Coming Down <Ephraim Steele>

[Sawyer (DELETED 7853)]

Drawing her torn jacket around her form, she tried to shield her frail form from the chilling wind. It froze her tears to her face, and as she wiped beneath her eyes with a dirty sleeve, she felt her skin chap. The ache brought on a fresh wave of tears, her cerulean gaze filling with the moisture that she fought tooth and nail not to spill. She hated crying - it was a pathetic waste of her time, and yet, she had shed more tears in the past month than she had in her entire lifetime. I swear, that ****** put something in that last batch, she seethed, before she tripped over nothing and stumbled into a broken down building. Her knees trembled with exhaustion, and she bowed her head to fight the bile that was rising up the back of her throat.

She needed a fix.

With a low groan, she brushed her trembling hands through her hair, the purple strands clinging to her frozen skin in messy lumps. How long had it been since she’d bathed? The thought caused her to lift her arm, and as she gently sniffed her pit, she cringed. “Oh, that’s ******* foul,” she slurred as she quickly dropped her arm to save herself another whiff of the noxious fumes. Dropping her head against the brick, she tried to bring the sign above her into focus, the blaring neon lights giving her trouble. It was as if they were playing games with her - allowing her a brief moment of figuring out a letter, before blurring again so she had to start all over. Shaking her head, she shot her hand out, her fingers moving in slow-motion, before she fell forward and nearly sunk to her knees.

After a moment, she managed to keep herself upright, the letters finally beginning to form a resemblance of a word. Gas Station. They red and yellow lights flickered in her glazed eyes, and when she shook her head, she watched as they swayed, forming odd shapes until her stomach began to twist. Turning away, she stumbled her way to the door and pushed it open, the hinges creaking before the metal seemed to cave in on itself. It was clear the building hadn’t been used for a while, the decay inside something akin to an ancient battle ground. The shelves were tossed over, the boxes all but scavenged. There register was shattered in pieces on the ground, and blood stained various sections of the dirty and mold covered linoleum. It wasn’t exactly the best place to clean up, but with her choices as limited as they were, it was her only hope.

She couldn’t go on smelling like death.

Stepping over an empty box of cereal, she headed for the back of the building, the squeak of her shoes on the tile the only sound to offer her comfort. The shadows around her danced with glee and malice, their laughter filling her head as the drugs pumped through her veins. She couldn’t make out what was real and what wasn’t, and as she reached for the bathroom knob, she swore that something moved behind her. Spinning in a circle, she nearly fell to her *** on a overturned shelf, only to find that the building was empty. Biting into her lower lip, she felt blood swell to the surface of her skin before she used her hip to push the door in. When it swung open, she stumbled inside and pulled her sweatshirt over her shoulder to use the dirty, ruined cloth as a rag. Wiping down the dirt speckled mirror, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, and flinched. She looked like a sewer rat. Her face, once beautiful, was taut and frail. There was barely any meat on her bones, and her hair was a stringy mess that framed blue eyes far too large for her head. She was disgusting.

Turning her attention away, she searched her bag for the few bottles of water she had stolen, and ripped off a piece of her shirt. The white cotton was the cleanest thing she owned, and as she dampened it with a bottle, she grabbed the half used bar of soap she’d wrapped in plastic. She couldn’t remember where she had gotten it from, but the fresh scent was too tantalizing to pass up. Lathering the shirt, she lifted her arms and began to clean beneath them, erasing the foul scent with each movement. When she was done, she rinsed off the shirt and repeated the process, wiping the grime away from her skin before she tilted her head back and poured an entire bottle over her head. Using what was left of the soap, she lathered her purple tresses as best as she could, before using the last bottle to rinse the soap free. When she finally opened her eyes, she chanced another look in the mirror.

She looked better.
Still like ****.
But better.

Leaving the empty bottles on the floor, she dropped the dirty sweatshirt over them and grabbed her black bag, before stepping out of the bathroom. The thought of walking into the snow in nothing but her bra and an old pair of jeans wasn’t appealing, but she wasn’t too keen about putting the toxic material back on. It had only offered her a thin layer of protection, anyways, so it wasn’t worth the stench. Running her fingers through her tangled hair, she swayed her way to the door, only to come up short when a figure stood in her way. He was tall, his shadow looming over her in a way that had her craning her head back. His eyes, the brightest green she had ever seen, seemed to bore straight into her soul.

“You look lost.”

The three words were spoken in a voice so deep that it seemed almost unreal - as did her reaction to him. She found herself trembling, and she quickly wound her arms around her slender stomach as she she shook her head. “I’m not lost.” Her voice betrayed her, the fear causing it to slur more than the heroin had. She could barely make out his features, but what she could, left her cold inside. His smile was feral, and as he reached for her, she swore that she saw spiders crawl over his skin. Shaking her head, she backed up a step, but it was no use. His bony fingers curled around her throat, his thumb pressing gently to her windpipe as he forced her to look up at him.

“Beautiful. Lost girl. You need something, don’t you?”

With that, he used his free hand to flick open a small blade, the glint of the metal bringing a soft whimper to her throat. What the **** is happening? She tried to fight through the haze as he brought the blade down across his wrist, the single cut deep enough to bring his blood forth. It crawled down his skin and over his fingers, and as he released the hold on her throat, he forced her mouth open, allowing the substance to trickle over her tongue. The taste was foul, and she quickly turned her head to the side in an attempt to spit it out. Before she could, he whipped her forward, his arm embracing her against his solid chest. The strength he possessed was unreal, and even in her frenzied state, she was powerless to stop him. As he forced her head back again, she tried to scream, but the blood choked the sound in her throat. “Just give it a second, love. Just a second…”
The words were whispered across her ear, and she found herself slowly giving in to his will, her eyes falling closed. The power she felt pumping through her veins was amazing, and she found herself no longer caring about the taste that burned her tongue. “What…” She tried to speak, but her voice sounded far away. It was as if she were floating. She felt stronger than ever, each breath she took more vibrant that the last. When her eyes fluttered open, everything was brighter. The illness she had felt from the heroin had faded, and she dropped her head to his shoulder as he brushed his fingers across her face.

“That’ll be six hundred, pet.”

His words felt like a bucket of cold water over her high. They burned out the flame in her stomach, and as she tensed against his form, she knew he felt it. With a growl, he grabbed her arms and shoved her forward, until her stomach hit the broken counter. Bending her forward, he curled his fingers into her hair and snapped her head back, the force causing her to gasp. “Six hundred. You have the money, don’t you? All of you have the money.” He sounded crazed - and she was suddenly aware of how fucked up all of this was. If she had been sober, she would have fought harder, and yet, none of that mattered. Even now, she she was feeling the high disrupt her thought process, and she could hardly recall her own name as his hands began to tear through the pockets of her jeans. When he came up empty, he roared in savage anger, before tossing her across the station.

“You know what I do to those who can’t pay?”

As he stalked towards her, she tried to scramble to her feet, only to fall back onto the tile when his boot connected with her chest. As he pinned her down, all she could see was the green of his eyes and his savage smile as he kneeled down, his knuckles brushing over her bruised cheekbone. “I make them pay.”

[Ephraim Steele]

Her power was still growing. Fast. Too fast. There were five with her now, each one more eager to follow her than the last. They were all about her at all times, clinging to her, protecting her. He wasn’t going to be able to get to her, without going through each of them. It was frightening, the way that her little army was growing at an exponential rate, while he tried his best to keep Jenna from being so frightened of the entire world, and Teagarden was an old man, hardly capable of a real fight. His ability to weave anima into his ink work was astounding, however.

New runes were inscribed into Ephraim’s flesh every week, each one increasing his own strength. What he needed was not his person to be ever more powerful, but to gain more recruits. The going was slow; the takers were few. Not so many people wanted to throw their lives away for a god that had appeared to all but turn his back on them, the people that were bound to this city of the dead and dying.

