malevolent, yes, but indeed neutral - force that only cared about consuming everything in their path. That included Demons. It struck at the closest one, its long claws managing to snatch the Demon's throat and take a massive bite out of its side. A strike from the injured Demon broke the monster's hold.

 

The Angel looked away and back towards her own set of problems. The werewolf was holding out well enough but a Demon was trying to sneak up on her from behind. Shifting her wings back, Zarall dived feet-first to strike the creature in the back, knocking it to the ground. It twisted and turned on her, clawing at a wing she couldn't move away fast enough and ripping into the feathers. Too many of the Demons were Earth-type, making them more durable against the water-type magic embedded into her bullets. She did, however, manage to fire at one between the eyes, instantly it dissolved into wisps and vanished. 

 

Grinding her teeth together, the Angel leapt out of reach of another Demon, moving into Imelda's line of sight. "Golem! Morgan!" Zarall called over, taking a moment to remember the name he introduced himself as. "Assist the wolf with these Demons! I'll help with the Wendigo," she barked out. As much as she disliked the idea of fighting beside a Vampire, the Golem's Fire stood better chances than Zarall's bullets at eradicating the troublesome creatures. 

 

Imelda glanced at her, some sort of thought in her hazel eyes, but the angel couldn't interpret the expression to decipher what she wanted to convey. She couldn't read body language like the wolf could. Powering her wings, she kicked at a Demon before hurrying towards the Wendigo and leaving Imelda to momentarily fend for herself.

Edited by ValidEmotions

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- Zophiel -

 

A chill ran down Zophiel’s spine as she neared the destroyed fence, disrupting her otherwise smooth glide over the city. She could sense the tension in the atmosphere and it was creating an uneasy feeling somewhere in her gut. It wasn’t until she rounded the side of a building to wander down the nearby street though that she was assaulted by an agonising sense of malevolence and decay, so foul she audibly gasped from the sudden overload of her senses. Wide eyes focused on a monstrous creature, largely unfamiliar with its form but unable to ignore the wretchedness that oozed from it. Zophiel reeled back in shock from the sight and climbed upwards, desperate to distance herself from whatever in Hell that thing was.

 

As the nauseating sense of wrong diminished Zophiel threw back her wings and began to hover high above the fray, only now able to survey the mayhem surrounding it. For as old as she was, the angel had to admit she hadn’t seen such a menagerie of beings facing off against each other in decades. Instinctively she was drawn to the actions of a fellow angel, one which Zophiel credited with an intimidating wingspan and a fearsome presence. A vague sense of familiarity occurred in the younger angel, not enough to recall a name but perhaps remembering catching sight of her once or twice in a crowd. Zophiel fumbled for the pistol strapped to her belt as the other angel now made a charge for the wendigo, shaking the new arrival from her attempts to identify her and reminding her there was plenty of time for thinking after the creature was dealt with.

 

Zophiel drew her wings towards her body and dove, angling them in such a way that she spiralled erratically in an attempt to make herself a more difficult target. Closing the distance between her and the ground she began to level out and positioned herself further down the street to perform a low aerial swoop towards the larger swarm of demons starting to hone in on the lone werewolf. She didn’t know much about confronting a wendigo, or if her wind-inclined bullets could even damage it, but the scarcity of fire-type demons was enough to convince Zophiel to start focusing on them.

 

As Zophiel launched overhead she gave a high-pitched holler, a primal war-cry she’d picked up from her mentor, and risked wasting a bullet by firing it into the air to grab their attention. Jaw clenched in concentration she then veered sharply to the right, turning back to face the shadowy figures head-on as she took aim. Her plan for distraction hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped but two sets of gleaming little earth-type eyes now bore into her own as she flared her wings and fired in their direction. The one closer to her was fast, dodging to the side unscathed, but it left the less alert demon behind it exposed to the full onslaught of her gun. Zophiel made sure to give a short, sharp ‘HA!’ as it collapsed to the ground and disintegrated.  

 

Sharp stabs of pain suddenly pierced through her shoulders, cutting her celebration short as she was dragged down from the safety of the sky. The other demon had snuck around to the side and leaped at her, latching itself into the wing muscles in her back and sending the both of them smacking into the ground. Zophiel winced as her chin and dominant arm scrapped against the gravel of the pavement and she rolled with the momentum, shaking the demon off for one desperate moment to try and find out her gun had landed before it came lunging for her again. Mouthing off a colourful collection of expletives she’d gathered over the years she started to scramble backwards for the only weapon she’d brought and flung the uninjured arm in front of her face, bracing for the impact.

 

 

 

- Julien -

 

Julien starred intently down at the seconds hand of his watch, muttering a count-down to himself as the last 30 seconds of his shift ticked away. Though he had yet to find a reason to leave any earlier than his designated shifts, there was little chance of him wasting a millisecond longer than agreed being on duty. Finally, the timepiece deemed Julien free and he nudged his way back through the hospital to sign off and gave one last, longing look towards the section they took blood donations from as he passed by on the way out. There’ll be some unfortunate git out there to drain. The vampire reassured himself, even though the dull ache of hunger seemed to suggest otherwise.

 

The man stepped back out into the comfort of the night, enjoying the mild rush of new-found energy it gave now that he no longer had to deal with working through it. For a brief moment he even felt confident enough to employ his less conventional method of travel to get home much faster, though the idea was quickly banished to the back of his mind once more when he remembered how much effort it took to shift between the two forms. No, travel by boring old foot it was. If he was lucky he might even come across an easy meal in the process.

 

Once he had moved away from the collection of street lights to a quieter alleyway Julien flicked the pair of reflective sunglasses he was wearing to the top of his head. Even those were sometimes too bright for his sensitive eyes, a fact he was all too aware of as he waited for them to adjust to the more comfortable level of lighting. Odd, for some reason they were blurrier than usual. Perhaps if he just kept on walking-

 

Julien froze as the shadowy mass in front of him suddenly lurched to the side, almost as though it were a wild animal trying to flank him. He watched in horror as it skulked around him, almost letting it reach the limited range of his peripheral vision before he broke from the fear and swivelled around to face it properly. Julien found himself automatically baring his fangs as he starred the ghostly figure down, slightly-gnawed nails elongating into wickedly sharp claws  that seemed to be keeping the creature at bay for now. The vampire however made no effort to lower his guard, believing from prior encounters that such creatures always travelled in packs.

 

Another flicker of shadow to his right was all it took for Julien to bolt, knowing full well that he was no match for two demons, let alone any other that were lurking in that alleyway that he hadn’t noticed. Muscles ached in protest from the sudden burst of speed but his newfound fear easily outweighed the urge to stop as he darted around the corner and charged for a more open-ended street. Behind him he could sense at least one of them had given chase, and as another shadow flickered into life in front of him he couldn’t shake the growing panic that we was being steered towards something more malevolent. With no more side alleys to turn down, Julien was forced to continue running and use the last trick he had up his sleeve. Just as the demon in front approached him he dove forward, a familiar feeling of lightheaded-ness taking over as he felt himself suddenly melt into the air around him and pass around and over the demon to blindly burst free of the alleyway.

 

Julien lasted about 3 seconds in a mad dash forward before his fatigue forced him to return to a more solid form. He came stumbling out of his cloud of mist clutching at his chest and looking about ready to throw up, regardless of whether that was even possible for a creature of his sort any more. He wheezed for a breath he didn’t need and staggered forward, regretting it instantly as a horrible stench of decay wafted into his nostrils. It was only then did he notice the chaotic mess the creatures had herded him into, and the fact that he was about a stone’s throw away from the business end of some sort of ghostly elk monster and a bunch of other supernatural creatures trying to reign it in.

Edited by Lycanious

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r e y d r i s   c a r m i c h a e l             vampire elite

 

There was little to be said about aging as a Vampire. Unlike the humans, Reydris' power grew with every century that passed her by. It saw her swifter, stronger, and more agile by every year. The Wendigo might have topped her by a good foot and a half and its bulk outshone her in a display of rippling strength, but it was outmatched by her speed. She dodged around each swipe almost like a dance, spinning on her heel and twisting just out of reach to mirror its movement. There was a deft elegance to her motion, fluid-like, and after a few ducks around the creature's lumbering frame, it appeared almost flustered with how easily she invaded its space to slice razor claws at its rotting carcass, only to flow away like a liquid shadow half a breath later. The screeching bellow that echoed in her ears flooded her with satisfaction at the sound of its frustration and rage, and it fueled her hunger to rend the beast to pieces as a heat pooling deep in her core. 

 

She saw and smelled the flame before she saw the person the fire came from; on instinct, Reydris flitted a few feet away, eyeing the newcomer with a wary regard. The smell of this new creature was heavily masked by the musk of the enraged Wendigo, but the breeze brought the scent of ash and human-- multiple humans, she thought curiously-- and even the sharp, lingering spice of magic. Her gaze narrowed at the golem for a brief moment. The last time she'd met a golem was several hundred years ago, and it had hardly resembled a human then. But, her mild interest would have to wait, if it did not wane completely by the end of this encounter. The Wendigo had turned its attention from her to the newcomer-- Morgan, it had said-- and lunged with its claws. Reydris took her chance then; darting forward, she cut the beast from hip to armpit and it staggered, bellowing its monstrous scream as dark ooze dribbled out from the laceration. Almost seconds later, the deafening bang of gunshots exploded in the air, and Rey took advantage of the Wendigo's brief falter to stare over at the angel gunning down demons swarming on the werewolf girl. 

 

"If you're trying to get us all killed," she snapped, as the angel switched gears to attend to the Wendigo again, "you're doing a fine job of it. Silence those damn weapons of yours before you attract more chaos." She didn't claim to know much about angel magic and how it worked, but the handful of times she'd seen them in action had led her to believe they weren't complete idiots. Gunshots in the middle of a suburban neighborhood? If the Wendigo's savage roars hadn't already attracted the attention of humanity, that would certainly do it. 

 

She turned away from the angel in time to intercept the bleeding face of the Wendigo as it launched at her with long, gleaming teeth. Her claws pierced through the putrid skin of its jaw and shred through the flesh of its cheek as she flung it to the side and away from her own face. Its teeth snapped dangerously close to the collar of her suit, and Reydris snarled at the stench of its breath as it washed across her. 

 

Rey changed her mind. She would much rather deal with the monotonous affairs of business administration than suffer through the disgusting task of touching this thing. The next time someone asked her to participate in field work, she was going to wrench their head off with her bare hands and use it as a volleyball. 

 

Something dark and fleeting was the only warning she had before writhing shadows suddenly converged on her side. With a hiss, Rey pivoted on the toe of her loafer and reeled back just as a wispy set of claws struck out at the space her head had just occupied. The momentum of her dodge flowed into a backhand spring, and she caught the demon in the chest with her shoe as she kicked up and over. It skittered away, gleaming eyes flashing as she righted herself into a standing position again. She bared her fangs once more; there were two sets, one the extended points of her canines and the other shorter replacements of the inner incisors right beside the first set. The demon returned the gesture with a garbled, unnatural sound of its own before it sprang at her. Rey twisted away at the very last moment, and the demon's shadowy frame collided with the Wendigo behind her. The beast screeched and clamped down on the demon with its dribbling mouth; with the crush of its jaws, the shadow broke into smoky wisps until it disappeared entirely. 

 

Unfortunately, that was not the end of her problems. Not a second later, she noticed a strange cloud of fog rolling forward as if it were sentient, and within the blink of an eye a vampire had suddenly crossed out from the immaterial plane to double over and wheeze. A string of curses burst forth from Rey's mouth, all in a jumble of loudly spat French. The last thing she needed was the emissary from another Seethe to get murdered in her Mistress's territory, much less under Reydris' direct watch. The Wendigo noticed the vampire within the same span of time and turned its remaining blazing eye onto him. Just as its massive jaws opened to maul the newest vampire, Reydris leapt at the beast and snatched it by the base of its towering antlers with all of the strength of her inertia to drive the Wendigo's head away from Julien and into the asphalt of the street. She hit the gravel and rolled, only to kick out a foot and snap an antler clean off its skull. The Wendigo bellowed and thrashed; three claws caught in the exposed skin of her sternum, leaving behind identical triple slashes in the pale flesh that leaked with dark, old blood down her front. Rey's pained hiss was guttural and deep as it tore from her throat behind her fangs. 

 

A flesh wound wouldn't stop her, though. Like a whip, Reydris sprang to her feet and out of reach of the flailing Wendigo. She snatched its broken antler off the ground and ducked under another incoming shadow, only to spin and swing the antler as the demon reached for Julien. The tines slammed into the demon's spine-- or, what would have passed as one-- and cleaved through its entire figure, leaving behind only a faint screech as it was torn into flickers of fading darkness. Rey didn't care where that left the angel, because her attention fixated on the other vampire with what might have appeared to be a mixture of annoyance and faint relief. "I don't plan on shipping you back to your Master in pieces," she said, the savage energy from the fight still coloring a hard edge to her voice, "so try not to make this more difficult for me, yes?" She didn't wait for his response. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Rey tossed him the severed antler and whirled in the same moment to drive her knuckles into the nose bridge of the Wendigo behind her. 

