Not a Solo Act Anymore

     It was strange to live with a deep pit of darkness repressed in the gut.
     Yet, it was necessary.
     He hated things that were "necessary".
     In his line of work he needed to appear trustworthy and capable, but it was the darkness that allowed him to get things done.
     He disliked this stage of things, it was absolutely the worst. The waiting, endless waiting... To his right, Jebediah fidgeted.
     Since his experience the previous year with the Heretics that had been kidnapping and cannibalizing young boys, he had been kept on a tight leash by the Exemplaries. So used to running missions on his own, he couldn't even do that anymore. They hadn't sent him out since then until this new threat came along. To them, he was expendable, and he accepted that.
     Ike could admit that the fiasco of last year was a total cockup, he'd made a right mess of it. However, the end results had been more or less positive, and he found himself...not annoyed, not irritated, but perhaps... Confused. They treated him as if he had done something wrong! He supposed, in their minds, it was easier to blame him than accept the truth- their combat Exemplaries had been caught unawares, under prepared, and it had led to a bloodbath. Ike, however, had a shady past that no one could quite pin down, and had once lived in the Dark Mountains; only monsters came out of the Dark Mountains. Well, except Ike, but it seemed to him that that was now quite possibly under serious debate.
     Jebediah fidgeted again, tail thrashing angrily in the air.
     "Now, Jeb," Ike murmured. "You know I want to spring into action as badly as you do, I hate waiting, but there are limits to what we can do in every time frame." The felis lupus grumbled under his breath but settled to the ground once more. This was his partner. Previously a normal Exemplary, he had been cursed with a somewhat odd form. He existed in a state that wasn't quite cat nor dog, but a mixture thereof. He retained his normal faculties and human mind, but could no longer speak or enjoy the things he had as a human.
     Bloody bastards. Why, in the Exemplar's name, do they do this to me?
     The moon had yet to reach its peak, which meant Ike and Jeb had to wait a few more hours before they could proceed into the temple ruins. They were closing in on the territory of the Dark Mountains, and the strain of waiting was driving him mad.
     Before this temple had gone to ruins, Ike had seen it. As a half-elf, he lived much longer than a human but much shorter than an elf. He was somewhere in between, and it was only luck that he had drawn more human features than not. He could pass for human, that's all that mattered; elves were distrusted. They never did anything for others, there was always something they were getting out of it. Elves only did things to benefit themselves. Some half-elves were of that mind, whereas some weren't. Ike had been the former, but was now the latter. Things changed. He no longer wore the mantle "Angelf of Death" - a moniker only, not a representation of him - and he had stopped using magic for anything more than the subtle things. Things like making his ears appear slightly more rounded since unaided they had that damned obvious tilt and point.
     However, the ruins were bringing up memories, and stirring the darkness in his gut, too.
     Except for the Exemplaries, those who knew Ike thought he was a rather nice guy. Alright, maybe he could occasionally be tricky, but always in good fun and never harmed anyone. He was affable and humorous and intelligent. What they didn't see was the violence inside of him. When pushed to his limits, all those lovely human traits that Ike had cultivated faded away to the cold darkness within. If it really came down to it, at the core he was brutal, merciless, and unrelenting.
     Luckily, he rarely got pushed so far.
     The moon crested and as one Jeb and Ike silently slipped down from their hidden perch, making their way through the darkness. Ike attempted to remember what god had been worshiped here... He thought it was a shroud form. They weren't really gods; in fact, as far as Ike was concerned, there was a single divinity above all the rest. But shroud forms were the weakest of "all the rest", and tended to do their work in primal matter: blood, saliva, fingernails, the like. It was the most primitive form of magic there was, but undeniably potent. Sometimes the basics were best to inflict maximum damage, if you knew how to use them. Ike hadn't enough raw power to engage in this most dangerous form of magic. He had developed excellent control over his skills, but they were minor talents and nothing more.
     Silence seemed to blanket the ruins, both Ike and Jeb not making a sound as they moved. Abandoned temples tended to attract a menagerie of unpleasant beasts and beings, and neither had any desire to draw attention. They were nearing the final collapsed pillars when Ike heard a high-pitched whine in the air.
     Trained to be skilled above all in combat, Ike dropped to the ground and smacked Jeb down with him. Above the two, shards of black onyx whistled through the air where they had once been. Impalement, what a shit way to go. Immediately, Ike was rolling up on his feet, whirling to face the direction the shards had originated from. But there was nothing. A strange, throaty laugh vibrated through the ruins, and Jeb growled.
     "A man cursed and a... Now what are you exactly?" It was a male voice, but definitely not a shroud form. A shroud form would have pierced straight through the minor enchantments hiding his more elven aspects, it wouldn't have appeared muddled and uncertain.
     "Who are you?" Ike asked carefully, his ears pricked and alert.
     "Oh, I'm asking the questions here. Why are you headed to the Dark Mountains?"
     "That's a major assumption. We could be headed to Brenton."
     "Pah! No one goes to Brenton. Place is a pit of rot, stink, and poverty. People'd rather visit the Dark Mountains than Brenton."
     "Perhaps we're natives, revisiting our old home for the jollies."
     "Stop lying to me, boy!" The voice shouted out. Ike's eyes rolled at the word, "boy". Over a century old, he felt it was rather insulting, but the enemy was working off of his youthful appearance. Certainly this enemy was not a shroud form, probably some follower descended into madness.
     "What's it matter to you?" Ike called out.
     "'Cos."
     "Because?"
     "I have my reasons." The voice responded snootily.
     "Well, if we won't answer one another, we'll be stuck here all night, and I'm sure you know what happens at morning light."
     "You seek to trick me," the voice hissed.
     "Is it working?"
     "...I have been tasked with stopping a particular traveler."
     "Well you can see I have a companion here, so obviously we can't be the traveler. We're travelers."
     "That means nothing! You could be attempting to deceive me!"
     "Look, who is this traveler?"
     "Called 'im the Angel of Death."
     Ike felt his body freeze. Who could have known his task was bringing him back home? he had killed Wulthus last year, made damn sure of it! It had to have been a seer, but why? Why would they turn against him? They were the ones who told him he had to leave in the first place.
     "Neither of us goes by that nickname."
     "How do I know you're telling the truth?" Ike still hadn't found the voice's location.
     "Don't I appear a reasonable and trustworthy man?"
     "No," the voice whispered. "You appear a liar, decay surrounding your cold, dark soul. You're a coward and a murderer, and I think you might be the man I'm looking for."
     Ike quickly pulled his sword and moved in a slow circle, waiting for the first attack. He had no idea where Jeb had gone off to. But now the voice screeched.
     A figure stumbled into the open, Jeb clawing at his head, uniquely fastened to the man using the claws of his front and back feet. Ike couldn't help his grin - at least, until the figure muttered some magic before grabbing Jeb and throwing him over his head. Jeb his the ground with a thud and didn't move. Ike could see the steady, if slow, fall and rise of his side, so returned his attention to the figure.
     "Eramis?" Ike asked in disbelief as his eyes took in the sight before him. There stood a bone thin man, coated in a long ago tattered black robe. No inch of skin was unwrinkled, no spot escaping the hideous progress of time. His hair and beard appeared as one giant mat of gray, and his eyes...
     There was only one word for it. His eyes were crazed.
     "The prodigal son returns," Eramis cackled. He abruptly ceased his laughter and fixed one eyes squarely on Ike. "You aren't supposed to go back.:
     "Says who?" Ike snapped.
     "New boss."
     "Who is that? If it isn't a seer saying I shouldn't go back, I see no reason to listen to your boss."
     "Don't make me kill you, Isaac."
     "No need to spew that bullshit at me. Every damned choice you make it yours and yours alone, the Exemplar help you. You can try to kill me Eramis, we both know your magic is far superior to mine. But I've learned that even against magic, sometimes all you need is the right angle and a thrust." Ike's grin turned feral as he shook his sword arm to loosen it up.
     "I am sorry for this, truly," Eramis whispered. Then he raised his hands to the sky, and Ike knew what he meant to do. He hadn't expected Eramis to be willing to give up his life in order to kill him, but since that seemed to be the way it would go, there was no point in waiting around.
     Ike raced forward, Eramis's attention focused only on the sky, the pull of magic, the words being spoke.
     Sheathing his sword as he ran, Ike's torso slammed into Eramis as he tackled him. The wind and words were knocked out of the elder man, and Ike rolled away before grabbing his dagger from his boot. Eramis was still winded.
     "Sorry, old man," Ike said with eyes as cold as ice. "No bloody time for this."
     That said, he quickly struck with the dagger, piercing straight into his heart. It was a far more merciful death than a slit throat when conscious. Plus, it was infinitely messier to slit a throat when working with a dagger.
     Ike stood slowly while Jeb staggered to his paws, shaking his head. "We gotta move," Ike muttered. "Morning light soon." His new plan was merely to put one foot in front of the other. The iciness had vanished, and now he felt numb. Eramis hadn't merely turned on him, but been willing to die to fulfill the betrayal. How? How had things fallen apart this way?
     Ike's only hope was that they would meet a few seers along the way, and he could ask them some very pointed questions.