Faith was lost, here.

He had only just left the apartment, beads of water still rolling from his long, damp hair. His beard all but froze in the knife of wind that cut through the street, chilling him to the bone. The shower had been hot while it had lasted, but he was quickly regretting the decision. He lifted his hands to tie the long curls of dirty gold behind his head, the tail tight against his skull as he began to move through the darkness, tucking his hands into the pockets of the coat he wore, its long tail falling to his knees. The sword he wore tucked neatly inside the coat, making him inconspicuous as he stalked the darkness, looking every bit the average man.

He soon found himself in the intersection that Heather and her unholy gathering used as a feeding ground, the spot a mildly trafficked area, easy to catch one or two people unawares. He hadn’t come face to face with her since the last time, knowing that she wouldn’t have forgotten the shape that he had left her in. Now, with the knot of monsters around her, she was nigh invincible while he was alone.

Osmond’s apartments over his flower shop were very spacious, affording ample room for the original tenant, himself, and Jenna, whenever she crashed for a night or two, or sometimes a week. Sometimes they wouldn’t see her for days, and expected her fallen prey to the growing mob of vampires that appeared to control the area. Then, when they had all but given up on her, she would appear like nothing had happened, asking for something to eat in exchange for the things she had learned while she was out.

She wouldn’t share how she came across her information, or where it was she went for those missing days, but the things she brought them were always valuable, always useful. He had been able to catch one of Heather’s creatures off guard, dispatching him with swift justice. That had taken her number to the five that she had now, leaving her with the first male, and another that had appeared more recently, along with the first woman and two others. The newer of their group were younger, wilder, less apt to caution. If he could catch some of them alone as well, he could begin levelling the playing field.

He sighed, putting aside the fruitless musings as he lifted a hand to scratch at his frozen beard. It appeared that they were not here, tonight. They would have already breezed through. He shook his head, and pat the pistol in his pocket. He had been practicing, Jenna proving as gifted with the sidearm as she was with the knife, showing him how to use the weapon properly. He was at least adequate with the weapon now, though he was less likely to hit a moving vampire than to hit some bystander four blocks out of the way.

Alright, so maybe he wasn’t so good a shot, even after the training.

Giving up on seeing the coven, he went on the hunt, instead, seeking out strays that he might come across. As he moved through the street, staying quiet in the shadows running along the edge of the sidewalk, he made himself as scarce as possible, his presence as stealthy as possible. He moved in silence, slipping past the abandoned gas station without so much as a look. The building was empty; there wasn’t anything of use there, even for the monsters.

He was nearly away, debating on crossing the street and heading into the next district when he heard the shout from inside the station. It gave him pause, turning to see a small woman’s frame fly across the station and impacting the wall, before she vanished beneath the overturned shelves and counters. He waited in the darkness, until a tall shadow stalked across the station to tower over her.

“Finally.”

The night had been quiet; too quiet. His blade made a soft whisper of steel on leather as he pulled it from the scabbard beneath his coat. The steel was light in his hand, each twist and turn of the blade slicing through the air without resistance. This was a weapon of death. It was a powerful tool for a powerful warrior. As the shadow moved to stand over the girl, placing his boot into her chest, Ephraim pushed his way through the glass door. As he did, the small bell over the door rang noisily, announcing his presence.

He flicked his gaze to the shadow and let his lips pull back into a sneer. “You should have more self respect than that, demon. Fighting a lone girl in the dark. What kind of a man are you?”

He laughed as the beast wheeled on him, throwing a back handed fist toward his face. The blow was slow, lazy, relaxed. He didn’t expect Ephraim’s speed, or his strength; the beast was overconfident. As the hand flicked out at him, he stepped back, blade flicking in a quick circle, parting the hand from the wrist in a quick, easy slash. The beast screamed as blood splashed across his attacker’s face, causing the tall, blonde paladin to laugh wildly.

“Repent, for this is the end of you, demon.” The monster’s face was twisted in rage and pain, his stump lashing out at him again, followed quickly by a row of razor sharp claws, slashing at the air with a harsh whistle, the steel tips of his nails catching the blade, showering the floor in sparks as the blow was parried away. The monster threw a shoulder into Ephraim’s chest, sending the paladin reeling back as he countered with an upward slash, taking the uninjured arm at the shoulder, the limb hitting the floor and turning to dust. Another roar left the monster and he smirked.

“It’s done.”

He pushed forward, blade making a quick, lighting fast flick, the blade flashing in the dim light from the street before the vampire’s head was separated from his neck, the lump of flesh thumping against the wall before it dissipated into ash, crumbling to the floor in flakes before the body followed suite, turning to dust as Ephraim brushed it aside, dusting the shoulder of his coat with his hand before he held it out to the girl in the floor.

“Are you alright? He took you pretty unaware, it seems.” She was beautiful, in a less obvious way than most women. Through the tangled, ratty hair with the exotic color and the hastily washed skin, she was a beautiful girl. Her face was pretty. Gorgeous, if he was honest. It was no wonder the vampire would attack her. He helped her to her feet, and returned his blade to its sheath, the blood that had stained the steel flaking away as ash. “We should go. There may be more on their way.”

[Sawyer (DELETED 7853)]

<Sawyer> In her state of mind, it was hard for her to tell the truth from the lie. What she thought was real could deceive her - and yet, she was certain that this creature wasn’t a fantasy. She could feel the weight of his boot as it dug into her ribs with a force strong enough to crack bone. Every move he made sent a fresh wave of pain filled terror through her, and yet, she couldn’t seem to look away. His eyes had transfixed her, the emerald hues glowing so bright, they put the sun to shame. How was he strong enough to pin her down without so much as a sigh of effort? Lifting her hands, she weakly grasped at his ankle, her dirty, trembling fingers pushing against the denim of his jeans with all the strength that she possessed. Her efforts only earned her a laugh. “Pathetic. Even with my blood in you, you are still so weak.”

Turning her head from his as his breath washed over her face, the putrid stench causing her stomach to roll, she bit back a scream. This isn’t real. It’s in your head. This isn’t real. The mantra was put on repeat in her head as she slammed her hands down, her palms connecting with the frozen tile as stretched her fingers out in search of something - anything - to get the man off of her. The second her fingers curled around a rusted old pipe, the echo of the door’s bell bounced off the walls, causing both of their attentions to shift. The shadow that filled the doorway caused her to gasp for breath, the effort of pulling the air into her pinned lungs stronger than she had expected. The pain sliced through her like a knife, and a small sound escaped her throat. It went unnoticed as her attacker shifted, his punch lazy, uncaring - confidant. What happened next - she couldn’t begin to understand.

This isn’t real.
This is a bad ******* high.

This whisper of the blonde man’s blade cut through the air, the noise so quiet - and yet, so ******* loud that it echoed in her mind. The sound of it connecting with flesh and bone set her teeth on edge, and for a moment in time, she was certain that was the end. Yet, even as his hand flew through the air - the man still attacked. Their words were muffled in her mind, and the second that she was free to move - she did. She scooted until her back hit the wall, her wide, vibrant, drug clouded eyes not missing a single second of the fight. It happened quickly - too quickly - and in a flash, the man that had attacked her disintegrated.

What in the **** just happened?

Biting into her lower lip, she swallowed another scream as the blonde neared her, his face morphed into something far more grotesque than handsome in this reality she found herself trapped in. “Don’t, just leave me alone. You’ve fucks done enough,” she slurred, her voice heavy with the drugs pumping through her system. As he reached his hand out to help her up, she knocked it away - with far more force than she had intended, as she watched his arm all but threaten to twist out it’s socket. In her drug filled mind, it bounced back and began to morph, his hand turning into something akin to a snake. Swallowing the bile that rose up the back of her throat, she snatched her bag from the floor and began to move for the door, her steps lethargic.