Edited by hazeh

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- Morgan -

 

Morgan stepped back to observe as the vampire repeatedly struck at the wendigo, the upper-class of the undead were quite ferocious. He protectively positioned himself between the wendigo and the transforming werewolf, how he hadn’t realised that the third person there was a werewolf was beyond him. He anxiously waited for the wendigo to make a move, but the vampire and angel had its attention.

 

The werewolf’s transformation completed and she quickly grew preoccupied with the half dozen demons that had scurried out of the darkness, undoubtedly drawn by the wendigo’s unbiased destruction. Morgan paused in contemplation, the wendigo was the bigger threat, but the demons were growing in number and they could soon be overwhelmed. Morgan felt the flames wain as his brain worked to choose an answer, old school golems like him were primarily made to be ordered and if an problem had 2 similar solutions they would struggle choose when pure logic wasn’t a factor.

 

He was saved from his inaction by the simple words of instruction from the angel above ‘Assist the wolf with these Demons!’. In an action that would make a chiropractor shiver Morgan’s torso swivelled completely on his right leg, briefly leaving him with one foot facing forward and the other backward. He stepped forward his other leg rotating to match. His focus zeroed in on a particular demon, trying to makes it’s way passed the werewolf.

 

“Order acknowledged ma’am. I live to serve,” Morgan replied flatly, his right fist enclosing around a steaming ball of lava. Stepping forward his right arm swinging high, reminiscent of a cricketing bowler’s pitch, he hurled the globule of lava at the demon. The blob exploded on impact eviscerating the demon in a mass of flame and steam.

 

Morgan took another step forward, repeating the same arm movement and sending a ball of lava hurtling at the next demon, however, this one had noticed his attack and avoided it. Morgan frowned in mild annoyance and took another step, his left arm reigniting in fire. He swung his arm again but the demons continued to dodge.

A sudden cry, not the mournful wail of the wendigo, echoed loudly above him. Morgan and the demon he was facing off against glanced up as another angel appeared. Morgan tilted his head, it was becoming crowded. He then watched the spectacular failure as the angel came crashing down, impacting hard and dropping her gun in the process. For a brief moment Morgan and the demon stared almost dumbstruck at the absurdity of the scene before them.

 

Morgan glanced at the demon.

 

It glanced back at him through glowing eyes.

 

Their eyes met. They stared at one another for a few seconds.

 

Morgan thrust his arm forward, his flaming uppercut launching the cloud of ashes that was the demon into the air.

 

“These beasts are too quick” he said sullenly.

 

There were still several moving around himself, the werewolf and the fallen angel. Morgan wasn’t made for crowds; his attacks could be quite vicious, but they needed to land first. His eyes drifted towards his surroundings, there had to be a way he could effectively eliminate multiple at once, or at least slow their movements, so he and his two allies could finish them with more ease.

 

He stepped quickly off towards the nearest structure, a small brick garden shed. He raised his right hand and sunk the glowing ball of lava into the brick. Fumes flowed out from the sphere as it bore it’s way through the wall. The bricks crumbled away and Morgan’s large hand gripped it from both sides.

 

“Please excuse my behaviour but I need to make a new door,” He said, directed at whoever owned the shed.

 

Pivoting on his feat Morgan swung his arm, the corner wall of the shed breaking off. The wall continued to crumple as he propelled it quickly through the air, and a shower of brick pieces and cement flew every which way and that in the direction towards the majority of the demons, which unfortunately meant a large amount of rubble collided with the werewolf who was in the centre of the crowd.

 

The attack had its desired effect though, several demons turned to mist just from the impact of the rubble. The only thing Morgan hadn’t accounted for was that he’d used a bit too much force for his arm joint, and his arm now lay beside one of the remaining demons, the hand still grasping part of the shed wall.

Morgan hurried forward and picked his arm up at the joint then, arcing it down like a hammer, shattered the brick on the top of the demon.

 

He turned his attention towards the demons on the other side of the wendigo and noticed that a 2nd vampire had appeared, male this time. He returned his attention to the remaining demons, the ones that had been attacking the angel had been outside the range of his brick attack. Unzipping his hoodie to reveal his literally chiselled chest, he dumped it on the ground and reattached his arm. The difference in his arms were now glaringly obvious, especially illuminated by the red glow of the fires still swirling on his left.

Edited by Marcus Pheonix

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l a r i s a     v a l e r i u s                                         daughter of wolves

 

Vincent Vainu'upo was a large man. His stature was intimidating at the very least, with his broad chest and shoulders to match. The muscle definition of his arms and neck cut sharp angles into his figure, but was softened by the gentle rounding of his cheeks and wide-set face. He towered over most, even when stooped over his kitchen counter as he was currently. His dark curls were pulled back in a loose ponytail and slung over his shoulder as he worked the flour caked over his large hands into the misshapen ball of dough on the cutting board, but even still, a fine dusting of white managed to streak into the thick locks at the side of his temple and smudge a thumbprint over his forehead. Vincent didn't appear to notice; his gaze remained tethered to the task at hand, slightly out of focus as though he saw something else entirely than the dough kneading under his thick palms. The distance to his expression wasn't new. Neither was the dulled edge to his movements and the weary droop of his eyelids from whatever pained memory he was idling reliving. He continued like that, an automatic reflex of rolling and folding, for several minutes.Then, quite abruptly, he stopped and stared down at the dough of the pani popo before slouching entirely over the counter and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 

To Vincent's right was the large kitchen bay window. Beyond the glass the night was dark, illuminated only faintly by the soft glow of lamp posts or the occasional swipe of headlights from a passing car. Across the street from his apartment was one of the city parks; though the smaller of the two, it offered no less of an impressive display of landscaping. A thick cluster of trees bordered the sidewalk and dotted long the dirt path that snaked through the lush grass across the earth, and the dense brush that lined the trunks were hedged into neat box shapes. A pair of pale gold eyes stared out from these bushes. They tracked Vincent's movement as he slowly rose from the counter again, more flour now powdered over his cheeks and into his eyelashes. A soft growl vibrated low from the creature crouched within the shadows of the leaves. It wasn't an angry or frightened sound, but it grated deep in the beast's chest before the pitch of it suddenly fluxed high and keening into the faint, mournful whine of a distraught animal. The sound came again when a second figure entered the kitchen, smaller than Vincent and lankier in limbs, and sporting a face strikingly similar to the one the beast saw in the mirror every morning. The whine tapered off into the crisp night air, as if cut directly from its throat. 

 

The yellow eyes slipped closed for a moment. The ears atop her head, once upright and straining toward the window, twisted back and flush against the thick fur of her skull. Her muzzle was buried into the bush, hiding the gleam of her numerous teeth from view as the dark lips curled back into a silent, pained snarl. She wanted to howl, to scream, and it bubbled up in her mouth like acid demanding to pierce the quiet lull of midnight citylife-- but Lara held it back, gripped tightly between bared teeth, and it was a physical ache to keep it trapped there instead of letting the hollow sound of her grief pour into the night as the wolf was supposed to. Maybe she would later, once she was far from where her brothers couldn't hear the crystalline notes of their sister tearing through the city sky. 

 

When she looked up again, the kitchen was dark and empty. Vincent's attempt at the pani popo was abandoned on the counter. It made her think of their mother and all of the nights Lara had spent as a child shuffling about with her as they prepared the sweet bread for dessert, and Lara understood why her oldest brother had left the unfinished dough where it sat. 

 

The wolf's chest heaved in quick, small pants. The memories flashing by her thoughts brought spikes of anguish with them, leaving behind open wounds on her psyche that she would have to nurse through the night as Lara did every night she dared to come spy on her brothers. It'd been seven years since she spoke to them; seven years of watching from the shadows, seven years of remembering the night that had snuffled their parents off the earth like two insignificant candle flames. Seven years of pretending to be someone-- something-- else entirely. Most nights, Lara could cope. Most nights, days even, she could take up the mantle of werewolf and use it as a shield to her emotional burdens in order to keep that pain and grief at bay, so that it didn't eat away at her resolve like maggots at a sore. Most nights it was enough. 

 

A car turned down the street, trucking along at a slow pace and sweeping the road with its old, dim lights. Lara shrank back into the protective shadow of the bush and settled herself with a long, shuddering inhale. The breath brought with it a heavy, stony scent; her gaze trailed upward, and as the car passed, she dared to lift her nose from the bush to probe the air with flared nostrils. It smelled of rain, as if the moisture had already permeated deep into the asphalt with water and sleet. She drank it in for a long moment, until the harsh tang of the air filled her lungs and threatened to burst. Her exhale was sharp and forceful, and without another look toward the kitchen window, the werewolf that had once been Larisa Vainu'upo slipped out from the bush and loped along the edge of shadow of the park until her brothers' apartment was far behind. 

 

She knew the way like a second nature. Despite that she was neck-deep in East Pack territory, Lara knew the intricate paths and every twist or turn that she might detour through to avoid an unpleasant encounter with the other pack's diligent patrols. Her scent would linger, of course. Not that she particularly cared-- let Matthias face the fallout for her trespassing again. Whatever punishment he saw fit to serve her insubordination was worth the precious handful of time she had to see her past family. What was left of it, at least. She gave a soft huff of breath; just the thought of her adopted father brought that warbling feeling of loss crashing back down into her chest and twisted it into a mixture of fury and bitter resentment, where it curdled in the cavity behind her ribs with a sour taste. And yet, just beneath it, a childish yearning flickered and waned, too stubborn to wink out of existence forever.

 

The wolf gave her mighty head a shake and bit at the air with a snap of her teeth as she dashed through the shadows along the street. It was deep enough into the night that few people were around, and none of them turned at the soft patter of paw pads on concrete or noticed the large, hulking form of the werewolf as she flowed from shadow to shadow. Those that did glance after her saw nothing but a soft swish of movement as the tip of her tail disappeared around a corner. Lara might have been a rebel when it came to the wishes of the West Pack's leader, but she wasn't an idiot-- the last seven years had taught her thoroughly how to avoid suspicion and unwanted attention, and so long as she didn't come face to face with an unsuspecting human, she could move about the world under the steel-colored pelt of the wolf at will. 

 

Of course, if something supernatural wanted to find her, there was little she could do but wait for the inevitable. 

 

Lara ducked down a small trail behind a row of apartment buildings as she approached the border between the two werewolf packs. Her ears swiveled back and forth, seeking out the mild noises of the night and searching for any clue that an East Pack member might be on her trail. The smell of rain did not lessen the farther she went; the air was swollen with it, as if at any moment the cloud cover overhead might shatter and release a biblical flood across the cityscape. But every pawstep was still as dry as the last, and though her breath came in wisps of steam, the air felt no colder against her thick pelt of silvery fur than before. She waited in the alley for another breath before slinking through the cover of darkness alongside the fence. Something prickled at the back of her neck, and Lara paused. A nipping breeze trickled in through the trees and brushed gently through her fur, chilling only the wet skin of her nose as she scented the wind for a sign of whomever had triggered her awareness. The rumble of a growl began to rise on the back of her tongue; she couldn't smell anyone, or even hear them, but she knew something was there. The yellow flash of her eyes narrowed. 

 

"Easy," came a warbling voice that was somehow both gently child-like and sonorous at once. Lara's ears pricked at the sound and immediately honed in on a tiny figure on the path that hadn't been there seconds ago. "Easy." 

 

There were no features that Lara could see-- not in the darkness, nor with the aided sight of a werewolf's superb vision. The appearance of the figure startled her enough that the warning growl died in her mouth, and in its place a curious snort of breath released instead. She could not answer even if she wanted to, and it would take too long to drag her body back into its human shape just to ask what the little spirit wanted. 

 

The figure wavered slightly. "News. News. Wendigo, news," it chanted, and its voice echoed strangely in her ears as she listened with a tilted head. Then, in startling clarity, Lara realized she wasn't looking at a spirit-- not really-- but the projection of a consciousness, thrown from some unknown place. It was a message for her ears and nothing more. "Wendigo. Wendigo." She felt the fur along her hackles raise. Her growl came in full this time, vibrating in the dark with an edge of concern. Then, before she could gesture for the projection to explain further, the figure turned and pointed down the path to the south. 

 

Lara's thoughts scrambled to put the direction into perspective. She stood and stared at the phantom as the location mapped out in her mind-- south meant residential, which meant innocent humans. And if wendigos were good for anything, it was sowing destruction and death wherever it went, which meant chaos much like the kind that ripped her parents from the plane of the living. At that realization, the werewolf gave a short snarl and lunged into a four-legged lope down the path, leaving the fading image to point after her. 