Wrath's Patience pt. 1

     With a dull thud, the body hit the floor. His hands, arms, face, clothes, all slicked in dark red blood. It pooled around the metal cuffs on his wrist, the only positive point being that now the cuffs were no longer linked by a chain. The corpse stared up at him, almost accusatory. You took too much satisfaction in the kill, the eyes seemed to admonish. Had he? He supposed tearing out your enemy's heart barehanded and then taking a large bite out of it might seem...a tad enthusiastic, but could he help it?
     Four years. They had held him here for four years.
     Over time, the torture had faded to a dull presence in the back of his mind. It was the pain caused by his bond to her that was driving him mad. If he had been truly banished, the connection would have vanished, or at least no longer registered. The pulsating pain of the bond was how he knew he had a chance for escape. At least he knew he wouldn't be persecuted by his own kind.
     Somehow, he had to get to her. It had been four years.
     He wondered where she was now.

     "Lisette!" A cheerful voice called out just as Lisette Engel closed the door to the apartment behind her. An imperceptible sigh escaped her. How does she always know the minute I get home? The she in question bounded out into the living area, grinning widely.
     "Dani," Lis greeted wearily.
     "What's wrong?" The exuberant blonde asked, a frown marring her features.
     "Nothing, just a long day. Tired."
     Recently, Lisette had picked up double shifts at her place of work, and the strain was clearly taking a toll on her. However, it kept her mind off of anything happening in her own head, and she needed that. A week previously, she had woken up in the middle of the night, drenched in tears and sweat, breathing hard as she held in her scream. She could have sworn he reached out to her in the dream. But there was blood and violence and pain, and all that was completely clear in her memory was him desperately screaming her name.
     It was the Slayer's Foedus that had done this to her. If it wasn't for them...but it wasn't just them, was it? She asked herself with a rueful grin. No, her entire existence had created this mess. The Foedus had always been searching for a reason to get rid of her, and on her eighteenth birthday, they found something to use. The ruse was so obvious in retrospect, she hated herself for falling for it. If she hadn't been so blinded by emotion, Septimus would still be here.
     "Ookaaay," Dani drawled, clearly not believing her. Lis gave her a weak smile, a form of apology, or as close as she would ever come to one. "Hey, someone called for you, like, fifteen times."
     "You're exaggerating."
     "Nope! I picked up once and the guy nearly chewed my head off! Angry ex-boyfriend?"
     "Huh?" Lis frowned. "Don't have any. What did he say exactly?"
     "He was insistent that I tell him where you were right that minute, and if I had hurt you he was going to rip me apart and... Well... I sort of tuned him out after a while. I told him he would just have to wait until you got home. He hasn't called for a few hours..."
     "Did he give a name?" The nightmare flashed in Lis's mind.
     "No, sorry."
     "Not your fault. Mind if I call the number back?"
     "Sure! We can talk after."
     Lis gave her a grateful nod and went to the phone. Scrolling to the previous calls list, she redialed the number. The dial tone stopped abruptly as a robotic female voice informed her that this number was no longer connected.
     "What?" Dani asked as Lis angrily returned the phone to the cradle.
     "Disconnected number."
     "That makes no sense. He was desperate to talk to you!"
     "I don't know, Dani. Maybe it really was some crazy guy."
     "Maybe..." Lis watched Dani frown and made a mental note to make sure her friend stayed out of trouble.
     Lis was moving back to her room when the phone began to ring.
     The two girls locked gazes, and Lis looked away first, her eyes traveling to the phone. She walked to it slowly, and as she raised it to her ear and accepted the call, it felt strangely like a dream.
     "Hello?"
     "Lisette? Lisette Engel?"
     "This is she, and who is this?"
     There was the sound of papers being shuffled around and a muffled curse before the female speaker returned to the line.
     "This is the Lisette Engel who reached the rank of primus pilus?" Lis's blood ran cold at the question, and she stood there, frozen. "Ma'am?" the woman on the phone asked. Lis snapped out of her state, and moved farther from Dani, lowering her voice.
     "How the hell did you get this number?"
     "Well, you should know, the Foedus-,"
     "Shut up! Don't site rules and regulations to me! I was being groomed as a goddamn legion legate. I know everything there is to know about Foedus policy. Why did you call me?"
     "Crispin wanted to speak with you..." The woman's words elicited a hiss from Lis. She should have known it would be him. He had only cared for her, groomed her, and then committed the ultimate betrayal against her as a Slayer. Who else would be behind this call?
     "Then he should get on the phone."
     "Hold a moment, please..." The woman's voice had gone soft and small, as if Lis's rage was something that could reach through the wires and harm her.
     Lis waited with impatience, feeling Dani's curious gaze on her. She wasn't about to let Dani have any role in the events to come. She was innocent, never involved with the Cursed or Slayers on any active level. If anything major happened, Dani could only get hurt.
     "Lisette, you are a difficult girl to find," a smooth male voice came onto the line, a hint of amusement in his voice. Crispin.
     "Not difficult enough, obviously."
     "Don't condescend yourself that way. It was really quite a pain to get into contact with you."
     "Then why did you bother? The Foedus made it very clear that I should disappear. Or die."
     "Lisette, your departure from the Foedus was very devastating to me. I would rather you not wind up dead on the streets, hence all of the hard work and effort to find you, dear." She shuddered to hear him call her "dear" again. How many times had he called her that before his betrayal? How many times had he murmured it into her ear as he got too close to her, or whispered the lies of how far she would go as a Slayer, or how much she meant to him?
     "So say what you wanted to say." There was the sound of a deep sigh from the other end of the line.
     "We have heard...rumors, that a certain demon found a way around his banishment."
     "What?"
     "Yes, it is rather inconvenient..."
     "No, I mean... Why would I end up dead over that?"
     "Demons without bonds are free to do whatever they please, sometimes including revenge."
     "I'm not seeing your point."
     "Well," she could hear his frown over the phone, "with your bond no longer in play..."
"Oh." Lis's eyes widened. Had the Foedus thought her bond to him had been severed this whole time? Did they think they were no longer connected? What do I say? What do I do?
     "Be careful, dear. I'd hate to see your pretty little person come to harm."
     "Thanks for the warning." Lis hung up the phone angrily. The bastard.
     "So, who was it? What did they want?" Dani asked, practically bouncing on her feet.
     "It was just work stuff. nothing serious."
     "Sure?"
     "Yeah."
     Dani made a noise under her breath, moving off to her room. Lis twisted her forearm upwards, tracing the raised mark along her flesh, the symbol of wrath. Why can't I feel him<? Shaking her head, Lis proceeded to putter around the apartment, dusting and cleaning.
     A knock on the door startled Lis out of her quiet, mindless task, and she opened it warily.
     Standing in her doorway with dried blood all over him, was Septimus.