“I don’t have your money. You should have thought about that before shoving your ******* blood down my throat. The **** do I want with your blood?” She was rambling, that much was certain. Her Irish accent was thick due to the state she was in, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded strange. She wasn’t used to hearing the husky brogue that rolled easily from her tongue, and it left her uncertain of her well-being. How fucked up am I? Shaking her head, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes uncertain of what kind of monster he was. As fucked up as she was, she paid no attention to where she was headed, and as she took another step, her foot connected with an overturned shelf, causing her to lose her balance and fall back against his chest.

“You’re like iron. Are you even real?”

<Ephraim> As she pushed him away, he opened his palm and shrugged, watching as she swayed her way to her feet. She looked like she could use a lot more than just some help up. He flipped his sword, sliding the weapon into its sheath and tucking it into his coat again. He gave her an amused smile, shaking his head as she tried to stumble her way through conversation. He pushed a hand along his tightly tied hair and waited for a gap in her delusional berating to get a word in edgewise. He saw his chance, and he took it.

“Miss, please, if you will just give me a moment to explain…” That was when she had turned to leave, slipping on the overturned shelf and collapsing back into him. He caught her, arms grabbing her about the torso and keeping her upright. He chuckled throatily at her observation, and lightly brushed off her back as he set her right. “I’m very real. The man that was attacking you was very real, too. And I’m not him, actually. What about you? Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you did he? I mean, besides the minor bumps. You’re probably going to be sore in the morning.”

He glanced around the abandoned store, watching the darkness in the corners as they stood there among the overturned shelves and the forgotten odds and ends left behind when the place was closed for good. He watched for any shift in the shape of the darkness, for any kind of telltale signs of another attacker lurking in the darkness. Sometimes, the beasts hunted alone; but more often than not, they had a partner, or an entire party with them. They were clever, cruel, and intelligent. He had to keep his guard up if he didn’t want to end up like Uphrin, or worse, like Heather. He let his hand rest idly on the hilt of his blade as he let his sharp, blue eyes sweep down to her angelic face, offering her a smile.

“There are a lot of nasty things on the streets this time of night. It would hardly be Christian of me to let you walk home alone in such a dark hour. What do you say I escort you back to your place? I can keep others like him away from you, at the very least, until you can make it to your building.” He tipped his head to where the pile of ash in the floor was slowly drifting into the air with each gust of wind that made its way through the cracks in the building’s structure.

Besides, she may not know it, but she seems more than prime material for bait. Better even than Heather had been. He wouldn’t make that same mistake twice, however. This girl wasn’t for simple baiting; she wasn’t a pawn to be used without her knowledge. This was a genuine offer, an experienced and trained escort to protect her from another attack. “You do understand what’s happened here, don’t you?”

His head tipped to one side, long curtain of golden strands tied against his skull, shimmering in the light of the street lamp outside. His startling blue stare moved over her face, searching for signs of recognition. This wasn’t a simple attack. If it had been, she would have been dead before he could reach her. Instead, she was there, standing in front of him, though only barely. He could see the bleary look in her eyes, the way she swayed on her feet, barely able to stand. She was high; he knew that look well. Heather had that look more times than not before she had found her way to the church. Though caring for the hearty blonde had been one thing; the waif like figure of the small woman in front of him told him she had been hitting whatever she was on hard for quite some time. The cloudy look in her stare was unmistakable.

This was going to be a tougher nut to crack.

He held out his hand to her again, then, and gave her his warmest smile. “You just say the word, and I’ll help you home.”

<Sawyer> Pulling on the strap of her bag, she lifted the tattered cloth over her shoulder before turning to glare at him. “For a monster, you’re persistent,” she seethed, just as her world tilted on its axis. With a muttered curse, she threw her hand out, her fingers grappling for a solid object to keep her upright, only to find purchase on the material of his shirt. Gripping it tight, she waited until the earthquake stopped before shaking her head. Her fingers splayed across his chest, and once again, she was floored by how solid it was. She could feel his muscles bunch as she trailed her nails across the cotton, the softness seeming far more interesting to her than what was hidden beneath. With a sudden jerk, she pulled herself away from him and turned on her heel, her movements disoriented.

She felt as if she were a doll on a string, being pulled in every ******* direction except the one she wanted to go in. The door was in sight, the moonlight gleaming off of the eroded bell that dangled above the glass, and yet, she couldn’t seem to move for it. Instead, she swayed where she stood, her fingers reaching to curl tightly into her hair. Clutching the purple strands, she bowed her head as a tremble took over her form, the memory of what she had just witnessed on repeat in her mind. It was like a horror film that she couldn’t escape. Gritting her teeth, she stumbled forward a step only to knock her knee on the very counter that she had tripped over before. With a frustrated scream, she kicked her foot out, the worn-down boot connecting with a force that sent the metal careening across the floor.

In the silence that followed, she turned to face him while doing her best to ignore the haze that had filled her mind and morphed the world. He seemed so sincere in his concern, and yet, she had been burnt many times before. He wanted something - they always did. Why else would they waste their time with a rundown, filthy addict like her? He had some sort of hero complex - he even had the look down to a ‘T’. Scanning her glazed gaze over his form, she arched a brow with a breathless, strained chuckle. “Are you trying be Thor?” Her words, even to her own ears, sounded distant, as if she were speaking beneath water. How could he understand what she was saying? Why was she even still ******* standing here? Running her fingers through her hair, she winced at the way it stuck together as it began to freeze to her skull. I need to get out of here. I need to find somewhere to stay and keep warm, she thought, even as she stumbled back a step.

“Of course I don’t know what the **** happened here. You just turned him to ash! ****, what in the **** makes you think I have a clue?” Shaking her head, she waved her hand towards the dust on the floor between them and stared at him, her eyes burning a brighter blue than normal. She could still taste his blood on her tongue, still feel the burn as it rushed through her veins. She wouldn’t dare admit it to the Thor lookalike in front of her, but the power she felt from those few drops had overpowered any high she had ever been on. Even with the heroin still pumping through her veins, and the pills still clouding her mind, she knew without a doubt that the blood had done something to her. Or you’ve just gone insane, her mental voice piped up, and she quickly waved it off as she took a quick mouthful of air. The gasp brought in enough oxygen that the sudden urge to vomit passed, and she tried to focus on him as he began to double.

“He shoved his ******* blood down my throat and threw me across the room. Of course I’m not okay. What kind of question is that?” Even as she spoke, she found herself taking another step back, as if she thought she could outrun him. She knew that she couldn’t - even sober. She could tell with a single look at him, that he was stronger, faster and all around better than her. The most she could do was make it out the door, and then he would be on her. Trailing her tongue over her lower lip, she brought herself up short and laughed at his inquiry. “Are you blind, dude? I was bathing in an abandoned bathroom. Do I really look like I have somewhere to go?” Before she had a chance to take another step, her knees buckled, and she crashed to the floor. With a quiet groan, she dropped her head into her hands and shook her head, her laughter almost manic as she tried to stop the building from spinning by smacking both hands to the tile. “What do you want from me?”

Lifting her head, she stared at him through her tangled strands of violet and shook her head. “I have no money, so if you’re looking for cash, you might as well finish what he started.” The anger had dropped out of her voice, and she suddenly sounded far more exhausted than she had before. The blood still coated her tongue, the taste more divine than anything she had ever witnessed. What had he done to her? Keeping her eyes on him, she watched as he began to twist, his blond hair glowing brighter than anything she had ever seen in her life. He seemed far taller from her vantage point on the floor, and each movement he made appeared as if he were weightless. However, his features began to morph into something more human than the monster her drug addled mind had reduced him too, leaving her more confused as to what was actually her reality.