 

The world was a blur as Lara raced along the edge of urban living space and the stretch of neighborhoods that threatened to swallow her up in their mazes. A suggestion was all she needed to find the target; the air currents were gusting gusting upwind, nearly drowning her senses with all of the scents that invaded her breath. It wasn't until she approached the main road that served as the physical edge to the packs' territories that she slowed to study the new smell wafting in on the breeze. It was dark, dank like wet earth and the sickly sweet of a rotten corpse. The werewolf's nose twitched. Lara had not ever encountered a wendigo of her own before, but she'd heard the stories of their repugnant smell. It would be easy enough to track through the labyrinth of houses, even with the rest of scents that plagued suburban sprawl. She lifted her muzzle high, careful not to exceed the boundary of shadow she still hid within, and sucked in a deep breath. A drop of wetness landed on her nose. She paused to focus on the fleck that had drifted down from above and melt on the bridge of her snout. The light of a nearby street lamp caught on another, and another, until Lara noticed flakes falling like ash across the entire street. She watched, mesmerized by the sight of snow as though pieces of the clouds themselves were chipping away and plummeting to earth. It reminded her of the flour coated on Vincent's hands and pani popo dough.  

 

The werewolf hunkered low against the ground and plunged into the snowfall, ignoring the flakes as they buried into her fur and stained the silver into a dark gun-metal gray. The decaying scent brought her further into the neighborhood, swerving down streets and twisting every which direction until it was impossible to tell exactly which way she'd come from. Eventually, a figure in the sky caught her attention; Lara focused on it, and decided that its purposeful descent meant an angel was already on scene. As the angel dove, she heard a faint cry ripple through the air and wondered if it came from the angel or from the creature the angel hunted. When she heard gunshots, however, Lara decided it didn't quite matter. If she could hear all of the commotion, so could all of the humans sitting oblivious in their homes that she raced by. 

 

Lara slowed to a low slink across the asphalt as the fight came into view. The wendigo wasn't difficult to miss, nor was the human-Frankenstein-looking creature that shot fire and wrenched an entire brick shed apart. She smelled the other werewolf before she noticed Imelda as the bricks hailed down on her and a group of demons clustered around like a swarming mass of hissing teeth and claws. There were two angels, the one she'd seen earlier now on the ground. And there were also vampires-- the female-looking of the two had just landed a full-knuckled punch into the wendigo's muzzle, sending it staggering back a few steps on its hooves. It roared, and Lara noticed how one of its antlers was missing. The vampire hissed. It was an unnatural sound that sent a twitch through Lara's hackles, much like the screech of the wendigo as it grabbed for the vampire again and missed when she darted just out of reach. Lara could see blood staining the front of the woman's white blouse, but she seemed unaffected from the wound. In that moment, however, a pair of demons leapt out from behind a car and knocked the woman off her balance when she tried to bar the path to the second vampire. As she faltered onto one knee, a third lunged and took her all the way down. The feral sound the vampire made then caused the fur along Lara's spine to rise in alarm. 

 

It was an opening, though. The lips of her muzzle peeled all the way back, exposing the gums and incisors and dangerous canines in full view as Lara burst forth from the shadow to intercept the wendigo. It turned immediately at the sound of her challenging snarl, but not in enough time to avoid her jaws as they closed around the base of the beast's neck to knock it away from the struggling vampire and growing pile of demons. A revolting taste flooded her tongue and Lara wrenched her fangs out of the rotten corpse, spitting and gagging at the bile that rose in response. But she couldn't waste any time trying to rid the taste from her mouth, for the wendigo was thrashing back into an upright position and nearly flaying her side with its remaining antler in the process. She took a few paces backward while facing the creature, though she had one ear turned back in case the demons attempted a similar ambush as they had the vampire, and didn't take her eyes from its deformed figure as it rose back onto its hooves. It bellowed, deep and furious; in response, Lara rose to match its seven foot height with her own, and the howl that had been haunting her lungs for the better part of the night came surging out from her throat with a raw, wild power that echoed against the walls of the homes lining the street. She snarled and snapped at the empty air in warning as she squared off against the beast, and it answered in kind before finally breaching the space between them with a lunge for her throat. Lara snatched it by the arm with her jaws and whipped her head; a sickening crack and the accompanying scream of the wendigo filled her ears, and she snarled again as the taste returned to her mouth. It raked claws against her shoulders, but only met fur in the density of the mane that grew there, and she twisted out of its grip to fling her head like a dog with a toy. Its flesh shredded in her teeth and just about sloughed off the bone into her mouth, but she held fast. This time, however, claws found purchase in her face and Lara released the wendigo's butchered arm as it lacerated her cheek with its talons, nearly taking her eyebrow piercing with it as it cut up and across her forehead. The silver wolf whined and reeled back as she shook her head to rid the film of blood that trickled into her sight and blinded her right eye, and only just barely managed to avoid the swing of an antler as it arced suddenly close to her muzzle. With a snarl, Lara barreled forward into the wendigo and the two of them fell back against the gravel now covered with a thin layer of pale snowflakes. 

Edited by hazeh

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Zarall Suspicious 

 

The Vampire was managing to hold her own well enough, kicking the Wendigo around as if it were no more than a punching bag. At the female's snark, Zarall hovered out of reach and frowned. Quickly, she ran an internal check of herself, touching on her aura and magic. It crackled under her awareness and her eyes widened a fraction. Scowling in the next heartbeat, she tried to thread her magic back together, sealing the rends that the Wendigo's contamination had ripped open. She kept her distance, desiring to keep her aura from being disrupted again. Gripping her beretta tightly, she felt her glamor slide over the dark metal. She grit her teeth. She should have checked for any ill effects much sooner than this. But what was done, was done. She couldn't erase the matter.

 

Demons knocked the vampire off of her feet and Zarall didn't hesitate, diving as a furred figure entered her periphery. That wasn't Imelda. She spared no second to see who it was, focusing on the cluster of demons and firing. Two were blasted back, one by bullets and the other by the angel herself. She hit the ground, tumbling with the demon she tackled. Her wings were tangled with the demon and she stuffed down the burst of panic that observation began to stir. Zarall struck the demon across its face with her gun, firing point blank in the next heartbeat. It vanished into nothing and she quickly rose back to the air,  catching a glimpse of the new Vampire, an exceedingly tall male who looked rather out of place in a fight like this one. But, for all she knew, he could have been a seasoned warrior.

 

She got a fair look at the new werewolf when she howled, grappling on the ground with the Wendigo in the next few moments, snow smearing and melting beneath their bodies. Briefly, she glanced up, frowning. When had the snow started to fall? The clouds had moved in, an oppressive force above the city, and the storm they promised was beginning. In the next hour or so, its full fury was going to be unleashed. 

 

Thrusting her wings, Zarall swept over the wrestling creatures' heads, snatching at the Wendigo's remaining antler when the pair parted. The force of her flight carried the Wendigo away from the werewolf, the monster spinning on its hooves and staggering until it collapsed to the ground once more with a bellow. It's full body exposed, prone, and vulnerable, she twisted around and fired rapidly, the shots ringing only within her ears and silent to the rest of the world. 

 

The spray of bullets riddled its torso and legs, icicles springing into existence and piercing through rotting flesh. The creature gave another wail, rolling and lurching until it found its footing and leapt for the Angel. She was too deft, flying out of its reach and lighting upon a nearby rooftop. Again, she fired quickly, the impact of bullets driving the Wendigo back a step before it surged forward. It leapt as she pushed off the roof, grasping her leg with its remaining clawed hand. Zarall shot at its face, taking out the beast's other eye and forcing it to let go of her. 

 

It plummeted to the grassy lawn, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Staring down at it, her eyes narrowed. The house lights weren't turning on. As the wretched thing thrashed and stumbled back to its hooves, pain calling out from its beaten maw, Zarall flicked her gaze across the neighborhood. No lights were on, despite the amount of noise all the fighting was making.

 

From her vantage point, however, she could see red and blues in the far distance, the pinpricks of light twirling as they raced through the city. Don't let them be for us.... She had to focus on the Wendigo again, the beast stumbling blindly as it reached out to strike at her, its nose flaring and snorting at a faster rate than before. It was scenting for her, its ears swiveling as it similarly listened for her. Flying away from the house, she emptied the last of her clip into the beast, streams of water rushing through the tears in its flesh and icicles growing from its back.

 

As she reloaded, she dipped under a leaping demon, spiraling in her flight with wings curled loosely about her body. Snapping them out, the tips of her left-side primaries brushing along the snow-covered ground, the angel flew upward, coming to hover above the demons that tried pursuing. Three more shots left her beretta, Zarall making a quick check of her aura once more to ensure the silence remained in tact. It held.

 

"Why aren't the humans waking?" Zarall questioned, her gaze sweeping towards the pair of Vampires, the other Angel, and then Morgan. 

 

Imelda Injury

 

Her jaws were parted, heavy pants rushing free from her lungs. Finally, she was done shifting but the pain wasn't going to fade any moment soon. Especially not if she kept taking hits from the demons that swarmed her. Zarall had left her, moving on to the Wendigo and issuing an order for the Golem to assist the wolf instead. Claws flashed in her periphery and she brought an arm up, catching the claws in her biceps as teeth snapped at her face. Snarling at it, her ears pinned back against her head, Imelda narrowed her hazel eyes and grabbed for the demon with her other hand.

 

It latched onto her with its own claws, shots of pain running through her arms and side. Another weight slammed into her back, almost knocking her to her knees. Grunting and growling, Imelda jerked as teeth sunk into her shoulder and neck. The second demon began to thrash, ripping into her even further. Crying out, she released the first demon as best she could and darted her hand back to grab at the one trying to tear her apart. The teeth scored across her left clavicle, fire sparking through her nerves before being chased by a numbing cold. 

 

Her claws sunk into something not quite like any flesh she knew, but had grown familiar with these demons. Grunting as she tensed, she pulled the demon free, the motion causing further damage. Roaring, she threw the beast away from her and into another demon attempting to jump in on her struggle. Her vision swam and she came down, taking a knee and curling her hand up to the gruesome wound. All of her previous cuts and tears had stitched back together, leaving only stained fur behind. This one was going to need some help. 

 

Her ears twitched and she angled her head up, catching sight of a new angel as she hollered. Only a couple of the demons surrounding Imelda dragged their attention away from the wolf, orienting upon the late arrival. One of the others charged into her and she grappled with it, hitting the ground and kicking it back. Close by, the angel struck the ground and tried crawling away from one of the creatures. Revealing her teeth, Imelda scrambled to her hind paws, fumbling as she sprinted forward. Reaching out, she grabbed at the demon just before it pounced on the vulnerable angel. 

 

Imelda snatched its neck with one hand and a rear leg with the other, beginning to pull as forcefully as she could. The demon gave a sharp wail as her claws punctured its eyes and head, splitting into a myriad of wispy tendrils that faded into the dark. The muscles in her shoulder and neck seized and she grumbled through the pain, clenching her jaws together and bent down to take a hold of the angel's wrist. She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe someone Imelda had encountered while working with Zarall or something. Not many angels cared to interact with the werewolves.

 

She heard it before she saw it, ear swiveling towards Morgan as he threw the slab of bricks. Instinctively, Imelda's grip tightened on the angel's wrist as she abruptly pulled her in against her furred body, turning as she did so to expose her full back to the non-discriminating attack and practically curl around the shorter supernatural being.

 

The wall shatter across the ground, more than one section breaking apart as they collided into Imelda's back, shoulder, and head. The world swam and faded as the pain flooded her body, the werewolf staggering and beginning to collapse. She fell to her knees as her vision returned, releasing the angel in the same motion and pushing her aside to avoid possibly crushing her. 

 

There was a ringing in her ears, obscuring most of the noises she formerly picked out, until a howl broke through it. Her ears perked and then flattened, an answering whimper floating on an exhale. Lara? The werewolf groaned, struggling to her paws. Her body didn't agree with the movement. Legs trembling, she pitched forward and hit the ground on all fours. Damn it... Panting, she tried to focus her eyes on the small angel before searching to see where Lara had appeared. I just need... a moment....

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- Zophiel -

 

The angel grimaced as the demon lunged for her, reaching desperately for the gun but only brushing the edge of it with the tip of her fingers unable to get a proper grip on it. She clenched her eyes shut and moved her hand over her face, trying to protect it from the oncoming barrage of malice when an anguished shriek suddenly pierced through her eardrums. When nothing seemed to barge into her she cringed and risked a peek through the gaps in her fingers to see what had stopped the demon. Zophiel was greeted with a furious blur of fangs, claws, and fur as her vision focused in on a werewolf tearing apart her would-be attacker, eyes growing wide in a mixture of fear and admiration at how easily the demon was disposed of. Though she was quite content to socialise with other supernatural beings she hadn’t really had the experience of fighting alongside of a transformed werewolf before, and a brief tremor of fear ran through her as she tried to remember how much control they had outside of the full moon. 