Her Simplest Gesture

He knows it will happen.
No, he isn't sure when it will, or where it will, or why it will.
He can't even say he's certain how it will happen.
But with quiet certainty, he proclaims, "it will happen".

He doesn't love her, not really, not yet.
He does love the way she winks before walking backwards from him before she turns and races away,
daring him to chase her.
He does love the way her lips curve seductively whenever she half-smiles, a contrast to the mega-watt beauty of her full grin.
He does love how she fiddles with his hair while they sit on the couch, as she goes on and on about anything,
nothing,
everything.
She waxes philosophical, and he sits entranced with the slender beauty of her fingers, how every point she makes is accompanied by an extravagant hand gesture.

When she's nervous, she has a habit of crossing and uncrossing her legs.
For some reason, he loves that, too.
She only gets nervous in serious situations, only dresses up and makes herself up for such occasions.
At those times, he wishes he was the lipstick on her lips as she nervously licks them.
Her hair doesn't like to be kept up, and she continues pushing it behind her ear, not seeming to notice that it keeps falling forward, and the only way to really solve the problem would be to pin it.

They dance, and he falls in love with the way her hips move.
There's something about music that fills her blood with passion, and he sees it, and savors it.
He craves it.
This is his secret addiction.
He loves how she sometimes ignores the music of the club, how when she's feeling really feisty, she dances to the music in her head.
And the beat is all wrong, every movement she makes off track, but it is beautiful.
"Goddamn beautiful", he mutters, only shaking his head when she looks at him with quizzical eyes.

Is that all it takes?

What do you fall in love with?

He wonders,
can you truly fall in love with a person?
No, he thinks. No.
First you fall for the idea of the person,
or maybe even more simply,
you fall for the way they speak a certain word,
or how they blush to the tips of their ears,
or the way their small hands can hide such intense strength.
Maybe the way they smile
or kiss
or sing.
This is what you fall in love with.

Maybe that's how it started.
Love with a smile
with an action
with a thought.
But then you find now you love the person, too.
For all their flaws, and imperfections, something about them calls to you.

He's not sure how it happened,
or when,
or where,
or why.
But it happens.
In a single gesture, he is suddenly in love.

Yuletide Cheer for the Average Bloke

     He doesn't know how he ended up in this line of work.
     It isn't the kind of job anyone would dream about as a child, there are no great aspirations or positions to be working towards. When he went to college, he imagined a life spent doing something "real", something that mattered. He would never have imagined he'd be walking door to door, delivering mail to a bunch of random people. A bunch of random people who didn't give a damn about him.
     He is faceless and nameless. These people who he interacts with, they don't see him, they only see the truck bringing their mail. As long as their precious packages, cards, and bills arrive on time, that's all that matters. God forbid he be late once in 365 days, for he knows the wrath that would be brought upon him by the city manager's office. The people who complain wouldn't ask if their local mailman was okay, no, they would only want to know why their damn mail hadn't been delivered yet.
     Some days, he seriously entertained the possibility of quitting. He had no girlfriend or social life to speak of, had no real passions... At the end of the day, he went home to his cat. While he had enjoyed his bachelor's stint with Tiger, it had long ago lost its pleasure. There had to be more than only Tiger and a day in, day out existence.
     At least, these are the thoughts his mind is filled with as he walks across the street corner. He walks up the steps to the porch of the house, rifling through his bag before pulling out their mail. It's cold and his fingers are numb, as fingerless gloves are required in this profession. His long pants have barely kept the cold at bay, and his windbreaker is only blocking a fraction of the chill. Maybe he should have bought a hat.
     He is preoccupied with thoughts on hats (hats with tassels, hats with sloping curves, hats with bills), and doesn't notice the screen door of the house open. He doesn't notice the girl walk out. It is only when she says, soft and quiet as if she's nervous, "Excuse me?" That his head snaps to attention.
     "Yeah?" He replies. Oh, great, just another complaint on the long list, another person to bitch and moan about how crap my service as a mailman is. Maybe I'll just spit on one of the envelopes and they'll probably just think it's some kind of condensation from the warmth of his van and the cold outside...
     "I made you these." She thrusts out a paper plate. In plastic wrap on the plate are cookies, and brownies, and peppermint bark, and little muffins. He pauses, unsure of what to do or say. He reaches out, gently taking the plate from her with agonizing slowness. When he looks up at her, her face is red. She holds out a twenty dollar bill. "That was supposed to stick to the bottom of the plate, but I guess I didn't hand it to you right..."
     "Why are you doing this?" It comes out before he can stop himself, he is just that baffled. That blown over. He isn't sure what to say or what to think. Does she understand how much this means to him?
     "Well, my mom taught me when I was growing up that everyone deserves consideration and thanks for whatever they do. Even if maybe we wouldn't think about their job much normally, we should be thankful. She got sick, so she couldn't make the stuff herself, but she talked me through it. I forgot you're new on this street, we do it every holiday season." Before his eyes, against all probability, her face manages to get redder. "Merry Christmas!" She squeaks before quickly rushing back into her house.
     He stands in shock. The he hears an expletive, and feels a bubble of laughter buoy in his chest. How could such a nervous girl swear so colorfully?
     She peeks out from behind the door. "I forgot to get the mail," she mutters.
     He smiles without words and hands it over to her. She gives him a grateful smile before disappearing back inside. He stands for a moment on the porch, staring at the treats on the plate, a crumpled twenty in his hand.
     When he moves away to finish up his route, there is a Christmas song on his whistling lips, and joy in his heart.
     Maybe his job isn't so bad after all.