<Ephraim> Shaking his head, he watched as she continued to retreat. He lifted his hands, empty, palms open flat as he showed her that he didn’t have his weapon. “Honestly, how are you not getting this? The guy that attacked you is a completely different person. I didn’t start anything with you, and I’ve got no clue what you were doing in here. I saw you were in trouble, and I came to help.”

He moved a hand to wave at the pile of ash slowly drifting into the air, growing smaller with each breath as they stood there on either side of the dust that had been the monster in question. He lifted a boot, and pushed it through the fine grains of ash as he shrugged a shoulder. “Vampires. Evil, impure things. Vile creatures, driven by lust and greed. Nothing like those fool mimics and poor interpretations the world tries to pass as vampires today. These are the real, the dark, the dead, the demons of the night. This is that feeling you get in the darkness, when your heart begins to race, and you feel like you’re being watched, like something violent and wicked is going to burst from the shadows.” He kicked at the ash again, scattering it as he sighed, and turned his eyes back to her. He watched her closely, noting the way that she swayed, the way she could hardly talk, or keep herself up. She was falling apart at the seams, and whatever they had her strung out on, it was better than what she had come from.

He lifted his hands, palms sliding through his hair as he smirked at her reaction to his features. “I’m not looking to score anything off of you. I’m just trying to help you out. These things are my enemy, too. I can’t imagine your feelings are too warm after what just happened.” He lifted his hand and brushed the dust from his sleeve. His eyes moved over her, watching as she fought to catch what little of the wave as she could, riding the high that the blood had given her, even as it drained from her face, the energy seeping from her body in a way that left her uneasy on her legs. She folded again, her knees buckling beneath her own weight as she crashed to the floor, staring up at him with eyes wide as saucers. He gave her a warm smile, and held out his hand again.

“Sorry, no Thor here. I have no hammer, and I doubt I would be worthy to lift Mjolnir anyhow. I am, as yet, a man of unmarked record. My ability is largely untested, beyond what few unblooded fledglings I might have come across in my time here in the city. I am, however, in possession of some kind of incredible gift, a blessing that I can use to hunt and destroy these creatures of the darkness.”

He lifted his hand to himself and smiled. “I am Ephraim Steele, a Paladin of the Church, from Pittsburgh. I’m only here to help with this problem,” he said as he brushed his foot through the ash again, continuing to scatter the remains, “Miss…?

<Sawyer> There was a time when she would have been able to handle herself. It was in the past, nothing more than a distant memory, but it was a far cry from the person she was today. She never would have found herself on her knees the dirty floor of an abandoned gas station. Bring on the pills, she thought numbly as her head lolled to the side, the weight too heavy for her neck to hold. She was a different person, then. She was strong, capable. Her life had never been grand - ****, it had never been above subpar - but she was never strung out. The drugs had been her mother’s scene, but a split second decision had destroyed her. Groaning quietly, she bowed her head until her forehead rested against the dust, and breathed in deep. The tremors had begun again, her body shaking so violently, it looked as if she had been tased.

“The same, different. You’re all ******* monsters,” she muttered, before pressing her palms to the ground and attempting to struggle to her feet. The urge to just lie there was nearly overwhelming, but the dark and foreboding tone of his words had her feeling uneasy in her own skin. Whatever she had witnessed, be it real or fantasy, wasn’t something she wanted to encounter again. Her arms trembled as she put her full weight on them, only to collapse before she had a chance to fully straighten. She could sense his hand above her, the fingers outstretched, waiting for her to accept his help - and she knew that she was cornered. Lifting her hand, she tangled her fingers around his, surprised at the heat that radiated from his palm. Her own skin was clammy and frozen, and she feared that if he squeezed just an ounce too hard, he would shatter her bones. Struggling uneasily to her feet, she pried her hand free the moment she was upright.

Despite all of the work, it had been a mistake.

The room was spinning violently, and the colors and objects blurring together until her empty stomach roiled. Before she had a chance to turn from him, she was doubled over with thick, yellow bile spilling from her lips. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, and had she been anyone else, she would have been embarrassed. However, she couldn’t bring it in herself to care as she choked on another dry heave. He had found her strewn on the floor of an abandoned building, her hair caked to her skull, her face sunken with smeared eyeliner and her skin smelling of a mixture of Irish Spring and City Streets. She wasn’t there to impress in her torn and dirtied jeans, or her ten year bra that was two sizes too small. She highly doubted that the number of ribs poking through her skin was appealing, either, so the fact she was upchucking the lining of her stomach onto his nikes wasn’t bothersome. In fact, he should have just left her the **** alone like she had asked, so he brought it on himself.

Remaining bent at the waist, she waited until the last heave wracked her frail body before slowly beginning to straighten again. “Everything you just described is just another high,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just given the black of his shoes a makeover. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she swayed back before shaking her head and giving a rough laugh. Her mind was racing, and yet she couldn’t pinpoint a single thought. They were nothing but a jangled mess, each more confusing or elusive than the last. Hate them? How could she hate something that she didn’t believe to exist - and even if she had, someone that had given her such a grand high with their blood? She could feel power coursing through her veins, even as the darkness crept over her vision.

No, she didn’t hate them.

“You’re a man of way too many ******* words, dude,” she muttered, just as the world tipped. Throwing her hand out, she grasped a shelf, the sound of the few remaining cans crashing to the floor echoing in her head. Shaking her head, she turned her wide, glazed eyes back to his and gave him a haunted smile. “Miss Nothing.” The name wasn’t a sarcastic response, despite the nature of her statement. It was far from it, in fact. It was the brutal truth, delivered in an empty tone. She was a nobody, a victim of circumstance. She was the demon that he spoke of, lurking the streets with a racing heart and a shadowed soul. She was garbage - and the world knew it.

Shaking her head, she made a move to walk away from him, only to have the darkness swarm her mind. Her muscles turned to lead, and before she had a chance to utter a single word, she was careening back into his body - only this time, she could do nothing to stop her collapse.

[Ephraim Steele]

<Ephraim> As she retched onto his shoes, he stood idly and waited. There wasn’t a night he didn’t come into the streets expecting more and worse to become of him, much less of his clothing. They were one of the first things he had learned to adapt and replace, the moment he had begun to bring in a few dollars left behind by the piles of ash and dust. Well. Clothes and food, that is. If he didn’t eat, he didn’t live. The same was for any of them, and to look at her, she could use more food, and some time away from whatever it was that had her so completely ensnared in its clutches.

She was high, he could tell it just by looking at her; he didn’t need to hear it from her. He shook his head at her words, and waited patiently. He knew the dance well, the crash was something powerful; something you never wanted to mess with. When she finally accepted his help and made her way to her feet, he could see her body on the verge of collapse. It wasn’t going to be long.

He had been right; hardly moments later, she crumpled into his grasp, her small, frail figure all but weightless as he bent down to lift her up. Her limp frame draped easily across his shoulder as he carried her from the abandoned shop, her hips resting easily against his cheek as he tucked one hand into his coat, keeping a hand on the hilt of his blade. He had promised to take her somewhere safe, and safe she would be.

The old sorcerer’s flower shop was between the forgotten ruin of dilapidated city and one of the more upscale neighborhoods, his apartment above the store was a spacious affair, and plenty clean. When he rapped his knuckles against the solid oak door, it opened only a crack, a series of heavy chains binding the door and the wall of the building. It would do little good when one of the real monsters came calling, but it would do for the majority of the fledglings and the creatures of lesser strength. A single blue eye, framed by pale, wrinkled flesh and lined with crow’s feet peered out of the crack.

“Ephraim?” The old man called through the crack as the tall paladin shifted the girl’s light weight against his shoulder, securing her over the joint as he wrapped his arm around her hips to keep her in place, rather than planting her face firmly into the polished tile of the floor. “Who is that you have with you? It’s not one of them is it? I don’t like the look of her. You should leave her outside. Put her back where you found her, and forget about her.” Ephraim shook his head and placed his palm on the man’s door. “Osmund, this girl needs help. You wouldn’t deny her assistance because you don’t like the way she feels would you? She isn’t one of them, but she’s been close with one recently. He’s done something to her, and I’m not about to abandon her to the streets in this state. Let us in, before I let us in.”