 

She flinched slightly as the wolf reached out for her, definitely cautious but relaxing slightly as Imelda only grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Zophiel was still a bit dazed from the collision with the ground, but she stuttered out a thank you in a fractured combination of English and something that sounded vaguely like Latin before she remembered where she was. The angel frowned as she noticed the ears of the wolf prick up in alarm. She could only just now hear the sound of Morgan’s method of area control over the roar of the ongoing battle around her, and she barely caught a glimpse of the haze of bricks and mortar flying towards them before she was yanked forward by the beast. 

 

Zophiel cried out in concern as she heard hardened clay and cement shatter against the asphalt below and her saviour’s back, though her voice was heavily muffled by the fur of the creature. She writhed in the wolf’s grip, trying but failing to drag the both of them away from the onslaught until the noise had died down. She was back in the air the second she was freed, wings fluttering wildly to keep her hovering a few inches off the ground as she made some bizarre hand motions and gawked over at Imelda. “W-what?! Why?!” Was all she was able to splutter out once she remembered to use actual words. 

 

A wave of guilt washed over her as she watched the werewolf stagger momentarily. The shrillness in her voice died instantly, replaced with a much friendlier but urgent tone as Zophiel floated directly in front of Imelda and indicated for her to stop moving. “No-no-no stay right there, don’t be an idiot for me twice in one night!” Demanded the angel. She then turned her back on Imelda and glanced between her and their remaining opponents, refusing to make the same mistake of letting another one of the slimy little things catch her off guard so soon. 

 

To the angel’s relief the golem’s reckless method of defence had at least thinned out the numbers they had to deal with, and those that remained nearby now seemed a lot more weary of the three of them. She took the brief few seconds of calm to recollect her gun from the ground beside her and scoop up one of the still in-tact bricks along with it, testing the weight of it by tossing it twice in the air. Planting her feet back on the ground she then hurled the brick at one of the demons that had been watching for the golem’s next move, clocking it perfectly in the back of its head with an aim that suggested having to improvise with nearby rubble was a common occurrence for her. The impact wasn’t enough to completely dispose of it, but the demon certainly didn’t look like it was getting back up any time soon. Its nearby companions now seemed torn between finding out who had thrown the brick and keeping a close eye on the golem as he re-attached his arm, but Zophiel didn’t bother waiting for them to turn around this time and just began to fire wildly in their general direction. She was only hoping to keep them at bay long enough for Imelda to get back on her feet after all, or at least for the golem to finish off the rest. Sounds akin to a car-alarm going off startled to ripple through the atmosphere, her own aura holding up against the wendigo but having difficulty warping the sounds into something quieter.

 

 

 

- Julien -

 

 

The new arrival said nothing at first, but the slack-jawed expression that washed over his face indicated that Julien understood every French expletive that poured out of Reydris’ mouth. Weakly he motioned to the now empty space behind him, about to point out that he hadn’t exactly planned to spend his evening sprinting aimlessly through unfamiliar side-streets. The retort however died somewhere in his throat before any actual words were formed as he glanced up and realised who exactly was lecturing him on survival tactics. Even his own, reclusive self had heard of Reydris Carmichael, and that was before he’d ever been obliged to step foot in this city. Julien flinched as she threw him the antler, breaking his deer-in-the-headlights expression so he could scramble to catch it before it smacked him in the face. The younger vampire still looked a little green around the gills, but the gasps for air had died down and he was now shakily straightening up as Reydris swung her fist into the Wendigo’s snout. Julien cringed at the sight and stumbled back a step or two, certainly not wanting to get in her way.

 

Grey eyes scanned the morbid new gift as Julien held it out in both hands, contemplating the weight of it for a moment before he snapped part of it off against the ground. He scrunched his nose up at the sound of it, but looked satisfied with the much sharper, jagged edge that had replaced the tip of the antler. Managing to rise to his full height and now brandishing the make-shift weapon, he bared his fangs and swivelled on the spot to finally grasp at some idea of what was happening around him. The two demons that had been chasing him were no longer in sight, though he suspected they were lurking nearby. A sharp, red glow was quick to catch his attention and cause him to squint a little from the new assault on his eyes. The subsequent blurred vision made him glaze over the mis-matched limbs, which was probably for the best given his current state of mind. Close to the glowing figure was a werewolf, though one that looked in pretty bad shape. Beside it was an angel, not one he recognised in the slightest, but compared to the hulking creature behind her he was reminded briefly of a chihuahua trying to make itself look tough in front of its big-dog friends.

 

His survey of the situation was cut short as more problems erupted around him, and he scrambled further away from the fray as another angel descended from above and another werewolf burst into view to take on the wendigo. He was starting to wonder if he’d stumbled into some sort of elaborate science experiment to see if it was possible to give a vampire a heart attack. It had to be, with all the bullets, bricks and assorted supernatural beings getting tossed about in the air.  The shimmer of yet another shadow passing by caught his eye and he forced himself to stagger forward after it, clutching the antler tightly in his left fist as he reasoned that the best way to get himself out of this mess was to thin out the numbers distracting the hard-hitters of the group so they could focus on the wendigo.

 

Wrapping a lanky arm around what might have been the neck of the demon he was in pursuit of, Julien skidded to a sudden halt and wrenched his arm back. The demon squealed in shock, and Julien had to bite into the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t embarrass himself any further with a similar sound, as he followed through with the motion and slammed the vile creature onto its back against the pavement. The unfortunate creature barely had time to react before Julien brandished the antler like a spear and struck downwards, landing the jagged point right between the eyes. A horrid scraping sound of bone against the cement below them was all Julien heard as its movements ceased, and he quickly scrambled back to his feet as the creature dissipated from view. Instinctively he began to move towards Reydris and swiped a warning at another demon that had scattered from Zarall’s earlier barrage of bullets. At least if he was going to go on the defence he’d have a better time predicting what a vampire was going to do.

Edited by Lycanious

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- Morgan -

 

Morgan glanced at the werewolf that had shielded the fallen angel to take the impact of his rather destructive brick and mortar attack. He knew that werewolves had considerable regenerative abilities but still felt a strong shame in hurting a comrade.

He reached down and put his hoodie back on, once again obscuring his arms. His gaze wandered the battlefield, the number of demons had thinned considerably, and the wendigo was starting to grow wilder as it continued to suffer damage from the two vampires and the original angel, another werewolf had even appeared. Morgan glanced down at his feet, suddenly realising he was the clear outcast in this scenario. He crossed the threshold between himself and the injured werewolf and placed his hand on her back, lowering himself so his head was in line with hers, now on all fours.

 

“Please accept my apology, these aren’t the limbs I’m used to and these demons are too quick for me, but as I was ordered to attack I did so, and recklessly injured a comrade,” Morgan paused, his unblinking gaze noting the different sites on her furred form where small granules of rubble clung.

 

“As these legs cannot keep up with the quick demons, I shall leave the rest on this side to you and shall instead engage the wendigo,” He said, now directing his attention at the other angel.

 

Morgan’s arm still ablaze to ward off any of the demons from jumping him he started pacing back towards the wendigo. His gait paused, over the roaring of the beast and the sounds of gunfire he could hear the echo of a siren drawing near. He began walking again, his pace increasing.

 

“Why aren’t the humans waking?” The original angel asked aloud. Morgan’s gaze shifted to the houses around them, none of the lights were on, so who had contacted the police, most likely someone further away who had heard the gunfire.

 

“They’re most likely dead” Morgan said bluntly.

 

“Someone has alerted the authorities, we need to lure it away,” Morgan continued.

 

He stepped forward and hurled a sizzling ball of lava at the wendigo, the ball splattered on its shoulder and the wendigo roared and swung at Morgan. He ducked the arm and countered with a swift flaming left hook to its head. As the wendigo reeled again from the flaming blow Morgan grabbed its remaining antler and swung himself up onto the beasts back.

He clenched his legs around the waist of the wendigo and wrapped his long right arm around its neck, before covering its eyes with his burning left arm, gripping the antler to keep his arm stead. The creature roared and flailed unable to see. It tried in vain to reach behind it but its limbs weren’t made for that.

The wendigo trudged sideways and smashed itself into a tree. Morgan winced as his leg was crushed by the weight of the beast, but the blow hadn’t dislodged the leg from the socket, so he continued to hold firm.

 

“Miss angel, would you mind shooting it to lure it away. In this state it will have to follow its other senses!” Morgan called over the roaring of the wendigo.

 

Edited by Marcus Pheonix

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Imelda | On Your Feet!

 

The angel was stuttering at her, small body positioned between the wolf and the remaining demons. Imelda snorted, ears flicking as she continued to pant. Instinct, protective... Name it... came the thoughts in response. She tried grinning, rubbery lips pulling back and tongue lolling out the side of her maw. Abruptly, the golem started speaking next to her and she startled. When had he gotten closer? He was apologizing to her? She attempted to shake her head, only to stop in the next heartbeat because the world spun. 

 

Could the golem read body language just fine? The werewolf often had to hazard a 'no' for most people and supernaturals who didn't rely on nonverbal communication. Snorting again, ears swiveling, she attempted another smile, something - anything - that could convey her nonchalance or "it's okay!" to the golem. What she needed, as she watched the being stride away and towards the Wendigo, was some good raw meat. Or, really, just a bunch of protein to kickstart her healing. However, she knew that wasn't going to be available for awhile. 

 

Grunting, she started moving again, lifting a clawed hand up first to her injured shoulder. Gingerly, she touched the edges of the jagged wound, feeling the path of torn flesh crawl up the side of her neck halfway. It was raw but already a fair bit better than it had been before. Not as deep as it had been initially. But it wasn't getting any prettier than that, she knew this. She'd take what she could get, however. 

 

Could she stand now? That was the other question on her checklist. Shifting her weight into her feet and legs, Imelda began to rise. The ground still threatened to fall away from her vision but it remained where she needed it to be. Good. She rolled her good shoulder, an ear twitching as she listened to joints crack. Flexing her fingers, she curled and uncurled her fists. 

 

Perfect.

 

She parted her maw once more in a breathy, wolfish laugh, ears falling back then lifting up again. Quickly, she beat one fist into the other palm before her, a growl rising from her throat. The angel was working away at the remaining demons, darting back and forth whenever one tried surging towards Imelda. Cover fire. She could work with that.

 

With a snarl, she shook off the remnants of her dazed state and loped forward, barreling into a demon that thought it might leap at the angel's feet. 

Edited by ValidEmotions

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r e y d r i s   c a r m i c h a e l             vampire elite

 

For creatures who appeared no more substantial than a shadow, the claws each demon bore were excruciatingly tangible. Rey had been thrown onto her backside by the increasing pile of demons, hissing and snarling as talons coalesced from the darkness and pierced deep into the flesh of her shoulder through the wool of her suit jacket and fine cotton of her blouse. When one demon was yanked back by the arm of the younger vampire, Reydris spat in the face-- or, what appeared to pass as one-- of a demon leaning closer and struck out her claws with a force that cut clean through whatever might have served as the creature's skull. The demon vanished with an echoing shriek, and Rey took advantage of the momentarily free space to swing her claws down and crush the head of the other demon with its teeth fastened around her shoulder. Her eyes blazed as white as the snow that drifted down to coat her suit as she lurched into an upward position, eviscerating a third demon by another expert slice of claws. Wisps coiled over her hand as the demon dissolved into smoky tendrils, and instinctively she clutched a fist as if to grab hold of the last remaining scraps of shadow. She could rend through them as easy as tissue paper, yet it wasn't enough; the feral anger thrumming just beneath her skin hungered for more, for something solid and filled with blood and bones for her to scatter across the earth. 

 

Reydris stood on her feet and dusted off the gravel and snow from her now-tattered sleeves. A scowl deepened across her face, more laced with annoyance than with the pain of her wounds. Her suit jacket was absolutely trashed; with a soft grunt, Rey unshouldered the jacket and looked over the torn cloth that was now shredded in multiple areas and stained with old, ancient blood. This was qivuik wool, and she was certainly not pleased that this fiasco was going to force her to commission another. The hours spent tailoring the suit were going to be hell. It was already enough of a pain in the ass to find a suitable tailor for an overnight fitting, much less one capable of handling an Ermenegildo Zegna piece. 

 

She tossed the jacket into the gutter of the street, lip slightly curled. It was near worthless to her at this point. 

 

Now that she was no longer bogged down by a handful of demons, Rey took a moment to compose herself by adjusting the wrist cuffs of her blouse. The fabric was white and formfitting, but at her shoulder was a stain as dark as the claw marks across her chest. It was Egyptian cotton, sadly, but far more easily replaced than a custom suit. She unbuttoned the cuffs and curled them up her forearm with an expert roll of her wrist, and seemed to ignore just about everything else around her-- demons and Wendigo alike-- as she finished smoothing out whatever disheveled state the fight had inflicted on her. At one point, as the angels hailed onto the remaining demons, Rey simply stepped out of the path of a demon dodging around an enchanted bullet and paid it no mind as it loped out of reach. It wasn't until she swept back her dark hair that Rey appeared to re-focus her attention onto the fight. Though still fanged, she looked far more collected and poised than a few moments ago.