Stag/Fire/Girl in the Sky

     There was once a time when he stood on the hills and kept his keen eyes watching over his forest. The trunks of trees were no impediment to his vision, for this was his domain, and he could see all. In the form of a stag, he stood on his hill and watched the children of the forest live, and love, and die. Forever, he thought, forever he would protect them.
     But forever was an unreachable time as men came.
     The old ways, the respect and obedience once paid to him and his siblings by the humans, had been lost. The men came with swords, pikes, and fire, and they razed his forest to the ground. He had no choice but to take the form of a man, to blend in with the hopes of finding a new home.
     Now, in this place, this "Yellowstone", he was once more losing his forest home.
     Sirens filled the night sky, mingling with the smokey plumes and fiery embers that danced in the air. From his mountain, he stood as a man, and watched with apathy on his face. First forgotten by the Celts, then run out of Britain, and now this... It was only the inevitable conclusion of his dalliance with the New World. He had no idea that, in the forest below, one of his kind hid. When his forest was burned, there seemed to be no survivors, save for himself. But below, hidden amongst the charred trees and violent flames, she tried to be brave and strong.
     Her dark eyes took in the fire, and their darkness reflected the raging flames. Her spine struck the base of the tree she was huddled below, and her hands clutched her grubby knees. She was not the only one to follow him, but many of the others had long since died from old age. As the youngest, she appeared a young woman, but was still somewhat a child in mind. Their kind aged slowly, not as slowly as the Gods, but slow enough... She had been the only young one to survive, and almost all of her elders had fallen away.
     She changed her form to that of a raven, and flew up into the branches of the trees, making her way toward the shouts of men. Their giant hoses gushed water at the flames, a feeble attempt to staunch the destruction. She waited patiently until they cleared a section of brush and trees, and then returned to human form, scaling the tree trunks to scoop frightened cubs and abandoned nests into her arms. Then, she took the young animals to her hidden cave. Phelan, the last surviving elder, waited there for her. He smiled as he saw her return.
     "You must take a rest."
     The cub lumbered over to a group of wolf pets, and they all descended into play with one another. The hatchlings were taken under the wings of the older fledglings, who seemed to understand the seriousness of the events occurring around them.
     "I can not," she said simply, depositing her new friends on the ground of the cave. "You must stay here, I would be too worried if you were to assist me. You may not like hearing this, but you are older now, Phelan. I will not risk a fire taking you from me. I will rescue those I can, and you keep them safe here for me...please."
     He sighed heavily, but she knew that he knew she was right. He was the closest thing she had to real family. He was her kind, but he was no raven. Ravens were meant to be social creatures, but she had lacked a flock since that fateful day in Britain. She had been alone so long... Sometimes she even cried, weakened in her loneliness and depression. Now, she had a task, a goal. Something specific to achieve and accomplish. Inside, she was worried about not yet finding any animal parents. They couldn't all be dead already, could they?
     She closed her eyes to blink away the forming tears, and then turned and transformed, taking the sky. She let out a loud "kronk!" and flew, circling high above the licking flames and smoke, searching for larger animals. She would find their parents, no matter what.
     Her call reached his ears, even on the mountain. An unthinkable idea blossomed in his heart; he swore he had heard the voice before, but damned if he could place it. It had been so long since he had thought of the Old World and his old home. To think any of his kind had survived it as well... It was impossible!
     ...but if it was true...
     In his human form, he quickly scaled the mountain side, and when his feet hit the forest floor, he was already running. He didn't need to pay attention to anything like roots or tree trunks, for the forest was his domain, and it would bend to his movements. However, he was forced to slow as three wolves ran past him. They yipped at one another, sharing general fear and fear for their lost children. He debated helping when another "kronk!" filled the night. His eyes looked in the direction of the sound, and he was rewarded with the sight of a raven alighting on the ground...and then transforming into a beautiful young woman. What he most noticed were her eyes, red from smoke or tears, he could not tell. She held out a her hand to the wolves, and upon sniffing it, their loyalty visibly transferred to her. 
     She hadn't noticed him there, instead her attention singularly focused on the wolves. She began walking toward her cave, and the wolves followed. None of their little entourage noticed him following from a distance behind her. The troupe arrived without delay, and when the wolves arrived to see their puppies safe, they let out barks of pleasure. The pups paused their play to greet their parents, but this sweet reunion did not break the ties forged in flame, and soon the pups returned to playing with the bear cubs. The parent wolves took flanking positions around the hatchlings and fledglings, as if offering them protection.
     "Cer-Cer..." Phelan began to wheeze in distress, and her head whipped around. She froze as she recognized his silhouette back-lit at the cave entrance. "Cernunnos!" Phelan finally squeezed out, before descending into a hacking, coughing fit. Her attention snapped to her friend, and she quickly went to him. She patted his back carefully, trying to offer him her support, while Cernunnos took a few tentative steps into the cave.
     Yes, these two were certainly his forest dwellers. There was no doubt. The kindness with which they treated the animal residents and so easily befriended them... It had been something he taught his forest dwellers. These were his forest dwellers. Here. In the New World. He almost couldn't believe it.
     Brenna paused, startled, when she felt a hand on her head. Phelan had his eyes closed and was breathing wheezily, but settled, by her. The hand could only be... She turned her head to see him staring at her, and she froze again. His other hand reached out towards her face, and she could not help the instantaneous reaction she had. Her cheek fell against his palm with ease, and his fingers gently brushed away the ash on her face.
     "What is your name, little one?" He asked, fixated on her.
     "Brenna." She didn't need to think about answering, she felt no danger or threat from Cernunnos - and why should she? She and Phelan, and the other forest dwellers who had died, they had always been his.
     "How are you here, Brenna?"
     He couldn't tell if it was the heat of the fire outside, or what, but her cheeks filled with red. "I followed you. Well, we followed you."
     "You...survived it?" He heard a sad noise from the back of her throat and quickly shook his head. "Never mind. Let me help you."
     "Really?" Her eyes filled with childish amazement, and he realized just how young she was. She appeared a young woman, but still had the mind of a child - if an incredibly intelligent one. It would be at least a year more before her mind finally caught up with her body.
     "Yes. Tell me what you need."
     "I could never tell you to do something." Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
     He smiled kindly. "Then inform me of your desires and I can decide if I shall grant them or not."
     She nodded slowly. "Okay. I can get all the birds and predators, but none of the bison, or deer, or sheep will come with me..."
     "Then perhaps they will come with me."
--
     Hours passed as the sirens continued to wail. To the dismay of the firefighters, they had seen no animals running from the flames, and it concerned them. What had happened? They couldn't have all perished, could they? 
     It was true they hadn't, for even now, Brenna returned with an eagle in her arms. "I think this is the last one..."
     Cernunnos looked up from his spot on the ground with Phelan - she could tell they had been talking with one antoher. "Good. I have the last of the sheep as well."
     She moved towards the two men, and sat down next to them all. "I hope the fire stops soon."
     "Do you know how it happened?"
     "Well, it has not rained for a while... Wind, dry grass, dry wood..." She shrugged. "It was a disaster waiting to happen."
     "Oh?"
     "Yes. I hope the firefighters can beat it."
     "Firefighters?"
     Brenna's brow furrowed. "Have you not experienced the world beyond the forest?"
     Phelan let out a shaky laugh, and said, "Brenna, I have told you before, you are the first of our kind to try and explore the human world."
     She let out a faint noise of protest, "I do not see why. These humans are different from those of the isle! Most seem to like animals and forests. That is why they have special places where the forests are left alone. They can be very nice too."
     Phelan just shook his head, while Cernunnos snorted in derision.
     "Anyway," She grumbled, "firefighters are humans whose job it is to stop fires. They use big spouts of water from their trucks, and they put out the flames! But this is a very bad fire.. I do not know if they can beat it back."
     While Cernunnos processed this, a loud crash sounded from nearby the cave. Brenna tilted her head before standing and running toward the sound. Phelan sighed. "She fails to think about things."
    Cernunnos cursed softly before saying, "I will follow her."
     When he saw her crouched above a man, he became wary, but when he realized the man's hand was on her wrist, he felt rage fill him. As he moved over, violence in his heart, Brenna looked up, startled.
     "No! Wait!" She stood up and quickly stood in front of the man on the ground, holding her arms out as if a barrier. "He is hurt! And he is one of the firefighters. We must help him!" 
     Though he halted, the anger did not leave him. "Help a human? I think not. Especially when he believes he can lay a hand on you."
     "But... Please, Cernunnos! They are not all bad! If our kind did not live so long, I would be his age. Please..."
     A sigh left him, and he already knew she had won from the first moment she said 'please'. "What do we need to do?"
     "Bring him to his other firefighter friends. I can not carry him on my own..."
     Without a word, Cernunnos scooped the man up and slung him over his shoulder, gesturing for her to take the lead. She gave him a smile of relief, and then began moving through the forest.
     He followed silently.
     When they left the cover of the forest, he was greeted by the sight of men. Four men were wearing heavy pants and cumbersome jackets, many with helmets in their hands. Their faces and hands were covered in soot, grime, and sweat. Of course, he didn't think of how he and Brenna looked to them; a beautiful, clearly wild woman with tangled hair, and a spark of something dangerous, and an imposing, tall man with a buck's horns sprouting from his head, and definite danger oozing from him.
     "We found him collapses in the forest. He needs your help. Too much smoke inhalation maybe?" Despite Brenna talking, the men remained frozen, their brains unable to deal with the shock of what they were seeing.
    Cernunnos was getting impatient, and opened his mouth, "Listen--!"
     "Please," Brenna placed a hand on his arm. "They are only surprised. They are not certain how to react. You cannot be mad at them for being lesser beings to us - it is not their choice." He sighed in defeat once more and nodded. "How about putting him here?" She moved closer to the men, and gestured to a clear spot of dry dirt. He did as she asked, and then stepped back. A moment later, two of the men finally came to react. One grabbed a bright blue bag and went to his knees on the ground, checking on his comrade. The other moved to his head, and carefully supported it.
     Brenna smiled at the men, and then grabbed Cernunnos's hand. He was shocked, and in the face of this, had no reaction. She began to walk back to the forest, but stopped to look behind her once more. She lifted a hand to wave at the firefighters, and then transformed to a raven. Cernunnos took the form of a stag. Together, they entered the depths of the forest in these forms, leaving some seriously stunned civil servants behind.
--
    When dawn broke, the fire had been beating, and there weren't any glowing embers left. The stress of the night meant the many animals gathered by Brenna and Cernunnos would stay for a bit longer to sleep, to rest in peace. Once the woke, she would return the nests to their places, and everything could return to normal...for the animal residents.
     For Brenna, Cernunnos, and Phelan, things were only just beginning.