The man shook his head in response and shut the door.

On the other side, the soft whisper of the chains coming free one by one announced his compliance. He knew full well Ephraim could send that door lying flat into the old man’s apartment. Once inside, he motioned a hand for the old man to shut the door. “She’s going to be out of it for a while. Help me make a space for her.”

Soon, they had her tucked neatly into a bed, a fresh change of clothes over her, and her body scrubbed clean, hair washed and brushed. She was as fresh as she was ever going to be. Her old, ratty clothes were washed as carefully as they could have been, left in the best condition possible and dropped into a drawer in the dresser across the room from her bed. The mattress was large, soft, impossibly comfortable. She sank into the surface until she was nearly swallowed in her sleep. Once she was tucked into the covers, Ephraim and Osmund had returned to the sitting room, where the old man had set out an herbal tea and a tray of thin wafers. The old man nibbled on the wafers as he drank, while Ephraim quietly watched the darkness outside the window.

“How long until she wakes up, do you think?”

“It’s different for everyone, boy. Relax, and be patient. Have something to eat. These are divine.”

The muscle bound paladin shot the man a nasty glare, and the elder man withered beneath his gaze. “Yes, yes, forgive me. I sometimes forget just how pious you really are, with your appearance and all.” Ephraim waved a dismissive hand and stood, taking the steaming cup of tea and taking a long sip before he left the room in silence, slipping into his own room that the old man had given to him. He sat at the foot of the bed and set the cup on the dresser. He pushed his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.

What am I doing?

A question that might never be answered, he mused. He shook his head and lifted his hands to the tie in his golden curls, letting them fall free as he dropped the leather strip onto the dresser as well. Quickly, he drained the tea and fell back into the comfort of his mattress. Sleep claimed him faster than he would have thought, and he wouldn’t realize it until the morning light pulled him from his slumber.

<Sawyer> The smell of stale bourbon and mold filled her senses the moment she swung open the rotted wooden door. It didn’t take her long to find the source - three pizza boxes were strewn across the table, half-eaten pieces crawling with organisms that she didn’t want to decipher. Beneath the old, worn table, alcohol stained the unkempt carpet, and a single hand rested in a puddle. She could tell by the chipped red polish who it belonged to, and with a sigh, she kicked aside a bag of trash before shaking her head. Despite the desire to turn and walk back out the door, she waded her way through months of bills, old food and alcohol bottles until she stumbled upon her mother’s prone form. “You idiot,” she breathed as she knelt down, her tattered jeans clinging to her thighs with their last thread.

She remembered feeling pity at one point, but now, as she looked down at Kristen’s sunken face and pallid complexion, she felt… nothing. It was as if she were in a fog as she brushed a few tangled chocolate curls from her face, her fingertips brushing down her jaw before pressing to the side of her neck. When she felt her pulse - weak, but steady - she moved to hook her hands beneath her arms. The woman weighed next to nothing, her body wasting away as she lost herself further and further into the dark, gritty underworld. Easing her onto the couch, she set on the edge and pulled the blanket over her, her movements sluggish. She had been working for days with no sleep, and yet, she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she was certain her mother would be safe.

I wish I could hate you.

It would make everything so easy, if she could just turn and leave her behind, but she couldn’t. Everytime she tried, Kristen found a way to pull her back in. Instead, she stood back up and began to clear off the table, tossing trash into the bin and dusting carpet cleaner on the floor. It wouldn’t do much good, she knew, but at least it would be better. Gathering a few dishes, she stepped over her mother’s legs and headed for the kitchen, only to stop when she heard the pipes growl to life upstairs. Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, footsteps creaked against the stairs. “Who is it now, mother dearest?” she called out, her voice emotionless.

Without waiting for an answer, she continued on into the kitchen, tossing the dishes into the sink before turning on the water. It took a moment for it to kick in, and when it did, the flow was so weak that she knew it wouldn’t do much good. Gripping the edge of the counter, she bowed her head. She couldn’t keep doing this. She deserved so much more than this - what in the hell was she going to do? Pushing from the counter, she gasped when her back collided with hard muscle. As two large hands moved to steady her, she spun around, only to stare into a pair of eerily familiar eyes.

It was the same every night.

The dream clung to her mind, sending sparks of unease through her system that had her tossing and turning. It didn’t matter how tightly she held onto the jacket she wore, or how loud she screamed, she could never escape the demons that crept into her subconscious. The only relief she was gifted was when her mind snapped shut, concealing the face that she fought so hard to remember - only to know that she was better off forgetting.
Struggling from the spiderwebs that held her suspended between her reality and her nightmares, she pried her eyes open. At first, she couldn’t make a single thing out. The concrete was far too soft, and the foul stench of sewer and waste didn’t assault her. In fact, everything smelled strongly of flowers. Disoriented, she lifted a hand to run through her hair, expecting to feel her fingers get snagged on the knots that had twisted through her strands for months. When, instead, they moved fluidly through the suddenly silken curls, her vision began to clear. She could make out the designs in the ceiling above her, and even in the darkness, she could see the shapes of a dresser and chair. However, it wasn’t those things that caused panic to grasp her throat. It was the shadow that loomed over her and the subtle touch of cold fingers against her chest. In an instant, the haze had lifted from her mind. “What in the ****?” Bolting upright, she grasped for anything that she could use as a weapon, only to feel her fingers curl around a porcelain lamp. Jerking it from the table, she felt the wire rip out of the outlet as she tossed it.

Her aim was off, and as it shattered across the floor, she kicked from the confines of her sheets and leaped from the bed. “Who in the hell are you? What am I doing here?” Despite her questions, she didn’t give him a chance to respond as she stumbled past him, her feet sinking into carpet so soft, it felt like heaven. Where in the hell have I ended up? Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she fled into the living room, frantically searching for a way out. When she saw the heavy door in front of her, her hopes began to sink. The chains kept it pinned against the wall, and she could tell by the way they twisted and dangled that she wouldn’t be able to work them quick enough.

This sick **** is keeping me prisoner.

Dropping her head into her hands, she groaned beneath her breath before pivoting on her heel and narrowing her eyes on him. She didn’t speak as she watched him slowly step out of her bedroom, and it was then, that she realized her clothes resting in his hands. Slowly, she dropped her gaze to her form, only to cringe at the site of her bare legs. The shirt was far too tight across her chest, and yet, it wasn’t the worse thing. No, the worse was the simple black cotton boyshorts that covered her ***. Oh, ****. As reality came crashing down on her, she dropped her hands to her side, her trembling fingers tugging pointlessly at the hem of her shirt. “You undressed me? What kind of sick **** are you, old man? Where the hell have you brought me?” Her words were choked, and as she spoke the last one, she leaned heavily back against the door.

What in the hell have I done?

<Ephraim> Hours since dawn, and she’s still out. You better be right, old man.

It’s better I had him check on her. Just in case.

Sitting in silence at the table in the bright dining area, Ephraim stared through the huge window that opened onto the street, watching as the snow fell onto a silent world outside. Down in the street, barely a soul dared to brave the knife of the wind. Black coats whipped in the icy whirls of painful cold, hats clung to scalps for dear life as heavy woolen scarfs trailed in the wind. A world like that, everything was bleak; black and white. Would that everything was so simple; so right or wrong, good or bad, white or black. Some things are muddled down by morals and varying levels of human emotion and perception.