 

"The golem is correct," Reydris said. Her voice was no longer steeled by anger or annoyance, but reigned back into a calm, nearly indifferent quality. She folded her arms across her bleeding chest and tilted her head toward the street, where she could pick out the faintest warble of sirens begin to strengthen. "Police have been alerted, one way or another." She, too, agreed that the humans were likely all dead if none were stirring, but remarked nothing on the matter. No use driving in the point. However, at the thought, her gaze flickered toward the silent houses and skimmed across their roof tops and dark windows. Her expression betrayed nothing of what she felt; hundreds of years had seen her a master of those emotions, long locked away in boxes tucked deep where no one else could find them. But if her gaze lingered a few seconds too long, she did not acknowledge it. Then, with the soft huff of a sigh, she looked back at the others. The Wendigo had been damaged severely, along with a few of the eclectic group surrounding it and the accompanying demons. Now that it was completely sightless, getting the beast to stumble out of urban territory without drawing any more attention was going to prove a more difficult task than she initially believed. 

 

"Damn you, Lucas," she muttered. She was going to have a few choice words for him as soon as she returned to her office. 

 

The werewolf that had joined the fight belatedly snapped and snarled at the blinded Wendigo as it tottered around, slowed by the numerous injuries that littered its hideous hide. Reydris watched the iron-colored wolf as it dodged around the beast's lumbering frame with the golem clinging to its back, snapping teeth at its ankles and face to encourage the chase. She could smell the werewolf's blood-- both of them, Rey noted with a glance toward the other struggling to her feet-- and it was a sharp tang in the air different than the other fluids and scents of the group. Metallic and earthy, but entwined with a sort of peppery kick that made it itch at her nose. She exhaled against the frigid night air at the smell and observed as the werewolf swiped a paw at the Wendigo's leg, only to be clipped in the shoulder with the edge of a hoof. But it made a difference, it seemed-- the wendigo staggered back onto its feet, still thrashing against the weight of the golem on its backside as it followed after the werewolf weaving in and out of its reach. 

 

"Come along, then," she said, grabbing hold of Julien's upper arm like a mother might a disobedient child to drag him after the group. "Can't very well leave you alone with demons running about." She refrained from commenting further, though it was obvious from the tight, vise-like grip she had around his bicep that she had plenty of thoughts about the matter. But, she refused to be the one who allowed an ambassador to be dismembered on the streets of her territory, so there was little else choice for her now. 

 

 

Edited by hazeh

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Zarall | Wrap it up

 

It was definitely time to go. As Morgan began to grapple with the Wendigo, Zarall climbed higher into the air, noting the closer proximity of the flashing lights that signaled an incoming police presence. The golem was saying something again and she flew closer, snatching at the beast quickly as she passed by. The creature jerked sideways at the motion, only to be harassed into another direction by the new Werewolf. The Angel gave her some room to do as she pleased, baiting the Wendigo in her desired path. With the creature being poked and prodded enough by one supernatural, Zarall thought it best to focus her attention towards something else productive. 

 

The Demons were still an issue, even if their numbers had been cut down severely. 

 

She took notice of Imelda getting back on her feet and finally took the time to recognize the Angel near her. "Zophiel! We need to round these creatures up, get them into a condensed group so our force isn't so spread out," she called, instructing the younger Angel even as she began moving. She scanned the dark street for any Demons lingering at the fringe of the activity, getting close to those she did spot and luring them towards the center of the road. From what she could see, there weren't many Demons left. Three to be exact, if she hadn't missed any in hiding. 

 

Imelda was all over one Demon, grappling with it as it attempted to break free. The Angel noticed the Werewolf's limp and the way she favored one arm, the gaping tear in her shoulder being a prominent handicap. She powered her black wings, sweeping past the Wolf to fire point-blank at one of the remaining Demons that surged into motion. As it stumbled from the bullets, Zarall knocked it back with a kick and kept pressing. She intended to follow the same path that the Wendigo was being guided in, wanting to clear every supernatural out of the silent neighborhood. 

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 - Zophiel -

 

Zophiel regarded the approaching golem with the same wariness she had been displaying for the demons mere seconds before. She had always been ill-equipped to deal with fire, and combined with Morgan’s hazardous method of crowd control she had just witnessed she was more than a little nervous to be within fireball-launching distance from him. It wasn’t until he prompted her to take care of the rest of the demons on this side did she actually look relieved, but even that train of thought was quickly replaced when she realised Morgan was pacing towards the wendigo instead.

“Sure! Yep! No problem-o!”

She called after him as he abandoned them in favour of taking on the wendigo. A wide, strained grin forced itself onto her face as she surveyed the area before her. With the golem gone elsewhere the remaining demons were regaining their confidence and starting to close in around her again, causing her to tighten her grip on her pistol and fire off a few more shots in their direction to keep them at bay. Zophiel side-eyed the beast beside her, confusion briefly replacing her expression as she tried to make sense of the odd and somewhat terrifying facial movements.

“I’m...erm...g-going to interpret that as a smile. Or. Um. Maybe indigestion…?”

The angel eventually announced, her wide eyes pleading for the former before they focused in on a shadowy entity that was trying to sneak up on the right-hand side of them. Two more shots rippled through the atmosphere as Zophiel noticed it, the first one catching the approaching demon in the gut and the second piercing clean through its skull to properly vanquish it. 

 

Banishing one of the demons gave Zophiel a much-needed boost of reassurance, setting off a little chuckle at the back of her throat that unknowingly mimicked the laughter of the wolf behind her. She fluttered a few feet higher to better view her surroundings, flinching a little when Imelda suddenly dashed back into view to slaughter another demon but keeping her distance from the ground this time.
“You haven’t healed properly yet!”
Scolded Zophiel as her eyes drifted over the unsightly gash in the werewolf’s shoulder. The barrel of her gun wavered in the direction of the two of them but soon the angel resigned to the fact that she didn’t want to accidentally catch her new-found ally in the cross-fire. She opted instead for words of encouragement, clenching her free hand into a fist and hollering down at her even if she wasn’t entirely sure if Imelda could understand her in that form.
“Heck yes, rip ‘em a new one!”

 

“Zophiel!”

She snapped to attention the instant she heard her own name. Scanning the skies she quickly spotted the older angel above her and began to rise to follow after her, straining to hear her voice over the icy wind that was starting to build up around her. Zarall. She finally realised as she starred over at the other angel, though any memories of a prior encounter still eluded her. Briefly Zophiel saluted her to indicate she heard the containment plan and with a final, apologetic glance back down at the werewolf below her Zophiel took to the skies. 

 

Now gifted with a clear purpose in sight she held a lot more confidence in her movements, twirling erratically a few times in the sky to grab the attention of their remaining opposition before swooping close to the ground to deal with the closest one. Expertly she ducked and weaved around the demon, baiting it into taking swipes at her only to perform a sudden sharp swerve to the side that would force it to turn and relocate her. When she started to pull away for the fourth time it shrieked with frustration and began to give chase, barrelling after her as she glided further down the street. As Zarall flushed out the remaining demons from the comfort of the shadows she steered herself towards them, antagonising them briefly until they also began to give chase. When she failed to spot any more of the creatures she dipped to the side and began to spiral inward, forcing those that had decided to pursue her to gravitate towards the centre of the road. The strain from the prolonged burst of speed was becoming evident, but she gritted her teeth together and ignored the sharp, burning pain in her joints when she suddenly reeled back and invested all of her remaining energy into rocketing skywards as fast as possible. A desperate cry of something that sounded like ‘OKAY-NOW-NOW-NOW!’ accompanied the unexpected change in direction, Zophiel fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to pull off the same trick of corralling them again if she hadn’t given anyone a clear enough shot.

 

 

 

- Julien -

 

While Reydris regained her composure Julien was barely scrapping together any hint of his own. The antler in his arm swung wildly about as he whirled around and bared his fangs at anything remotely resembling something else lurking just to the side in the shadows. Julien was little more than a cornered animal by this point, frightened but viciously ready to defend himself if anything got a bit too close for comfort. The stench of blood beginning to waft through the air only appeared to be making him worse, serving as a constant reminder that he was starved and vulnerable at a level that had been unfamiliar to him for decades.  When the fellow vampire side-stepped around one of the fleeing demons Julien lashed out after it with his trusty antler-club, catching it in the side as it released an unholy squeal of pain. Lunging for him in retaliation, it managed to sink its claws into the back of his calf before he was able to kick it off. Snarling from the sharp sting of the newly-made gash in his leg Julien stumbled after it for a few steps, but the demon quickly skittered away before Julien could do any further damage. Julien liked to think it was out of intimidation, but at the back of his mind he suspected it had more to do with the fact that the two angels were starting to hunt down the remaining few from above.

 

When Reydris grabbed at his arm he flinched dramatically, though the dangerous serenity of her voice seemed to cut through to his senses before he made the horrible mistake of challenging her. Diplomatic immunity would only get him so far, after all. For a brief moment she may have felt a ripple run through his arm, flesh and bone compressing unnaturally in her grip only to suddenly snap back to their previously rigid state when Julien was pulled forward a few steps. A sharp hiss accompanied the movement, but he staggered after the older vampire with little further resistance. As he continued forward and the icy chill of the air began to bite at the back of his leg it ached in protest, but he managed to wrestle the pained look on his face down to an unimpressed frown as he tried to pick up the pace.

 

Despite her clear distaste for the situation, and possibly Julien himself, being shepherded along by the older vampire gave Julien a moment to ‘breathe’ and recollect his thoughts despite the blinded wendigo still staggering about nearby. The skittish twitching about had died down for one, and the expression on his face was starting to morph from a man fearing for his well-being into one that just looked moderately irritable.

 

“…The hand-holding is a tad unnecessary.”

Julien mumbled after a few seconds had passed, now conscious of how ridiculous he must look clutching a splintered antler to his chest with one arm and being dragged along by someone about a foot shorter than him with the other. His natural voice certainly didn’t help matters either, a soft but well-articulated variation that would have sounded right at home among the British aristocracy.

“I would feel far safer if both of your venison-making fists were focused on that nasty old thing.”

 

The taller vampire reared back a little and rested his chin over his shoulder as he slowed his pace, contemplating the rising sounds of sirens in the distance and finally catching on to the fact that they desperately needed to get the wendigo moving far away from here. 

“It is moving far too slow!”
Julien announced, raising his voice to address anyone within ear shot.

“Unless anyone here can physically drag this horrendous blight on our senses far away from here, I fear a diversion will be needed!”
 

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r e y d r i s   c a r m i c h a e l             vampire elite

Though the Wendigo was lurching along only a few yards ahead of them, Reydris's attention appeared to be focused on the angels ducking and diving above as they corralled the remaining demons. Her eyes, still bone-white in color, tracked their movements like a predator watching its prey. But she was not without awareness of her surroundings; as a demon galloped by, intent on the angels, Rey pulled Julien out of the way and continued on after the Wendigo as if they were merely avoiding a scrap of garbage fluttering by on the wind. She did not appear to even notice the vampire still clutched by her clawed hand, nor whatever passive resistance he might've attempted or the hobbling gait he adopted from the injury to his leg. Which also hadn't escaped her notice, though she made no remark or acknowledgement over the wound. 

 

It wasn't until he spoke that Rey paused. Though she didn't turn to face him fully, her head twisted slightly to the side to glance up at him from the corner of her eye. It certainly wasn't something she was used to doing; while Reydris wasn't necessarily the tallest vampire around, she wasn't exactly short, thus having a younger vampire's scrawny chest at her eye level was briefly disconcerting. "Well, when you start looking like a whipped dog fending off a pack of wolves, it stirs my pity," she responded, and though the words were slightly clipped, it was not with the same heat of frustration as she had spoken with earlier. She doesn't quite smile-- Reydris didn't do much of that, in general-- but there was a small shadow of something that colored the edge to her words just enough to dull the bite to them. A few more beats passed before her long fingers unfurled all at once like the quick release of a machine. She flexed her hand as if it had grown stiff and then crossed her arms across her bleeding chest to survey the damage of the neighborhood around them as Julien addressed the others. It certainly was extensive, especially after the shed-flinging stunt pulled by the resident golem. And if the squeal of sirens encroaching on their position was any indication, the authorities would soon descend on the wreckage like scavengers on carrion. 

 

Which only made her job more difficult. 

 

Rey sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shut. 