Little Girls & Death in the West

     Hammering sounds on the door woke Ezekiel Walker from his nightmares.
     His eyes opened with perfect clarity, and it took him only a moment before he pushed himself up in bed, turning to plant his feet on the floor.
     "A minute," Ezekiel called in a scratching voice. The hammering ceased. Ezekiel ran a hand through his unruly, dirty blond hair and hoped it would be enough. Passing a quick glance at the clock, he frowned. Someone at the door at this hour? It could only be bad. He quickly dressed in his normal clothing; a plain shirt covered by a black duster, dark blue jeans, working boots, and as always the falchion in its sheath against his back. Once he was done, he opened the door.
     Framed in the doorway was Wyatt Walker, sheriff of the small town of Barrow, and Ezekiel's adoptive brother. At this hour, the sheriff's presence meant Ezekiel's assumptions were correct.
     Wyatt dipped his black Stetson at Ezekiel and beckoned him outside.
     "What's wrong?" Ezekiel asked as he stepped out, closing the door behind him. Wyatt was scuffing the ground with his boots, clearly agitated. As Wyatt was the calmest man Ezekiel knew, there was a certain sense of dismay that came over him.
     "No clue. Most I know is that the klaxons went off, and I got a distress call," Wyatt said in his soothing drawl. However, there was a hint of unease in his tone. Not quite fear, but certainly not the norm. "I need you to go with me to Torrent."
     Torrent was the major port of Earth, one of the few holdout towns on the now dusty rock. In Torrent, one could ignore the searing burn of the sun. Children shrieked and played, women and men sold and traded their various goods to alien visitors. Torrent was full of color and life and brightness, and not the wind, the dust, nor the tumbleweeds could block the beauty bursting from that town. In fact, Torrent was the major supply town for the other scattered communities still trying to make a life on Earth. Of course, most in the 'verse claimed Earth had been overcome by the American Wild West, but Ezekiel knew better. He lived it.
     "Alright. Tell me more about this distress call?" The two men began to walk in the western direction, knowing Torrent was a few hours distance by foot. 
     "Ain't much to tell. Surprised the heck outta me, but... Static. Real faint in the background, you could hear screaming..." Wyatt shook his head sadly. "Nothing really happens out here, you know? To have a major distress call..."
     There was a silence as the men walked, each lost in their own thoughts.
     Ezekiel's mind wandered to his adolescence. When he first arrived on Earth, he was still prepubescent, not quite a child, but not quite a teenager. Torrent had been the town he'd landed in. At the time, the hustle and bustle, the brightness and loud noises, it had all been too much for him to take. He'd run away, out past it all. It was during this wandering that Norma and Will Walker found him. They already had their own son, but for some reason - call it guilt, or faith, or plain kindness - the couple couldn't find it in themselves to ignore the boy. He became a part of the family, and Wyatt took him as a brother. He hadn't been back to Torrent since.
     They walked.
     On a jagged cliff of hard packed dirt and sand, the two men stood side by side and took in the sight before them. The stench of death and decay infiltrated their noses, the winds bringing the awful smell from the town. Not a soul could be seen, though with that kind of scent, how could you expect there to be? Still, signs of a once-bustling civilization were there. Wares for sale or trade sitting out in the open, children's toys littered about the street.
     The real problem was that neither man knew what they were up against. Sure, a distress call had come from Torrent, but it had been static and screams. Now, this lively town was devoid of people and living things... It was disturbing.
     "Whaddya think, Zeke?" Wyatt asked quietly.
     "Trouble."
    "No shit," Wyatt grinned sardonically. "But do you have any ideas on what coulda caused it? You've seen the 'verse beyond this rock. Tell me. Anything out there you know of that could do this?"
     Ezekiel snorted. "Plenty of things, but they leave traces. Bodies and blood, spoor to follow and track. To disappear without a trace? No. I have no idea."
     "Well, not quite without a trace," Wyatt murmured. He began to pick his way down the cliff overlook, heading toward the town. Ezekiel followed. Wyatt pulled his kerchief from his back pocket and held it in front of his nose and mouth, "Certainly left a damned-awful smell." He began to work his way into town, and Ezekiel could see he was trying to follow the smell by how bad it was. Where it was worse, he would follow.
     There was a reason the two worked well together. Wyatt was no country bumpkin - he purposefully gave off the impression and milked it for all he was worth, but the man was brilliant. Ezekiel, on the other hand, was smart, but he'd been raised to fight. To be an army of one. His sills lay in keeping the two of them alive, rather than finding the trouble.
     And oh did Wyatt find trouble like some people took in oxygen.
     Wyatt paused, stock still, and Ezekiel did the same. There, through the pigeon-shit streaked window, was a figure... It appeared to be a child, but it was impossible to tell for sure. One thing was certain - it was the only living thing besides them for miles, and it was standing in the lobby of Torrent's hotel. With a blur, the figure disappeared.
     Wyatt quickly backtracked, pulling out his blaster from his holster as he went. Ezekiel took up watch on Wyatt's back, eyes darting around as he attempted to pinpoint where the blurred creature had gone. He wouldn't pull his sword unless he absolutely had to.
     "Now who might you two be?" A little girl's voice sounded from above. The two men cast their gazes upward, and there she was, looking down at them through an open window, her arms resting on the sill. For all intents and purposes, she seemed like such a sweet little girl, but... Something was wrong. What was wrong was difficult to pinpoint, but it was there. Signs of sins and secrets, all pointing to her sweet face being a sinister mask.
     "You first," Wyatt said, pointing his blaster up and towards her. Ezekiel cringed. While he logically understood that this little girl was no innocent thing, a part of him still reviled the idea of a gun aimed at a child. There was a strong urge to rip the gun from Wyatt's hand, but he knew if he did that, they were both dead.
     "You wouldn't shoot a little girl, would you?" She asked, her face a perfect imitation of surprise. At least, until she dissolve into giggles. "Just kidding! I know they sent you a distress call. It's interesting that there's two of you though. Which one of you is called Ezekiel?"
     "Again, who's askin'?" Wyatt snapped, tightening the grip on his blaster.
     "Not you then, huh?" She smiled. Then she was gone with a blur of motion, and Wyatt dropped his gun to eye level, eyes on the hotel door.
     It shocked both men when the glass of the closest window exploded outward, and a snarling girl was already flying through. Except she wasn't truly a girl anymore. Her nails were sharp, hooked claws, and every tooth was needle sharp, her eyes a deep glowing red. She bowled Wyatt over, and spring boarded from his prone form to launch herself at Ezekiel.
     He recognized those red eyes. There was no doubt. She had to be one of the Thanatos' creations. Nothing in the 'verse could transform the way she just did, not a single damn thing. She had to be an experiment, just like him.
     Ezekiel spun to the side at the last moment, the girl missing him by a hair's breadth. As he whirled, he pulled his falchion, the blade slicing thinly along the girl's left calf.
     She landed with a tumble, all to turn and howl at him in outrage. Ezekiel didn't bother to give her time, instead already moving forward, moving to strike once more. This time, she dodged out of the way, launching herself once more at him. It seemed the Thanatos had created their own little killing machine, but she sure as hell had no idea how to adapt. She only had one method of attack. Ezekiel stopped moving, and instead waited, angling his sword just so...
    A hush of breath escaped her as her body slid down on his blade. For a moment, she struggled, then stopped. She had impaled herself on his sword, so single-minded in her attack that she hadn't noticed his obvious play. Behind him, he heard Wyatt groan and lift himself up. The girl's eyes stayed locked on Ezekiel's, and blood drooled from her slightly open mouth. She was still alive but no longer fighting.
     "Put her out of her misery," Ezekiel said quietly, eyes briefly darting a glance at Wyatt.
     There was no response except the soft whumph of a blaster going off, and then the girl sagged entirely, a hole straight through both sides of her head.
     Ezekiel hefted his sword and her body, turning the tip to the ground. Her limp, lifeless corpse slid down and onto the dirt. Gingerly, he pulled his sword back out, and sheathed it once more.
     "The fuck was that?" Wyatt mumbled.
     "Dunno. Only one of its kind though."
     "Lord..." Wyatt shook his head. "We need to get back to Barrow. I gotta report this, get Torrent fixed back up."
    "What about the people?"
     "Can't you tell with the smell, Zeke? The girl was covered in the aroma of death. My guess is, she probably stashed 'em all in the basement. Let the reparation crews handle it. We can't do anymore here."
     "We could bury them."
     "Zeke..." Wyatt sighed. "Unless it starts raining in the next 30 minutes, it ain't gonna happen." Wyatt turned and tugged open the door of the hotel, his kerchief going to his mouth. "I'll do you one better," he mumbled through the fabric. Even with his nose blocked, the smell of copper, blood, shit, and piss still filtered through. It smelled like hell. Wyatt entered, Ezekiel close behind him. Wyatt kicked the basement door open with one booted foot, then rummaged in his pockets for a box of matches, Ezekiel watching closely. Wyatt lit it, then dropped it on the first step of the basement. The flames licked up the hot, dry woods, and quickly traveled down the rest of the steps. Briefly, the light of the embers illuminated the horrified, crammed faces of the residents of Torrent, all of whom had seen their death coming. Then it all went up in flame.
     Wyatt closed the door, turned, and shouldered past Ezekiel outside. It worried Ezekiel to see Wyatt looking so hard and cold. In a way, it did make sense. Wyatt was the strongest person he'd ever met, though Wyatt would certainly say the same thing about Ezekiel. Either way, the two men were ready to walk back to Barrow. Either way...
     ...it was the only thing they could do.