The world inside burst alive with sound, the shattering of the lamp an absurd violation of the silence of the apartment. Her shouting filled the quiet home, as she retreated into the living room to stare sullenly at the door. He sipped at his morning tea in silence, waiting. Osmund stood in the doorway to the room he had chosen for her, holding what was left of her ragged clothes. The stethoscope slung over one shoulder told him what had finally awakened her, the cold, icy touch of the frozen metal against her naked flesh. Ephraim could have told him that would happen.

He set his mug aside and turned to the freshly cleaned woman driving herself into a panic. “I…” Ephraim lifted up his hand and stopped him, before he spoke. “I brought you back here. You were unconscious. Pretty helpless, really. Leaving you there would have been as good as killing you. There wasn’t any heat in that store; the windows were all gone. Shattered. You would have been just as good sleeping in the middle of the street. Here, you were warm, and we cleaned you up. Osmund there is tending to your infections as best he can. You weren’t doing yourself any favors out there.”

He watched the way she stared, wide eyed, at the latches and chains on the door, and he shook his head. He wasn’t sure how much of the night before she might remember, if she would even remember him, or the vampire. “Those chains aren’t there for you, Sawyer. Those are there for all of our safety. I don’t know if you remember, but you had an encounter with one of the demons that run amok in this city last night. The locks are for them, though I’m still not certain a few chains will be enough to keep some of the stronger ones out. Although, so long as we aren’t inviting strangers into the apartment, then we are safe for the most part. They don’t appear to be able to step into a home uninvited. At least, most of them can’t. There’s an exception to every rule, I suppose.”

He shrugged, and brushed a hand along his shoulder as he took another sip from his tea. He lifted a hand, indicating the table and the several empty seats. The long table was mostly empty but for a tray of breakfast biscuits and sausages, a tea pot sitting amidst a small cluster of cups. He gave her a warm, inviting smile, then. “Come and sit, have some breakfast. Osmund here is a cook of some skill, and his tea is divine. I suppose it comes with being from the Isle.”

He smiled as the old man chuckled, moving to slide past them both, setting her clothes, what few they might be, on the counter. The old man turned as he made his way to take a place at the table. “You will forgive the clothes, they were all we had in the way of fitting. I’m afraid Jenna is a bit smaller than you in some places, but we made do. You will meet her later, perhaps. She should be by this morning.” He turned from her to Ephraim, lacing his fingers together around his own cup of tea. “Did you see her again?”

The mountainous blonde male shook his head and held up a hand. “We won’t bore our guest with my reports. But no. She wasn’t anywhere to be found last night. None of her followers, either. It’s hard to say what’s going on out there these nights, but it feels big. We’ll discuss more, later.” He turned to Sawyer again and gave her a grin. “If you’ll forgive us, we took the liberty of cleaning you up and taking care of your clothes. You were suffering a skin condition and a bout of lice, but it was easy enough to clear up. You should be good as new, now. You missed Jenna by a few hours though, I’m afraid. She’s come and gone already, but she helped us clean you up. Your things are in the nightstand by your bed, and you are welcome to anything you need. If you can’t find it here, then let either of us know, and we will make sure that it gets to you.”

He lifted a hand again to indicate the door. “As I said, you aren’t a prisoner here. You’re welcome to leave anytime you want, but you are always welcome here, if you need a place to stay warm and get yourself clean. This place is safe; the demons are limited here by Osmund’s powers, as are we all.”

The old sorcerer nodded, his own hand swaying through the air with a lazy air, indicating the entire home around them. “This is a place of peace. For the most part, you’ll find yourself rather incapable of harming one another, until such a time as I decide the ritual isn’t worth doing. Until then, none of you harms the other under my roof, and nothing else can bring harm to you, as well.” He turned a warm smile on Sawyer then, and tipped his head to the bedroom. “You will remember the lamp, yes? I don’t doubt you are usually a much better aim than that. Eirene’s Will demands peace. It seeks to uphold itself, even if you do your best to fight it.”

He smiled, the gesture kind as he returned to sipping his tea. Ephraim lifted a foot and pushed out a chair. “Sit with us. We helped you eat a little while you slept, but you will be hungry again by now, surely.”

<Sawyer> It wasn’t until he spoke, that she noticed the lone man sitting casually in his chair. As his deep voice reverberated through her, she flicked her gaze in his direction, the blue of her eyes darkening. Something about him was familiar - too familiar - and yet, she couldn’t seem to place it. It was as if her mind had blocked out yet another important key to her well-being, and it was refusing to allow her to access whatever it was that it deemed dangerous. Shaking her head, she ran her fingers through her hair as he spoke, her nails scratching across her scalp. Her skin was tender, as if it had been scrubbed raw, and she quickly dropped her touch. “Do you make a habit of picking up strays?” Her voice was cold as she narrowed her eyes on him once again, her arms dropping to cover her chest.

She could feel the material of her shirt move across her skin, the soft cotton sending shivers down her spine. Her other clothing - or what she had left - had been so worn, it offered her no comfort. Even in as little as she was wearing now, she thought herself better off. She was unabashed with her body - she knew that she was frail, and many had seen far more than what she was revealing to them now. As lost in her thoughts as she had been, she almost missed the part in his explanation where he used her name. It was on the tip of her tongue to demand he tell her how he knew her, but as her gaze flickered to the jeans that the old pervert had set aside, she knew. The smart thing to do would have been to figure out who she was before bringing her into their home, but the thought of him going through her belongings rubbed her the wrong way.

“So, not only did you violate me in ways that I am sure count as harassment, you went through my things. Did you leave me any privacy?”

Shaking her head, she continued to lean back against the door as she focused on his features. He was young, that much was obvious. At least, younger than his counterpart. The other man reeked of old age and far too many lives. There was wisdom in his dull eyes, but there was also a sense of hopelessness that she had seen in the gaze of others. Whatever was haunting him terrified him to the core. You can just keep running. Biting into her lower lip, she rubbed her hand over her face, feeling the way her skin felt smooth beneath her palm. Whatever they had bathed her in had washed away every hint of her life, and she hated that she felt grateful for it. They had invaded her life, and had taken it upon themselves to act like some Holy Order that needed to save her.

With a sharp intake of breath, she dropped her gaze from the blonde’s to focus on the food on the table. The scent had reached her the second she allowed her guard to fall, and as it caused her stomach to twist, she shook her head. She wasn’t about to sit around longer than she had to. No, if they were allowing her to leave, she was going to leave. “I’m no one to you, no one you need to worry about, at least. I was fine before you came along - and I’ll be fine long after I walk out this door. Go waste your time on someone else,” she snapped as she pushed herself to stand upright. Her mind was racing with the words that he had spoken, and yet, she couldn’t piece the puzzle together. Demons? Eirine’s Will? What the hell have I been forced into?

Running her tongue over her teeth, she warily eyed her clothing sitting on the counter, and she tried to measure the distance between her hoodie and the pair of men. In order to get to it, she would have to walk past them, and the thought of going anywhere near the two sent a tremble of warning down her spine. They wore the face of friends, but she had learned long ago to never trust a smile. It was one of the best deceptors, and despite the way his eyes warmed when he looked to her, she couldn’t allow herself to cave. He had violated her, brought her into a home against her will, and touched her. What else have they done to me? Wincing as the thought entered her mind, she slowly turned her back on the two, though she kept casting them nervous glances as she worked her slender fingers against the first lock. Relief filled her when it snapped free, and she quickly moved to the next as she listened to them continue their attempts to persuade her in staying.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Nothing attacked me. I just blacked out. I --- I don’t remember much, but I would remember a demon.” Even as she spoke the protest, something tugged at the back of her mind, a memory threatening to surface. She saw a flash of fang and tasted something bitter, but before she could fully dive into it, a sharp pain stabbed against her temple. Gasping in pain, she bent forward, her forehead resting against the cool wood. What in the actual hell is happening to me? Shaking the thought away, she deftly worked at the third - then the fourth - lock, until she finally made her way to the last. The second the heavy chain swung free, she gripped the knob and twisted, surprised to find that with a bit of effort, it creaked open. Turning slowly, she slid her frail form between the wall and door, though her eyes were locked on them and not the freedom that awaited her on the other side.