 

l a r i s a     v a l e r i u s                  daughter of wolves

The gun-metal werewolf wove back and forth before the Wendigo, flashing just close enough to freshen her scent in its bloody nostrils before darting out of reach from its swinging blows. It roared and hobbled, still off-kilter from the weight of the creature still clutched to its backside. Whenever its focus strayed back to the golem, Lara dove close again, snapping her massive jaws at its belly and recoiling to entice it back into the chase. It was difficult, and slow-- the male vampire was right, Lara thought, ears pinned low against her skull as she loosed a deep growl-- but there was no way she was willing to stick her teeth back into its decaying flesh again. Just the memory of the taste made her want to gag. If they wanted it dragged out of the way, someone else could take up the mantle. 

In the meantime she was stuck playing sheepdog. 

 

After a minute more, though, Lara began to feel the desperate coil of alarm begin to creep up through her center. If this Wendigo wasn't shepherded out of sight before the police arrived, what then? What would that mean for them? What would Matthias say, or do? A small whine rose up in the back of her throat and cut off into a grunt as she leapt back out of range from the Wendigo. The other vampire wasn't offering any ideas, but just standing there, watching the rest of them with a thoughtful frown on her face. The sight of it was irritating to Lara, and she chuffed at the woman from under the Wendigo's arm as if scolding her lack of involvement. The vampire's gaze flickered to her, white and unblinking. Lara growled again. 

 

A claw scraped over the fur at Lara's shoulders and she snapped at the paw in warning. The Wendigo bellowed back at her, and Lara sunk low to the ground, slinking backward against the earth to keep her eyes on the quarry. If the female vampire wasn't going to be of any help, Lara would have to enlist in someone else. Her ears tilted forward, tail lifted, as Lara let out a sharp, single-toned bark to catch Imelda's attention. She could smell the gravity of the wounds that decorated her packmate's hide, but if the two of them could put a little more energy into the Wendigo's sluggish pace, they might all make it out of there in time to avoid an unnecessary and largely unpleasant run in with the cops. Lara flashed her teeth and bobbed around the Wendigo a few more steps to nip at its hooves, careful to dodge another kick, and barked once more at Imelda to urge her assistance. 

 

r e y d r i s   c a r m i c h a e l             vampire elite

Rey watched the silver werewolf for a few minutes. The effort to herd the creature elsewhere was certainly not very productive-- or at least, not at the speed at which they would need to escape the scrutiny of the human eye. It left her with little choice, then, much to her disappointment. Rey hadn't taken the night off to talk down a group of trigger happy men in the aftermath of a bloody fight-- she was supposed to be spending it with some good scotch and alone to wallow in the vestiges of her human emotions. Or at the very least, tearing apart whatever target the force sent her toward, as Lucas was so intent to do, for some good old fashioned therapy-by-murder. She had half a mind to abandon them all there to deal with it themselves and return to her office. 

 

Of course, explaining that to the Mistress would have only soured the rest of her night. With a sigh, Rey reached up to grab Julien by the shoulder-- internally annoyed with the fact that she had to reach for it-- to turn him back the way they had come. "Congratulations," she said, turning her glower to the streets, "you've signed up to be the diversion. I trust you're perfectly capable of enthralling a few humans on your own, yes?" Instead of waiting for his answer, though, Rey began to stride with purpose down the road. The gleam of lights appeared at the far end; the police would be there soon, if not within a few minutes. The others would have to handle their disappearances themselves. "Come along, Julien." It took considerable effort, but after a few more steps the claws on her fingertips melted back into well-manicured nails, and the fangs hooked against her lower lip faded back into obscurity. Her eyes, though still deathly pale, regained some semblance of violet-gray color to them, enough to stifle her appearance into something less violently unnatural. She released a short breath; it misted into the air, a reminder that the snowfall was still coating a thin layer of frost over the earth as they walked. 

 

In moments, three cruisers came barreling down the otherwise empty street toward Rey. She stumbled to a halt, hand pressed against the claw marks gouged into her chest. The cars squealed to a stop and almost immediately the doors were flung open as pairs of policemen-- and one woman, Rey noted-- jumped from their seats. She took in a ragged breath and feigned a grimace of white-faced pain as the nearest man lunged to catch her. 

 

"Ma'am!" he said, and his gaze was fixated on the blood stained in the center of her blouse. As his partner came up to his shoulder, Rey touched a fingertip to his cheek to drag his attention upward. "Are you okay?" 

 

"I don't know, officer," she said, and the saccharine lilt to her voice was meek and vulnerable, "I... I think so." His wide-eyed stare flickered up, and as soon as it met Rey's, the grip on her shoulder slackened slightly. "It only grazed me." 

 

"It only grazed you," he repeated, doubtful at first, but then he blinked and the unfocused glaze to his eyes strengthened. He looked down at the wound again and visibly relaxed. "You're right, it's only a scratch." 

 

His partner, still beside them, looked to the first officer with an incredulous pull of his thick eyebrows. "She needs medical attention, Pearson," he said, grabbing the man's shoulder. With an abrupt turn, he looked to the others and began, "Someone get an ambu--" but Rey grabbed his arm with a dexterous snatch of her hand, and the second he looked back down at her he immediately paused. 

 

"I'm fine," she said, and the second officer blinked. Then he nodded. 

 

"You're fine," he said, and his grip on Officer Pearson's shoulder loosed. "She's fine." 

 

An officer from the second cruiser approached, looking rather scandalized by the apparent lack of alarm on either of the other men's faces. "Jesus, Pearson, what's the hold up?" he demanded, looking between the two of them before down at Reydris still held in Officer Pearson's arms (a fact that she was incredibly displeased with-- just her luck that Julien would get the attention of the policewoman). "What the hell happened here?"

 

This one was less inclined to look her in the eye, Rey found. His gaze wandered down to her wound, then to the stain at her shoulder, and then around them at the destruction wrought by the Wendigo. Bricks littered the entire street, and the clear evidence of a scuffle in the snow was lined by splatters of blood and paw prints. Officer Pearson let her go as she moved toward the newest cop, intent on getting his attention. "A bear," she said simply, frowning slightly when the man's faced screwed up into clear disbelief. "A wild bear, sir. Possibly rabid." 

 

And ah-- that was the magic word. Instantly his stare swung over to her, and she caught onto it with a faint smile. "A bear did this?" he echoed, and Rey nodded. "A bear. A goddamn bear." He shook his head. There was a few long moments of silence, and Rey could feel him struggling against the magic in her enchanting gaze. "Jesus. I can't believe that." But clearly he did; the fight to his words was gone, replaced by a sort of blinded awe. The first two officers glanced between themselves, but as Rey turned back to them, the surprise in their expressions was whittled down into grim acceptance. "Can't send the K9 after a freaking bear." 

 

Rey looked to Julien immediately, just as the last cruiser's rear door opened to release the dog. It was a hard stare that suggested he get to work; they couldn't have a damn dog chasing after a Wendigo and other group of supernaturals, and she wasn't about to jeopardize the entire mission by enthralling all five officers herself. 

 

But then, just as the dog moved into sight, she watched it sniff the air, turn around, and jump right back into the car. It pressed itself into the far side and refused to come back out. 

 

Well. At least one thing went their way tonight. 

Edited by hazeh

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-Morgan-

Morgan grimaced as the wendigo continued to fumble and flail as the werewolf baited it forward.

It was impressive to the golem how she allowed her limbs to trail so close to lure in the wendigo despite hers not being replaceable like his own.

 

The situation wasn't going well. He had heard the sirens draw considerably close and as the two towering vampires headed off to head the humans off, Morgan grimaced as he realised that they were moving too slowly. He hadn't factored in how his own additional weight would throw off the wendigo's movement, his own body could mechanically adjust itself when carrying heavy objects but this was an organic creature, not a construct like himself.

 

Morgan relinquished his grip from the head of the wendigo and slid down it's back. His feet hit the floor and he tightend his grip now clenching it around the rump of the wendigo.
"Assistance required. The wendigo's weight overcomes my carrying capacity. I request assistance to carry it into the forest, preferably on it's back to avoid attacks," Morgan said, his voicebox echoing the sound to the others on the battlefield.

He had stopped erupting flames from his arm as he wanted to keep the wendigo still occupied primarily with the bait in front of it, it was still blinded but it wouldn't take long to notice the weight had shifted.

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o d e s s a  l o v e c h i l d                   the guileless cherub

 

Whatever happened, it wasn't her fault. 

 

Odessa stared through the window, the stick of a lollipop protruding from the corner of her mouth (the bulk of which bulged from the pocket of her cheek, much like a chipmunk intent on stuffing the left side of its face as full as the cheek could stretch) and her hand, clutched around a fistful of dollar bills (some of which were not American currency but the small, colorful bills leftover from the Monopoly game the previous night), still suspended over the open palm of the cashier waiting behind the counter. The young man cleared his throat to get her attention, but Odessa's wide, round eyes were fixated on the commotion starting up in the street beyond the storefront window. What appeared to be a man in his early forties, perhaps even the scraggled last years of his thirties, was yelling into the stoic face of a young man. The older one was rather hairy, and wore a tattered t-shirt and faded old jean shorts that had definitely seen better days a good ten years prior. He pointed to the store and right at where she was currently standing at the register. 

 

"Miss," the clerk said. 

 

Odessa watched the two of them with rapt wonder. No one else seemed to be bothered by the string of obscenities that colored the night air, nor by the aggressive waving of thick, muscled arms as the older man continued to berate the other in front of him.

 

"Miss," the clerk tried again, "please, we're closing in three minutes." 

 

Odessa blinked. Her baby blues-- as they were aptly described, considering she chose the most vivid powder blue imaginable-- turned up to the young clerk and blinked again. 

 

"Oh, me?" she answered around the lollipop, and the young man looked as though he couldn't tell if her innocent confusion was genuine or not. When he didn't answer right away, Odessa grinned wide and pulled the candy out of her mouth. "Oops. Sorry. I forget it's one of those days sometimes." 

 

He lifted an eyebrow. "What days?"

 

"The girl days," she said, bright and jovial. She dropped the money into his hand and beamed. 

 

The clerk looked down at the menagerie of...things left in his palm. Seven American dollars (which would pay for the lollipop in her mouth three times over), thirty bucks in Monopoly money, a Korean half coin, and the bottom end of a CVS receipt doodled with birds and unicorns. Then he looked back over at the young girl standing at his counter. She appeared fresh out of high school, if that-- the round youth to her face was difficult to place an age over fifteen to-- and she wore a pair of overall shorts and a multi-colored tie-dyed tee-shirt underneath, finished off with a pair of cherry-red converse sneakers. The entire ensemble might have passed without suspicion if she also hadn't been absolutely soaking wet

 

"What," he simply said, staring at her. A drip of water fell from one of the buns of copper hair curled against the top of her head and onto the floor. How the dollar bills in his hand weren't also completely drenched only served to deepen the mystery. 

 

Odessa wasn't paying attention. She was back to watching the two men outside of the store, forgetting that the large pair of wings on both of their backsides meant no one else-- the clerk or anyone on the street-- could see them as she did. The lollipop was shoved back into her mouth, and before the clerk could protest (or, form any sort of coherent response) she departed from his register with a cheerful salute and bounced through the exit, sneakers slapping wetly on the linoleum tile with every step. 

 

"What," he repeated to the empty store. 

 

 

Outside, she could hear the two angels more clearly. And what was more, the motion of her approaching and then stopping only a yard from where the pair of them argued drew both of them to a mildly surprised pause. She shoved her hands into the kangaroo pocket of her denim overalls and waited. 

 

"--responsible for the-- Oh, hello Odessa," the younger man said, blinking down at her. The street lamp across the way cast a deep shadow across his face, but she still recognized the narrow shape of his features and the unperturbed slack of his expression. 

 

"'Ay 'asa-lil," came the lollipop-muffled greeting. "Wat's wong?"

 

Vasaliel glanced over at the older angel, who had crossed his arms defiantly across his large chest and was grumbling something under his breath. Odessa didn't remember seeing him around that much, though she wasn't privy to many meetings with older angels anyway. Not that physical age was much of a determination for any of their kind, but she assumed from the attitude he struck up with Vasaliel that he must have at least been around as long, if not longer. "Well, first of all," Vasaliel started, placing a thin hand on the top of her head between her sopping buns, "you aren't at your post or with your mentor. Where's Zarall?"

 

Odessa pursed her lips around the lollipop stick for a moment, then shrugged. "I 'unno." 

 

Vasaliel tilted his head slightly. It was as close to an expression of confusion as she'd ever seen from him before. "Were you aware about the Wendigo situation?" 

 

She pulled the candy out. "The Who-did-go?"

 

The other angel, whose name she still didn't know, sighed in exasperation. "The Wendigo, you doof. Big death monster, antlers, hooves, kills and eats people."

 

"Oh." She frowned. "Nope. Nothing about a Wendo." 

 

"A Wendigo--"

 

Vasaliel held up his other hand to calm the angel. "Patience, Aphaeleon. She's young and inexperienced."