Warriors

     A hazy mist swirled around the half-elf's head, and he suppressed a grumble of irritation as he crouched in the damp dirt outside of the fortress. Kneeling in the shrubs was one of his least favorite activities, yet whenever a heavily armed force of over 30 needed taking out, that's where he ended up. Why the Exemplaries kept sending him on such damnable missions was a mystery to him. But so was the Exemplar, with the decision to fill forests with insects, several of which were enjoying biting Ike.
     "-they're all a bunch of nuts, they are." The two guards stationed just outside the fortress gate talked with odd fluctuations in volume. It would be almost lyrical if the words Ike could pick up didn't sound like those of a fool. Or maybe that was his bias showing, as he knew exactly who they were referring to, and didn't like people calling him a nut. Crazy bastard, okay, that was reasonable, he could understand that, but a nut? It was an attribute to be given to an unruly small child, or a favorite hound, or a relative who wasn't fully all there in the head. To call a grown man a nut, well, that was purely insulting.
     He looked up at the sky, calculating the angle of the moon. He couldn't make his move until it reached a certain peak point, and he could use the haze of the mist to disguise his attack. But he was getting antsy. The violence was welling up under his skin, and it made him itchy. He wanted to rush forward, do some killing, get his job done, and go home to collapse in bed. Maybe grab a pint and a quick bath before passing out. Waiting wasn't his strong suit. He wasn't a patient man, nor was he intrinsically violent, but to be so deeply entrenched in Heretic territory left him feeling a sense of unshakable insecurity. He disliked that feeling of vulnerability, that damn niggle in the back of his skull that kept a relentless course of adrenaline pumping through his body, even while he was at rest. Those feelings were the cause of his desire for violence.
     "-yeh, we took them little bastards, 'cause-" Ike tilted his head to the side. Were they talking about the boys? His hand tightened on the pommel of his sword, and he glared fiercely through the leaves at the guards. Heretics kidnap young boys, yet he's the nut. Yeah. Right.
     Time passed.
     Ike was half-fallen asleep by the time the aware part of him noticed the moon at its precision point. It was time for action. He quickly swiped the sleep from his eyes, and moved forward, staying low to the ground. With the mist thickened, he skittered around the guard closes to him, then bludgeoned the back of the man's skull with his sword hilt. The guard collapsed, and Ike dropped to the ground once more. The other guard had noticed something was wrong, turning in circles as he called out for his mate. There was a certain sense of satisfaction that came from scaring full grown men.
     He was no fool, he knew quite well the danger of his chosen life and how early it could be lost. He knew how to be scared when he needed to be - but these were mere humans. Regular folk who probably had never traveled to the Dark Mountains, maybe never heard of them. They had never been forced to pit themselves against predators smarter than the average man. When you were on the menu, you learned to be better, faster, stronger. You became a survivor. These men were clumsy, slow, untrained. It was an easy matter to slip behind the second guard and clap a damp gloved hand over his mouth and nose, his other arm snaking across his arm and torso, locking him in place. The guard feebly wriggled, but Ike merely kept the pressure up. Eventually, the man stopped moving. Ike lowered him to the ground and neatly slit his throat.
     In normal circumstances, true unconsciousness only lasts a few minutes at most - otherwise you've knocked them out in such a way that means severe damage, and no one wants to live hindered for the rest of their life. This way, the man couldn't inconvenience Ike in his mission, and also wouldn't live the life of a cripple. He was doing the man a favor by cutting his throat.
     The gate guards down, Ike was free to move forward.
     He'd infiltrated many fortresses in his time, most of them were either converted places of religious significance, or they were special projects conducted by a kingdom, and therefore had a strikingly similar layout.
     This fortress was not like any he'd ever seen before.
     Moving through the gate didn't lead to an open courtyard with various means of entrance and exit in a fairly circuitous manner. Instead, it was a dark room that was pentagonal in shape. On each wall, there was a single door, each with a candle lighting the way. Now he was faced with multiple doors, and damned if he knew which to take.
    Seeing there no other option in the situation - was already in too deep, and if he didn't move quick, it was likely the Heretics would start killing the boys - Ike chose a door at random.
    The door farthest to the right led to a large hallway that was furnished with exotic marvels from across the world. It was luxurious, no doubt about it. Ike's lip curled up in revulsion. The Heretics lived in such wealth, while all around them people were starving to death and dying for lack of supplies. They could support every family in a single village with all of this, while still keeping a large cache of their own. He pulled out his sword and placed the point against one of the beautiful threaded rugs on the wall. A little pressure and it popped like a bubble, and Ike waked the length of the hall, his sword tearing the fabric the whole way.
     By the time he got to the other end of the hallway, he had a giant smile on his face. The smile vanished when he opened the door and was faced with several very angry looking Heretics.
     "Bugger," he muttered. Then he tumbled backwards, rolling up onto his feet now within a stretch of the hallway, giving him more room to fight. Five men poured in after him, all of them angrily brandishing weapons.
     "You think us stupid enough not to have learned from all your other attacks?!" The one in the lead shouted.
     "Seeing as how I've hit at least ten of these places before encountering resistance, I'm going to go with 'yes'."
     "You nutty bastard, you're dead. You hear me?! Dead!"
    "Less talking, more stabbing."
     With an angry roar, the man lunged at him. Ike side-stepped the brash move, and swatted the back of the man's legs with the flat of his sword as he flew passed. Internally, he sighed. Heretics were drama queens, and he hated these melodramatic scenes. Was posturing needed? Were the obnoxious screams and roars necessary? The hallway was all flat, solid surface: perfect acoustics. The man could have whispered and Ike would have heard him as clear as a bell. Now, he only had a headache.
     The man stumbled forward, but regained his balance, and spun back around. Persistent. Well, Ike didn't have time to bother with the whole song and dance. With a merciless efficiency, he cut the man down, then moved to the other four Heretics. With cold calculation and a face lacking emotion, he didn't hold back as he brutally slaughtered them. By the end, his blade was dripping blood.
    It might seem callous to the outside eye, but Ike knew the truth.
     He'd been too late when he'd gotten to the fourth fortress in the series of Heretic attacks. It had already been abandoned, and when he searched the place, he'd found the boys' dismembered corpses cramped and packed into the kitchen. They'd been left to rot, and already had begun to putrefy, maggots crawling on the dead tissue. That wasn't the worst part - it was the bite marks on the boys' arms and legs, the places where giant chunks of flesh were gone, the only mark a clear impression of a human's bite.
     It would not happen again.