“If I’m not your prisoner, then you won’t follow me. Maybe I should thank you, but I’m not going to. I’m just going to leave you to your delusions,” she muttered, before finally freeing herself from the warmth of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, and the second her feet touched the cool tile of the hallway, she was bolting. The walls blurred beside her as she ran, her barefeet slapping across the slick floor and she slid past the elevator. Her fingers jammed against the button, and as she waited for it to move from the fifth floor, she kept casting nervous glances over her shoulder. She fully expected the door to open and for the large, muscle bound man to come charging after her. When it remained closed, her apprehension eased, and curiosity rose. Why wasn’t he running for her? What was he thinking? Was this all a trick of her mind?

Shaking her head, she slowly slid her gaze to the metal of the door, and stared at her reflection. She hardly noticed herself in the warped make-shift mirror. Her skin, though pale, was clear - and her eyes were bright and clean. There wasn’t a single hint of the drugs that once clouded her mind, and yet, she could still feel the affects in her system. The need for more, the cotton feeling in her mind. Her tongue was heavy, and she knew that she would need another fix - and soon. Yet, the urge was nothing like before, and she could only shake her head. This isn’t real. I’m hallucinating. This is some fucked up trip. It has to be. Closing her eyes, she tried to shake herself away, only to hear the beep of the elevator. When the doors slid open with a heavy thud, she lifted her lashes - and gasped. Lurking in the shadows was a lone man, his emerald eyes glowing bright as he gave her a twisted smile. When his hand reached for her, fingers brushing just shy of her face, she stumbled back and swallowed a scream.

Ephraim.

It took her a solid minute to clear her vision, and when she did, the man was gone - only to be replaced with a frightened child and a mother staring at her in a mix of concern and irritation. Shaking her head, she quickly turned on her heel and ran back for the apartment, her palm slamming against the door as she forced it open. Her chest rose and fell as the door swung open on its hinges, and her wild, frightened gaze found the blonde’s.

“What the hell happened last night?”

[Ephraim Steele]

Finally, she wrenched the door open, and left. He remained seated at the table, impaling a link of sausage with the point of his knife, inspecting it coolly before he bit into the juicy morsel. Chewing in contemplative silence, he turned to stare out the window, watching the snow come down again. Beside him, the old man sipped at his tea, one ear cocked toward the door that was left ajar, listening to the footsteps that bounded down the hall toward the elevator. “Shouldn’t you go after her?”

The paladin remained silent, finishing the sausage before he lifted the steaming cup of tea in his grasp, letting the thin wisps of aromatic vapor rise to his nose. He shook his head, and watched the snow in his own quiet way, brows knit in concentration as he stared into the white, blanketed world outside. It was a nightmare world out there, and none of them even realized it. He watched as a couple made their way across the street, a tall dark man with a friendly smile holding up a short, thin woman with tight, golden ringlets for hair. She was having trouble on the ice, from the look of it, and both of them were laughing about it. Laughter seemed like something so out of place here.

Happiness has no place in Hell.

Osmond moved in his seat, making to rise just before he heard Sawyer’s footfalls outside the door finally stop shy of the elevator. She turned, and cautiously made her way back to them, as he had known she would. The sort of thing that happened to her, that doesn’t just let you go. That kind of **** stays with you for the rest of your life, no matter how hard you try to lock it up and make it go away. When you look into the eyes of the devil, you’re lost forever. Down in your soul, you know it. Your body just refuses to accept that life is over for you, and you just drift through existence, waiting for it to finally give up.

Her voice was quiet. The question she posed was something small, and under normal circumstances an easy answer, a short story maybe. What happened last night?

What happened last night indeed, Sawyer.

He sipped at his tea and finally turned to look into her eyes. He could see the fear there, could see the taint, the darkness. Those were the eyes of a woman that had seen more than she was ever meant to see. There were too many of those eyes here. He took a slow breath, as if to brace himself as he set his cup aside. When he turned back to her, he nudged the chair at his side again, pushing it out for her once again. “Sit with us, and eat. We’ll talk during.”

His eyes brooked no argument, the sharp, hard stare sweeping over her lazily before he turned back to his small meal. “If you want to get dressed in some clothes more intact, the rest of Jenna’s things are available to you. She left you free run of her things while she is gone. Her room is that one there, next to yours.” He lifted a hand and flicked his fingers toward the indicated door before he set about chewing another bite of sausage. When he finished, turning back to her again, he knit his brows and stared into her eyes for a moment. “I meant what I said, you know. This place is open to you, as long as you wish it to be. We aren’t here to hurt you. The things that you’ve seen… well… it’s best I wait until you’re ready for the rest, as well. Grab the clothes and come sit.”

He gave her a smile, then, at last. It was warm, inviting, genuine. His eyes betrayed a cool, levelheadedness that the things he had been saying suggested evidence to the contrary. In fact, he was completely in control, the sort of madness that typically accompanied the sort of talk he had been giving was completely absent in him, in his eyes, in his smile. He knew what he was about, knew that what he said sounded absolutely absurd, almost comically hysterical, like he was some kind of raving lunatic and simply just didn’t know it. He was, however, painfully aware of what was happening in those streets at night. He had seen too much of it not to know.

The Darkness is gathering, and its strength is staggering. The world’s shield was paper thin, and about as useless. What good would the few of them do against the coming tide?

They had to be enough. There simply was no other choice.

His eyes moved back to his tea, watching the dark liquid as the steam rolling off its surface began to ease, until the drink was no longer streaming the thin, pale tails of sweet, aromatic vapor. He made a sound in his throat before he finished off the drink, pouring a fresh, wildly steaming cup. The tendrils of hazy steam rose off the dark surface of the tea as he took a single, scalding sip. He smiled against the heat, letting it spread through his chest as he set the cup down again. His eyes moved from the woman standing in the doorway to the street again. The couple had made their way to the street corner, standing deep in a bank of snow, drifting higher than their knees as they laughed and kissed.

He looked away at that, and found interest in a lone man making his way against the wind as it blasted his face with the frozen flakes, burning his flesh a bright red against the cold. His hand placed atop his head, he held his hat firmly in place, only to lose it to a particularly sharp gust that sent the dark shape drifting into the sky and disappearing into the sheet of falling white. When the man turned back to his trek, and vanished around the corner, the street was deserted again, and the world felt empty and dead once more. The only life left, it appeared, was here in this room.

That might very well be true, some night very soon.

Too soon.

[Ephraim Steele]

<Sawyer> Her haunted gaze pulled hesitantly from him as he began to speak and focused on the heavy door at her side. She could practically feel the weight of it in her hands, and with a resigned sigh, she twisted a single metal chain around her fingers. The cool rusted links served as a reminder of what she was about to do, and as she tightened it to the point it began to cut her circulation, she frowned. Something had lead her back to his apartment like a frightened rabbit, and it warred with her pride. It wasn’t as if she had it in spades, and she could feel the fear winning with each second of silence that slipped through her fingers. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she stared at the door and instantly hated everything that it stood for. She knew the moment that it shut with her inside, she would never be the same, but it was giving her no choice. Somehow, this inanimate object was the source of all of her problems, and she ******* hated it. Maturity wasn’t something she had, and when she noticed how it started to mock her, she gave the chain a rough pull. The door swung on its hinges with a desperate cry before slamming shut, the force strong enough to shake the buildings foundation.