 

"Yeah, stick it, Aphaeleon," Odessa chimed, jabbing the candy at him. He promptly smacked it out of her hand, and it went flying into the asphalt down the street. "Hey..."

 

"Don't call me that," he growled, but his attention was focused on Vasaliel, who looked neither bothered nor particularly enthusiastic about the entire situation, "Name's Edge now." 

 

Vasaliel shrugged. "Edge, Aphaeleon, Lassie-the-Dog, I don't care. Have some grace. The reason I came here was to find you, anyway, not Zarall's slippery charge. You're the one who knows best about hunting down creatures and...disposing of them. We could use your help with the Wendigo." 

 

Odessa blinked rapidly. She'd been around Vasaliel for a good portion of her time on earth, but she'd never heard him speak like that to anyone-- much less that many words in a row. The fact that the robot-turned-angel apparently had some sense of humor was a staggering epiphany to her. 

 

"Fat chance," Edge responded with a harsh snort of breath. "I don't do Task work anymore. I told you that."

 

"You told me you were done with the war," Vasaliel reminded him, "not with the Force. Besides, this hardly constitutes as Force work. I figured you of all people would enjoy tracking down something as rare as a Wendigo. Aren't you the type to mount trophies above your fireplace?"

 

Edge grunted. "Don't have a fireplace. Don't give two ****s about trophies." 

 

Vasaliel exhaled a small, hard breath. His hand was still on Odessa's head as if he'd forgotten it there. "Regardless," he said, "Your help would be appreciated."

 

Edge glowered down at Vasaliel. "How about you appreciate my ass instead," he answered, before pulling a cigarette out of a back jean pocket in one hand and a pistol in the other. Then, before Vasaliel could say anything more, Edge held out the cigarette, cocked the gun, and fired it into the ground to light the end of his smoke. There was no sound-- absolute silence followed the flash of the gun muzzle, unlike what Odessa's firearms were capable of when fired. But the glamour didn't stop the sudden and inexplicable hole in the road from appearing as a result. 

 

Odessa fish-gaped for a second, astonished. 

 

Vasaliel merely leveled Edge with an unimpressed stare. "Was that really necessary?" he asked. Edge flicked the embers at him in response. The younger man shook his head, and finally moved his hand from the top of Odessa's head to her shoulder as he turned to address her instead. "Now, Odessa. What are you doing over here? Zarall was sent a report about the Wendigo. Why didn't you get one?" 

 

She rubbed the back of her neck and grimaced slightly. With one hand, Odessa patted at the deep pocket on her left thigh, and sighed when she found it flat and most certainly not carrying the seven year old flip phone Zarall had entrusted her two weeks ago. "Well," she started, glancing longingly back at the candy store that was now quite clearly "CLOSED" by way of the sign staring back at her, "Funny story. You see, I--ah-- went for a quick dip in the river, you know, get my wings wet a lil' bit, get ready for a night of patrol and all that. I might have, um, taken a detour on my way, and um, possibly.... lost Zarall. And maybe my phone." 

 

Vasaliel raised an eyebrow. "On purpose."

 

Odessa toed her shoe against a loose piece of gravel. "Not exactly. 's not my fault if my, uh, stealth exercises pose too much of a challenge." 

 

"Stealth exercises. Right." 

 

Beside them, Edge erupted with loud, barking laughter. "Givin' teach the slip, eh?" he said, puffing a cloud of smoke at the two of them. "Nice going, kid." 

She waved the smoke out of her face but grinned up at him through the haze. "Thanks!" 

 

"Who are you talking to?" Odessa craned her head around to look behind her, and saw the utterly perplexed candy store clerk standing on the corner next to the store. He must have come from around the backside after locking up, only to find the bizarre customer that had left wet foot prints all around his shop standing in the middle of the street yammering away to no one. She had the sudden impulse to ask him for another lollipop, but glancing up at the two angels still standing beside her managed to knock aside that idea for the moment. 

 

"Uh," she responded, having no other answer. 

 

"Wings out, kid," Edge said, and before Vasaliel could tell her No, that's a distinctly terrible idea, don't do that in front of the human, a pair of long, swan-like wings flared out from Odessa's backside and glossed under the street lamps with sleek, ebony feathers. The white tips of her primaries spread out as she stretched and brushed back against the light pole from the narrow length. The wings themselves were dry; the oil of water fowl feathers had wicked away all traces of moisture, unlike the damp fabric still clinging to her skin. Edge surveyed them briefly and commented, "Those are some big wings for such a shrimpy angel." 

 

"What the hell," the clerk blurted, stepping back against the storefront. To Odessa's credit, she no longer had to explain who or what she'd been talking to. She also didn't have to explain the sudden appearance of wings at her backside, for the second she'd unfurled them from their glamour, she'd simply disappeared out of his sight entirely. Zarall probably wouldn't have appreciated the logic behind such a decision, so Odessa decided to keep that tidbit to herself (and Vasaliel and the strange angel named Edge). 

 

Beside her, Vasaliel released a long, heavy sigh. "Alright," he said, ignoring the startled human, "Both of you. Let's go." His own wings lifted high above his head, and with a small crouch, he launched himself into the sky. A few powerful downstrokes of his wings brought him high overhead, and Odessa followed suit after a short sprint-and-hop to get herself airborne. To her surprise, Edge also lifted into the air after an elegant push of his wings; they were wide, and the tops of them had smudges and speckles of silver over pale feathers. She thought his wings were rather pretty, though she had a feeling he wouldn't appreciate the sentiment voiced out loud. 

 

 

The wind was loud up there. It gusted under her wings and buffeted her with cold drafts of air, but she didn't mind it much, even if it made a harsh shiver crawl up her backside from chill of her wet clothes. She'd always felt more at home in the sky than anywhere else, even when getting tossed about like a hacky-sack on Heaven's knee. Thankfully, Vasaliel stretched out a hand to her and clasped her by the wrist to keep her from tumbling every which way in the gale. 

 

"Odessa," Vasaliel said, projecting his voice as much as he could above the wind, "We should head over to help the others with the Wendigo." 

 

"Where's he going?" She pointed at Edge, though he hadn't made a move to leave yet. He hovered a few yard off, wings keeping him aloft with an easy sort grace despite his large size. 

 

Vasaliel shrugged. "Wherever he wants. Isn't that right, Aphaeleon?"

 

"Up yours, Vas," Edge shouted back. By some miracle, the cigarette remained in his mouth, the glowing end bobbing furiously in the wake of the wind. 

 

"Are you coming or not, Odessa?" 

 

She looked between the two angels, one of which was still devoid of anything beyond a calm, albeit mildly impatient expression, and the other chewing at the end of his cigarette and gliding over the wind currents as if he were an untoppable stone at sea. The thought of chasing down a Wendigo did seem like fun, even if she still didn't really know-- or at least remember-- what that was supposed to be. But from the sounds of it, other angels were already on the case, so the chances of her getting to sweep in guns blazing seemed low. Her head tilted to the side, contemplative. 

 

Edge scowled back at her when her stare lingered a few moments too long on him. "Not a chance, shrimp. I don't care if you go with him or not, but you're not coming with me." 

 

Odessa grinned, a little too wide to be innocent. That was fine. She didn't plan on asking, anyway. 

Edited by hazeh

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Imelda | Get Up and Go

 

The angel was staying out of the way when Imelda heard Zarall usher out an order. The werewolf stole a glance, tracking the pair as they navigated the air and began herding the Demons. As the young angel called out, Zarall dove in and fired several rounds at the remaining beasts. A moment later, her ears perked up at the sound of Lara's bark. Head on a swivel, the wolf turned to look, left ear flicking in response to the second bark.

 

Giving the other wolf a toothy grin, Imelda let the angels deal with the Demons left over, loping towards her packmate. Morgan was in the process of readjusting his hold, grabbing the Wendigo around the lower part of its body. Her ears pinned back as heat flooded her torn shoulder, seeping into the muscles of her neck, arm, and back. She could push through this; she'd been through worse before. Closer now, she tapped Morgan on the shoulder with a thick claw before woofing at Lara, a wavering huff of air that misted in the dark. 

 

Her coat of fur was too thick, double layered, for the snow to take its toll until much later. The wendigo continued to snap at Lara, squirming in Morgan's hold and lunging out with a large clawed hand. Imelda snatched it, gripping its wrist tightly in her own hand and pulling against the beast to keep its arm extended. Snarling, she reached with her other hand, striking at the back of its elbow and breaking the joint. The creature bellowed but she didn't let go, crouching just enough to close with its body. 

 

Using much of her own stature and weight, she shouldered under the wendigo and grabbed at its clicking maw. Imelda pulled her head away before it could manage a good bite, its rancid breath filling her nostrils. Its other arm came up, forcing her to give up on its face and focus on its limbs. Teeth scored across her cheek even as she jerked, deflecting claws with her arm. The wolf growled low, hazel eyes narrowing. That's enough of that...

 

She gave Morgan a warning snarl before bringing her arm back. In a flash of movement, she shoved as much weight as she could behind her arm, piercing rotting flesh with first her claws and then the rest of her hand. She suffered another scrape of teeth just above her eye and a flurry of claws against her back for her efforts. But she had the hold she wanted, her strike landing high on the wendigo's torso. 

 

Bracing her legs, she grunted as she forced the beast back, up, and then over onto its back. The beast hit the ground with a splash of snow, smearing the white even further with grime and filth. Imelda didn't worry about what covered her arm from clawtips to elbow. The creature still struggled as she grabbed for its throat. With another grunt, a mingling of effort and pain, she snorted at the Golem and Lara. 

 

The wendigo's weight was lifted and Imelda started moving, setting a faster pace than Lara had with her baiting.

 

Zarall | Last Things on the List

 

Good. Removing her finger from the trigger, Zarall moved to fly near Zophiel. The demons were moving, and a glance towards the golem and wolves revealed that the wendigo was too. Albeit, in a less than orthodox manner than Zarall had anticipated. Behind her, sirens were piercing the air. The angel looked, trying to gage how much longer they had when she spotted the vampires hurrying towards the vehicles. Interception. 

 

"Let's get going," she said to Zophiel, powering her wings and following after the Wendigo. The angel stayed near them,  only straying long enough to fire upon the Demons that still remained. One of the demons perished, evaporating into nothing. She motioned for Zophiel to eliminate the last one as she circled back to where the vampires last were. "I need to make sure they have no other trouble," she explained quickly. She could trust the other angel, the two werewolves, and the golem to handle the Wendigo on their own outside of the neighborhood. 

 

She was more concerned about the vampires being left with a handful of humans. Zarall couldn't guarantee how hungry the supernaturals might be after such a fight. They came back into sight and she angled her wings, softly lighting upon the rooftop of a dark house. Crouching, she watched the pair of vampires from her perch, noticing the uniformed dog as it hopped back into the car. 

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 - Zophiel -

 

Zophiel climbed upwards until the squealing of the demons below had been silenced. She sighed in relief and arched backwards, slowing her ascent and finishing the movement with a gentle, backwards loop in the air before she settled on a lazy glide back down. Laughter followed her movement across the sky, light at first but devolving into an adrenaline-fuelled cackle as she watched the last shadowy wisps of her pursuers fade out into the night. From her vantage point she could still spot one or two demons that had been wise enough not to give chase, but her initial fear of them had dissolved now that it was the demons that were outnumbered.

 

Sensing the flutter of wings nearby, Zophiel turned and beamed over at the fellow angel. She gave Zarall a cheerful little wave as the distance between them closed, as though the two were out for a friendly stroll rather than ensuring the slaughter of several unholy entities. She seemed keen to start up an idle conversation even, though cut herself short when Zarall announced that they should get going.

“Right, right. Better wait ’til it’s dead first.”
She concluded, turning back around and adjusting her speed to match Zarall’s own so the two were briefly gliding side-by-side. The werewolf’s plan to get the wendigo moving seemed successful, but Zophiel had to remind herself that the blare of the sirens below meant that they weren’t quite out of the woods yet. 

 

“The vampires?”
Questioned the angel, regarding her winged companion with mild bafflement as she began to break away from their formation.

More likely to be causing the trouble I’d wager.”

She admitted, though she took Zarall’s advice all the same and swerved away to deal with the remaining straggler after a cry of 'Good Luck!'.

 

Zophiel dove for the last demon and grabbed at one of its spindly limbs, dragging it along for a few paces before she swivelled around and disposed of it at point-blank range. Swirling around on the spot she waved her trusty pistol around threateningly, but failed to spot any more demons circling in on their group. Finally, it looked like Zophiel was able to focus on the wendigo itself. She fluttered cautiously over to the beast and her allies, circling the air above them as she took in the extent of all their injuries. If it wasn’t such a wretched monstrosity Zophiel could almost feel sorry for the way its battered, beaten form was now being dragged along. Almost.

 

“You’re d-doing great guys. Keep an eye on that-t maw of his and I’ll check up ahead.”