     He swiped his blade on the dead leader's coat, cleaning it of blood, then continued forward. The room he entered from the hallway was a barracks, and now the sudden angry men made sense. While the layout might not be identical to all others, he could still orient himself to a degree: same general distance from the barracks as always. Toilets out back closest, dining hall the inside closest room, and so on. Priorities.
     Judging on the size of these barracks and the memory of the room he first entered with its many doors, he figured the force had been divided into individual clusters. It would theoretically make it easier to defend from incursion, only one entrance to the main area, but to get all the way in, one would always have to pass a barracks - it was a perfect floor plan for repelling intruders. Unless, of course, that intruder happened to be cranky and highly motivated.
     Ike navigated the corridor leading to the inner sanctum, and followed the wall towards the dining hall, figuring the kitchen would be near. He paused at the sound of raucous laughter, freezing against the wall. He slowly edged forward, and saw that the men of the fortress were now in the dining hall, tossing back brew and gorging themselves on food. He slipped quietly by - it was too chaotic for anyone to notice him.
    Several yards on, he started to get worried. What if he'd misjudged the distance? But then he heard soft crying. Finally, his eyes made out the door in the dim lighting, and he opened it. Slipping inside, he quietly shut it behind him, and looked to face the occupants of the kitchen.
      Overwhelming claustrophobia hit him as he took in the state of the boys. They were packed in like sardines, all of them sitting, knees scrunched in close to their bodies with barely a breath between them and the next one. Most had tears and snot on their faces, some of them were a little bloodied, bruised, and banged up. But none were dead. The entire gaggle of them filled the kitchen, the closest only a few inches from Ike's foot.
    "Cavalry's here, boys," Ike murmured. They stared at him with solemn eyes, understanding the need for silence. "Follow me," he softly whispered as he turned and opened the door again. Taking his sword, he moved into the hall and cast his gaze around. "C'mon," he gestured to them.
     Darting to the dining room, he stood watch in the way of the door, still in the shadows, while he hurried the boys past them. They had had little training thus far, but they'd received enough to know they needed to remember how they were brought in and how they could get out. Ike thought they'd be in the clear when a Heretic finally noticed the escape occurring.
    "Intruders!" A gruff man with grizzled features and great body mass yelled. "Exemplaries!" The previously cheerful chaos of the room became murderous in a mere moment, and several men charged at Ike. He braced himself and drew his sword up, the last children still streaming behind him. The littlest one, the last one, paused briefly, horror on his face.
     Ike had no choice but to glance at him and hiss, "Go! You're expected."
     While Ike might be initiating the break solo, there were always other combat trained Exemplaries nearby to get the boys safe and sound. Usually there would be a caravan prepped and ready to go with a plethora of guards on it. Currently, he knew he couldn't expect the others to wait for him. His job was to save the boys, even at cost for his own life, and he'd come to terms with that a long time ago. In fact, it was one of the best ways he could think of leaving this life.
     Taking his warrior's stance, he caught the blade of a great axe against his long sword. The large Heretic who had called the warning before grunted in surprise, astonished that he could not flatten the much leaner, smaller man before him. It was all part of Ike's plan.
     The great wave of Heretics were pushing relentlessly against their comrade in their fervor to get out and fight, drawing his face closer and closer to his own axe blade and Ike's sword. Ike locked eyes with the man and gave him a close-lipped smile. Their pressure was about to get one of their own killed, and when his body fell, it would trip the first man to come next, and then they were all dominoes. He would be left with plenty of time to escape. Or at least, that was the theory.
      But thank the Exemplar for miracles, because die the Heretic did. Ike immediately jumped back, sword in hand, and began to sprint down the corridor, through the barracks, down the hall, out the pentagon room... He could hear swearing and cursing behind him, but thus far no one had caught up. As he melted into the woods, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Exemplar, and let out a great gasp of air.
     Then, a scream ripped through the night.
     He was already moving toward the sound, fear now flushing through his body and wiping away his sense of accomplishment. He stumbled into the clearing, and was shocked to see another Heretic. A commander by the looks of him, holding the youngest boy by the neck. Most of the Exemplaries around him were lying on the ground. Several were dead, a few were mortally wounded, and a sparse handful were merely wounded. The boys were huddled with their backs to the trees, eyes round with fear.
     The commander turned to lock eyes with Ike, and then smiled.
     "Brother."
     Ike's blood ran cold.
      "Wulthus."
     "What, you will not address me as your own?" The big man feigned hurt. "I'm shocked. After all we've been through."
     "You tried to kill me."
     A belly laugh escaped the man named Wulthus. "I did, didn't I? Thought I had, too. See, you would have saved us all some pain and trouble if you'd just died when you were supposed to."
     "You couldn't even come to me as a warrior. Why would I die to such a coward as you?"
     Wulthus's eyes hardened. "That's a bit far there, Isaac. Bit far." He released his grip on the boy's neck, the child falling to the ground in a boneless heap. Still breathing, just barely, but that was enough. "Shall we settle this right now?"
      "If you insist. If you offer the formal challenge."
      Annoyance flickered on the man's face and Ike smirked. "As you wish, Brother." Pulling his spear from the sheath on his back, he stared at Ike. "I challenge you, Isaac the Angel of Death at Karris," Wulthus spat out, only composing himself as he finished, "to a Jumong"
     "I accept. Let us begin."
     There was no pause before the men immediately went for one another, each moving with brutal skill, violence rippling from them. The men hacked and cut at one another, back and forth, spraying blood in the night, staining the ground. Sweat poured from them both as the two looked for an opening, a weakness. They warily circled one another, hatred boiling in their veins.
     Ike dropped his sword arm, feigning fatigue, and oh how Wulthus fell for the obvious ruse. He lunged forward, looking to impale Ike, who merely stepped to the side at the last moment, and followed through by swinging his sword down at Wulthus's neck as he fell to the ground.
     "Swear submission," Ike gratingly spoke, the truth of his body's fatigue evidenced in his tone. He pressed his sword against Wulthus's neck. Not hard enough to cut, but a symbol of having bested him. 
     "Never. I wouldn't in Karris, and I won't now."
      Ike let out a world weary sigh. "As you wish." He swiftly decapitated Wulthus, finding bleak humor in the expression of shock left on the dead man's face. "Arse."
     Looking around him, Ike slowly dropped to his knees, hardly able to keep himself upright. The boys moved forward, the success of their side and death of the enemy now clear. They easily prioritized their care. The eldest of the children granted merciful deaths to the Exemplaries who were dying slow, painful dmises, and the others bandaged the men who would clearly make it.
     The youngest approached Ike, his hand tentatively touching the man's shoulder, trembling with nervousness. For a moment, they stayed that way, neither speaking. Then, the young child tore a piece of cloth from the dead men's garments, and began to clear Ike up.