Drifting further along the road, Zophiel began to scout out the path before them for any signs of further interruptions, malevolent or otherwise. Every so often she would turn and fire another bullet into the air to mark the all-clear, giving the trio a sound to follow so they could concentrate more on dodging the creature’s flailing limbs.

 

 

 

- Julien -

 

Back home we have the sense to keep such creatures away from the city streets.

Julien thought, though he made no effort to verbalise the comment and just opted to regard her with a raised eyebrow. Having Reydris decide he was to be pitied enough for a rescue was not the worst outcome from such a dismal encounter, but he didn’t fancy the growing feeling that he’d now have to find some way of returning the favour. Something about the concept of being indebted to the nightclub owner struck him as a dangerous position to be in, or at the very least a foolish one. 

 

When she released the iron grip around his wrist Julien mumbled a short ‘Merci’ under his breath and came to a stop a few paces behind her. He seemed largely uninterested in the state of the surrounding neighbourhood, faded eyes instead watching over the battered form of the wendigo as he bent down and pressed his hand against the back of his calf. Most of the fabric below the knee had been torn, and he could feel the few remaining shreds sticking to his flesh by the moisture of the snow and whatever semblance of blood he had left in his dusty old veins. It was nothing that wouldn’t be healed in due time, but he’d be reduced to an agonisingly slow limp for the rest of the night now that his body was properly processing the pain. 

 

With no more demons in sight Julien was about to take that as his cue to slink away from the fiasco, but the sudden hand on his shoulder thwarted his escape attempt. Sighing he tossed aside the antler, shifted his weight back onto the injured limb, and reluctantly began trailing after Reydris again.

“Oh please, do you realise how many mangled chew-toy remains have been ending up in ER lately?”
Scoffed Julien, jerking his head back towards the werewolves as they continued further down the road.

“Half my bloody job is convincing paramedics that this city has a terrible stray dog problem.”

 

Julien groaned as the lights of the police cruisers suddenly flared into view, reaching up to flick down his sunglasses only to realise that he’d lost them somewhere in the earlier chase. Perfect. Just the cherry on top of his evening. At Reydris’ spectacular swoon though he cupped his hand over his mouth, feigning concern for the woman when in reality he was hiding the smirk that was trying to etch itself onto his face.

 

At first Julien seemed content to linger quietly beside her, letting the two officers fret over her and the idea that a grizzly was on the loose and only nodding in agreement when they glanced over at him for confirmation. The female cop was the first to properly address him, unintimidated by his towering appearance and first to notice the symbol of the nearby hospital and the word ‘SECURITY’ stitched into his chest-pocket.

“Julien, is it?”

She questioned, squinting briefly at the barely-legible handwriting of his name-tag. The officer beside her seemed to relax a little when he too noticed the mostly in-tact uniform, reassured by the fact Julien was apparently trustworthy enough to be hired as night security. Julien’s attention briefly flickered back over to Reydris, long enough to catch the glare she was sending his way and decide it was time to dabble in a little melodrama of his own.

 

“Hm? Oh…yes...sorry I find myself a little dazed…”

Mumbled Julien, trembling on the spot and pressing his raised hand against his temple. He made a show of wincing a little as it made contact, prompting the male officer before him to frown and shuffle forward to take a better look at him.

“Did you hit your head sir?”
Julien nodded, continuing the act with a bout of dizziness from the motion and stumbling forward a step. The man questioning Julien gripped lightly at his arm to steady him, though noticeably stepped to the side to avoid being crushed if their lanky new encounter decided to suddenly faint forward. His partner, the female officer, beckoned for him to lean in closer and the shaky vampire obliged. He stooped down and allowed her to swiftly manoeuvre his chin to the side to get a good look at the side of his head.

“I don’t see any blood…”
Mused the woman, slowly but firmly prodding the side of his face to get him to focus his line of sight back on her. The hint of a grimace tugged at the corner of Julien’s mouth at her choice of words, and he clenched his jaw shut until the urge to unsheathe his fangs had subsided. His plan, at least, was beginning to work. The officer had now locked eyes with his own and was inspecting his pupils for any signs of a concussion. She seemed oblivious to the faint shimmer that passed over his grey eyes, but was already starting to feel the hypnotic effect his kind was capable of.

 

“Perhaps I am just overreacting. I’m not used to…bears…”

She was hesitant for a moment and gave an indecisive nod, slow and calculating. Even with two of her workmates deceived the policewoman was resisting the idea that a single bear could rip apart brick walls like this. Julien opted instead to focus on the other officer that was staring up at him, hoping that his mind was more malleable than his coworker. To his delight he seemed to have a stronger hypnotic hold over the policeman, who starred up at him for a few seconds with an increasingly wide-eyed expression before motioning towards the cowering K9 unit.

“Never seen ‘em do that before. The bear’s not still around here is it?”

Julien wrinkled his brow, deep in thought.

“Hard to say, officer. We played dead until it wandered off. But it sounded like it went somewhere up towards the alleyway there did it not Madam?”

Replied the younger vampire, twirling his hand in the general direction of the alleyway he’d stumbled out from earlier on. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the movement of the winged figure watching over the pair of them, and shot Zarall an annoyed look when the officers turned to look over at the alleyway. He’d had more than enough mollycoddling from other immortals for one night.

Edited by Lycanious

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-Morgan-

 

Morgan scrunched his face in irritation as the hulking frame of the wendigo pulled and shunted around in his grasp. If he were trying to hold it as he was now by himself, he would certainly have been thrown. But to his relief his allies soon redirected their attention to the beast as the remainder of the scurrying demons were taken out.

One of the two werewolves bounded up to him and barked in his ear, Morgan suspected she was trying to say something, but his creator hadn’t given him an animal translator yet despite Morgan listing it on his birthday list several years in a row. He was hoping that this would be the year.

As the werewolf pivoted and struck at the wendigo, Morgan soon realised what she was likely trying to say as the wendigo was suddenly forced backwards. Eighty, seventy, sixty degrees Morgan’s legs bent before the beast lost it’s balance and it’s entire weight crashed down onto Morgan, who had yet to relinquish his grip on the beasts waist.

 

For a brief time Morgan’s back lay flat on the ground as the weight of the wendigo pinned him. His legs were still visible, his feet unmoved and his lower legs still standing firmly at ninety degrees. His knees however were now bent at sharp acute angle that would be quite uncomfortable if he weren’t artificial.

Another boon to his artificial nature was that Morgan could not smell the matted fur that was now pressing against his face. At this close he could make out the rot mould and clusters of insect eggs clinging to the individual hairs. It was quite fascinating to Morgan and he decided that when he returned home, he would inspect Salamis’s head.

He was relieved of his thoughts of hair as he felt the huge form begin to shift above him, it was still moving likely in protest to what the werewolf was currently doing but this was a much more noticeable movement and Morgan soon felt it’s weight shifting off of his chest, his arms slowly moving up with it his grip still firm despite his change in orientation.

 

As the body finally shifted off of his neck Morgan put his magic muscles to work and stood back up, his arms rotating in their sockets to adjust for the wendigo now behind him. He glanced behind him and saw the werewolf, her claw now griping it’s throat like a vice, now dragging the beast away from the road.

The wendigo was still flailing wildly, and it’s claws occasionally struck the werewolf in protest, but with it’s head restrained and no support from it’s legs which were now suspended in the air via Morgan, it’s blows didn’t seem to faze hid ally.

Morgan didn’t say a word and started walking backwards in time with the werewolf. His gaze now shifted over towards the road, wondering how the two vampires were dealing with the ordinary human law enforcement that had arrived.

 

Edited by Marcus Pheonix

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Imelda | Jumping Forward

 

"An Angel, a Vampire, and a Werewolf walked into a bar." Beside her, Da'wan began to snort. His brown hair fell away from his face as he tilted his head back, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Or, more likely, to hide his fangs. Imelda grinned, displaying her teeth--normal ones, despite her own supernatural nature. The glass of bronze-colored beer rotated between her palms, condensation smearing across skin. "What do you suppose the joke is?"

 

Da'wan shrugged, the Vampire glancing at the Werewolf without meeting her eyes. His half-lidded gaze almost looked sultry. "You tell me, you're the one who made the set-up. But--" A long finger pointed up. "Maybe the joke is how neither of those three have been able to catch the trail of their prey?"

 

Imelda humphed and took a quick sip. "Yeah, there's that."

 

"Look, that's not exactly my fault. Nor is it any of yours. If anything, the Council's to blame."

 

Her eyebrows arched upward and Imelda stared at Zarall. "You actually think that?" The Angel nodded, braided locks falling across her shoulders. The brooding supernatural sat alone on the opposite bench of their booth, always keeping Da'wan in her line of sight. Despite several years of working together, Zarall still refused to see Da'wan as a solid ally. The Angel also dealt a little more directly with some of the Council. The last thing Imelda wanted was for her Alpha's integrity to be questioned; Matthias was part of the circle of Supernaturals that led the hundreds living within the city's territory. 

 

Matthias was doing all he could to track a target that should strictly be Werewolf business. The Council, per Lara, was creating a bigger roadblock than was appreciated. (The fact that no one could pick up a scent was also an issue.) Even more pressing, this blundered hunt had already carried on for a couple of weeks--and the Full Moon was only a few short days away. Imelda's nails scraped across the surface of her glass as she watched carbonated bubbles pop and fade. 

 

"--listening? Imelda?"

 

She jerked in her seat, darting her gaze to Da'wan. "Sorry. Can we bail? Her song is leaving me on edge tonight; I don't want any Humans accidentally getting hurt." She gave a half-grin. Now that she voiced it, she could feel the prickling that crept through her back and the tension that wound itself in her neck.

 

Zarall responded first, fishing a wallet out of her pant pocket and setting cash upon the table. "I'm in agreement. This unknown rogue has left many of us on alert. There has to be more going on that no one is catching--" The Angel paused halfway from exiting her seat. "Or maybe we have seen something, but no connections are being made." A frown crossed her face and she resumed her movement. 

 

Imelda crawled free of the booth, moving away from the table to give Da'wan space. "That--That might actually be possible. Matthias won't be happy if that's the case, but it'd at least get us moving again. I hate a hunt that goes nowhere."

 

"We know, Loba. We don't like this either. If there's been something all along, the fault will be on all of us for missing it." Da'wan stood, several inches taller than Imelda (and only a little shorter than Zarall), and rested a hand on her shoulder. Despite the cold of his dead body, the gesture was warm and comforting enough.

 

Even with the comfort, however, Imelda still hurried out of the bar at a pace just short of running. Night, wintry air met her face, doing little against the warmth of her wolf. Zarall, on the other hand, huffed and wrapped her arms around her body. "I should have brought a warmer coat...."

 

Da'wan stretched out his arms and sighed loudly. "I love Winter; the long nights, fresh snow...." He tapped the tip of his shoe against snow-covered ground. A grin flashed across his face, fangs visible for only a second. "It's a shame the season can't last forever."

 

"Da'wan, stop teasing Zarall." Imelda laughed. "You don't--" Her gaze landed on a small shape across the street. A crow stared back. Wings lifting, it lent forward and parted its beak as if to screech at her, even as no sound left its throat. Strain as they might, Imelda's ears heard nothing. And when she noticed, she realized she couldn't smell the bird. 

 

"Imelda, are you coming?"

 

Imelda turned her attention to the Angel some feet away. A moment later, she glanced back towards the bird, finding an empty space instead. Frowning, Imelda brought a hand up to the back of her neck. Imagining things now? Shaking her head, she ignored the strange bird's disappearance and started following the other two. "There is some good news, at least."

 

"Such as? Did your Alpha finally secure the Eastern Pack?" Da'wan walked with his hands clasped behind his back, dark coat hanging unbuttoned from his shoulders to display the purple dress-shirt that complemented his brown skin. The vampire, when Imelda once asked, insisted that his favorite color was a shade of orange. She still believed otherwise; never had she seen any bit of orange in his wardrobe--it was almost always purple or blue with an occasional red. 

 

Smirking, Imelda grunted. "Many of us wish--it would make several things much more simpler. No, that's not it. While I hate having to rely on it, the Full Moon should help us flush out the rogue. Not only that, one of our wolves thinks she might have caught scent of a new wolf at a high school. She couldn't confirm exactly, though. If a new wolf is there--and I mean new new--the Full Moon will finalize their transition from human to Werewolf. Their scent will come in like a flower in bloom. Of course, Matthias wants the wolf found before then to minimize as much damage as possible."

 

"Is this new wolf connected to your target?" Zarall had her arms folded across her chest, braids swaying as the wind picked up.

 

Imelda shrugged. "Beats me, but I think Matthias is hoping so. It would mean evidence against our target, enough to justify swift action in the eyes of the Council." 

 

"I hate politics."

 

"No you don't."

 

Da'wan smiled, dark eyes glinting with crimson. "You're right, I don't hate it. I just prefer to ignore it." 

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