Life's Ties

     There's a comfort in the idea of death. Let me be clear, I am talking about death. Not the conceptual term of "forever" (which, frankly, terrifies me), or the metaphorical change represented by death. I mean six feet under the ground, maggots and worms squirming around your bones, death.
     Before I continue, know that in order to fully explore this subject, to explain my reasons for the reasons I see it this way, you have to learn a little about me. Please, bear with me, I promise it won't be too long or ucky and boring, but I warn you that there is background information of ME as a person. You've been fore-warned.
     *Ahem*. Back to the matter at hand.
     The idea that we have limited time on this planet in our current form (as "YOLO" is only reasonable unless reincarnation turns out to be real. I have no what happens after death, and prefer to be prepared for that possibility) is bracing. It's like a slap of cold, crisp air to the face after being too warm for too long, huddled up indoors in cramped, claustrophobic conditions.
     I won't lie. I have my life planned out. I already understand my personal life's dream, and I know what steps must be taken to achieve it. I know what house I want to own someday, the place I want to live the rest of my life, and on and on. In fairness, I have no plans as far as relationships go - let's just say I only recently had my first boyfriend ever and he didn't even last a month because he decided to sleep with a girl at a party, "sleep" in the most salacious terms just to eliminate confusion. So. I don't truly know if I'll find my "other half", or the person who helps me to be the best version of myself. What I do know is that when you want something, no matter how outrageous, you have a duty to your own self to make it happen.
     Yes, there are limitations. There always are. My family isn't well to do, and I'm barely staying out of college debt, only achievable because 3/4 of my tuition is paid in scholarship money. There aren't extra funds to use on the fun splurges in life, and I had many medical issues through middle and high school. The maintenance alone on keeping me functioning and alive is rather expensive. But I know my life's dream, and I know other things I'd like to do. For example, I'd like to write a book. In fact, I have approximately 30,000 words on a single word document waiting to be edited. It didn't happen magically, I had to force myself to do it. I knew what I wanted to write and that I would love it, but I wasn't getting around to it between doctor's appointments, surgery, and trying to do schoolwork to graduate on time. I had to buckle down, and make it happen for myself, and it was hard and long, but I did it. All that's left (cue the many evil cackles from other writers) is editing.
     At some point, I'd like to study overseas. Poke around Europe, take a stay in the U.K. for a bit. Not forever, but long enough to live and breathe and experience. I know it'll help me grow as a person, even though I will ultimately return to my forever home. However, I can't afford to leave and study elsewhere. At the same time, deep inside of me, there's this burning conviction to make it happen. The knowledge that, "I don't know how or when, but I WILL make this happen."
     I've always believed everything was connected already in a giant spiderweb of invisible ties. That everything, all of life, was tethered together by strings we could not see. That some of those strings were stronger than others (the classic example being family members versus friends versus acquaintances). I wouldn't call this a spiritual experience for me. Ever since I was a child this was, to me, a simple fact. There was no point in arguing the validity because it just was.
     I admit, while I found the concept of the Universal Mind Lattice interesting, I have serious reservations. This realization only hit them after ingesting LSD? Now, I know that as a child many people didn't understand my spiderweb idea, but I thought at least maybe more creative types would. Or maybe this isn't an idea people have really considered before. After all, I was a very quiet child, watching and learning and observing. If I had interests in subjects or topics, I went out of my way to learn more about them. I have a connection to animals that none in my family share, as if there is an unspoken understanding between me and other life forms. Last spring, a baby squirrel tried to crawl up my leg (out of nowhere, I might add, since I was off to the side watching it and its mother as they were so cute), and I even got pictures. Later, it let me go and they ran off, but for a few minutes, I stood still and silent as a baby squirrel held my leg and stared up at me. It had sharp claws but didn't puncture my skin, leaving only surface scratches, no blood or pain. That wasn't a spiritual experience for me. It was, as it had always been, proof of the spiderwebs that hold life together.
     Living organisms need each other, as plainly as that.
     Predators need prey just as badly as prey need predators. That's how healthy ecosystems are maintained. It is a stark, dark fact and most people don't enjoy watching lions eat antelope - I don't like it either! But I can compromise logic with emotion, and I know that this is how it has to be. It isn't like lions torture the antelope - though of predators, house cats might be an exception - but in the wild reality, it's a quick motion, action, then poof! One thread falls away from the spiderweb, another thread is born somewhere else.
     Personally, art is art, and I don't think a true calling can be named. This is my opinion, of course, but it seems art is subjective. I love to sketch, I'm reasonably skilled at it, but I can't paint worth a damn. It's not because I'm not good at art, or didn't have good inspiration going in, it's just not one of my skills. Certainly I could improve it, but I will never be at a level as my friend (who is flawlessly gifted at painting without thought or trying), who not only consciously works to improve herself but is naturally talented at it. I might get an idea for an evocative painting, but I couldn't do it myself. I could offer a rough sketch for someone else to paint, but wouldn't author it myself.
     Everyone can do art. That sounds silly and weird, and maybe some will see it as demeaning, but stay with me for a moment. If the spiderweb (the universal mind lattice) holds true, there is beauty in a predator stalking their prey - while the predator may use it as a survival skill, an outside observer can see the amazing art that it is. After all, when is the last time you saw a cow stalking grass? And if you did, it would look so absurd and ungainly, wouldn't it? There's writing, paining, drawing, singing, playing instruments, laughing, dancing, sculpture, acting, and in essence, living.
     Life it art.
     It isn't about a universal mind lattice - it is fact. It exists, and sure you can't see it, but that certainly doesn't make it any less real. I'm sure philosophers would argue with me, I'm sure we could go back and forth all day, but this piece is about what I think, so I'll say it plainly. I think things can be real, even if we can't see them. On the other hand, I'm a biology major who wants to get a master's in zoology, but while I hold beliefs in the power of science, I am also an outsider.
     Ever been around a bunch of scientists - or just annoyingly smart people - and known you didn't belong? I feel that way a lot. I can talk the talk with them, but I don't follow the common ideology. I don't think we can explain everything, and I don't think we were meant to either. For example: love. Okay, yes, there is a measurement to chemical reactions that occur when "in love", but I don't think that's all it is. Love is an idea, a concept, it is intangible in essence because it cannot be quantified - does a mother love her child or husband more? Or are the chemical reactions exactly the same? Does she then love them equally? But who would she choose if she could only have one of them? I am the first to admit that not understanding things upsets me. I take 15 minutes to shower, and 15 minutes to get ready to go out. I cannot understand how it is physically possible that one of my friends takes two hours to get ready, even after witnessing it. It upsets me because I have no idea how in the world it's happening, but I digress...
     Life is connected by invisible threads, tying us together in a sticky, cohesive sphere sometimes called "Earth". To me, this is why I understand that we cannot understand everything. I will never fully understand love, faith, souls, or how people can treat one another so cruelly, or how people can treat one another with such compassion and forgiveness. But I don't think I'm meant to full understand it. And that's okay with me.
     I would keep waxing my personal philosophy and start tying in how these threads go farther than that, off into infinity, but...
     That's a story for another day.