“I’m here for answers, not so you can bark orders at me,” she ground out, her tone filled with as much light as the dirt that stuck to the soles of her worn-down shoes. “And I’m not putting on your girlfriend's clothes, thanks.” There was only so much pride that she could swallow, and she was already feeling herself weakening. The aroma of a fresh cooked meal pulled her in, and ****, it smelled amazing. Her stomach twisted in another painful knot, causing her hand to rest against it as a loud, unmistakable growl filled the room. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she moved forward, her feet slapping against the hardwood in her haughty movements. She knew it was immature, but ****, she didn’t care. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was in need of a fix. Something told her, though, that letting her get her high would be the last thing on Thor’s mind. Falling into the seat offered, she used the leg of the table to push herself far away from him, the distance leaving her feeling cold.

What the ****?

Shaking her head hard enough to cause her vision to blur, she dipped forward and ran her fingers through her thick violent strands and clutched them. Even their ******* floor was pristine. Everything about them was beginning to grate on her last nerve, and if it wasn’t for the emerald eyes reflecting in every surface, she would have bolted then and there. Instead, she placed her hands against her bared knees and pushed herself upright, her blue eyes glittering with a dazed kind of defiance. “I don’t do sausage. Do you have bacon? Beer? No, **** the beer. I need something stronger. Vodka.” Her tone was sharp, and despite the tremor beneath her words, she seemed certain in her request. Resting back in her seat, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and tried to ignore the uncomfortable weight of them. Despite her bra having been old and worn, she had preferred it over the lack of security she was currently facing.

Instead of doing anything to deal with it, she reached over the table and pulled a piece of toast from the plate. The warmth burned her fingers, and as she brought it to her mouth, her stomach churned. How long had it been since she had last ate? Despite her hunger, the very thought of sinking her teeth into the bread and chewing made her nauseous. Turning her head to the side, she closed her eyes for a second before forcing herself to take a bite. The taste exploded over her tongue, and within seconds, the entire piece was devoured. Without waiting for his permission, she reached over and grabbed two more slices, the nausea having fully subsided as the bread soaked up the bile in her stomach. “Who was that last night and how did you just happen to be there?” Biting into her toast, she sat back in her chair and rested her foot on the edge, the motion bringing her knee to her chest. She seemed unabashed about her lack of clothing, having already sealed her fate when she chose food over dignity.


<Ephraim> Sitting quietly, Ephraim sipped his tea as he watched the war that two sides of her were waging one against the other. He could see it in the way she hesitated, in the timid way she stepped forward only after chancing a glance back. Half of her wanted to bolt, to head into the night and forget all about them. It was the other half, the half that drove her near to madness with curiosity, with a hunger for answers and a logical association with his offer and the food on the table with a connection to those answers, that he was interested in. He flicked his thumb silently against the grip of his cup, the porcelain making a quiet sound against his nail as he watched her in silence.

He didn’t speak for a long time, emerald stare watching as she settled into the chair, pushing herself to a distance before she leaned in, making to swipe away as much food as she dared before she piped up, offering her own wishes for the breakfast. Osmond was gone in a moment, the old man in the kitchen before she could take another breath, leaving the two of them alone. Still, he watched, silent as she chewed on the toast, each bite a crunch that sounded like an explosion in the silence of the dining room. His brows knit as he looked her over, listening to her questions and turning them over in his mind. He said nothing, and turned his eyes back to the empty street.

Below, the snow drifted across the road in huge wafts of white, powdery clouds, only to gather at another corner. Every effort that had been made to clear the streets had been met with ever more stubborn powder, until even the tenants had forgone shoveling, in favor of risking their necks on the slippery surface. Their world was frozen in time, everything stuck in place until the thaw. The world of the monsters never slept, however. Every night, they were out there, every night, they were growing stronger, their numbers rising at an alarming rate. His features twisted into a frown, hidden behind the scruff of his facial hair as he exhaled, setting his tea, finally, in the small china saucer before he turned his face to the corner where the couple had vanished only minutes before.

“Tell me, Sawyer. What do you know about what’s been going on here the past few months? What do you know about the things happening in Harper Rock?” His words were drifting lazily through the silence, almost as distracted as his stare as he watched the street. The way he sat, leaning subconsciously into the glass, he appeared to be waiting, watching for someone or something, but if she had asked him, he couldn’t have told her who, or what, he was looking for. Something was wrong here, something that set his nerves on edge, and he didn’t like it at all, not so close to home. There was no way that Heather had found him, not this late in the day.

He had seen what happens to them in the daylight. One of her girls had picked a fight she couldn’t finish, and tried to run at the advancing sun. He had watched her burn, blood pouring from her by places he hadn’t known you could even bleed from. She had screamed in agony, begged for mercy.

Killing her had been mercy. He had released her from that horror.

He couldn’t imagine the pain. She looked to be on fire, her flesh bubbling and cracking beneath the very kiss of light against her skin. The warmth of the day hadn’t so much as risen to greet them, and she was all but seared to a charred brick of flesh clinging desperately to what bone would offer it sanctuary. He wouldn’t have given her an hour before her flesh began to bake to crackling. The smell had been enough to turn his stomach. Even now, sitting in the silence of his new home, he would swear that he had heard her whisper a thanks, a blessed, sweet release his blade had offered her. It only took the purest of agony to teach these monsters exactly what they had become, but in the end, even they could not deny the horror of what it was that they were.

Sharp eyes moved from the spot that continuously drew them as he forced himself to glance to the other end of the street. A young woman carrying bags in her hands, weighed down by the burden, fought against the wind, her chocolate curls whipping in the wind as she pushed her way toward their side of the street. He didn’t like any of this. There were too many people here, innocent people, and this darkness that tainted the street was an ominous, evil thing that threatened each and every one of them. It would have to be purged. Tonight, if he could help it.

He turned back to her, finally, his eyes on her as he shook his head. “And, I don’t have a girlfriend. Jenna is a friend, helping me and Osmond in our mutual interest. She has her own personal interests, as I have. Do what you will, but the offer is there for you to take, when you decide you’d rather not freeze in the night.” He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against a wiry cheek before he lifted his teacup again. “As for your alcohol, you won’t find any here. I’m sure there is a soda or two in the refrigerator, and coffee in the cabinets. Mountain Dew, I believe. And some Colombian dark. Whatever tickles you.” he shrugged, and felt himself turning back to the street again as he tightened his hold on the tea and fought the urge to look again.

“Whatever you decide, you’re as much a part of this as the rest of us now, Sawyer. It’s up to you how far you want to take it; what you want it to become.”



<Sawyer> Digging her foot into the chair, she narrowed her eyes on him and waited. With each second of his stony silence that passed, she found herself approaching the end of her patience. It was like he was determined to see how far he could push her before she lost control. She was already at the end of her rope, the twine rotted and frayed from overuse, and he was refusing to budge. A tic began to work beneath her eye, and she shifted uneasily in her chair as her skin tightened over her bones. She was going out of her ******* head, and he was just sitting there, staring out the goddamned window while he tapped his nail against his pathetic little tea cup. Who the **** drank from those anymore?

Tap, tap, tap.

Ten seconds.

Tap, tap, tap.

Twenty seconds.

Tap, tap, tap.

She was going to scream.

Tap, tap, tap.

[font=#A62D4D] “Will you ******* stop that,” [/color] she snapped as the porcelain drew the heat of her glare. She could feel the wood dig into her sole, the force of her restraint causing physical harm as she fought for control. The desire to lunge over the table and rip the cup from his hands was nearly overpowering, and it was only by the grace of God that she remained seated. Did he not know that she was coming out of her skin - her very ******* mind - as he stood there, so calm and collected? Bracing herself for the moment the cup hit the saucer, she grit her teeth to stop from screaming out as it ground across the plate. The sound reverberated in her mind, though the screech was far from her worse problems. Over it all, she heard his voice, a soft whisper that seemed to outweigh everything else. She picked up on the blasé tone, and her irritation jumped to the forefront once again. He ******* drew her here, forced her hand, and he couldn’t even be fucked to give her the amount of attention this ordeal deserved.

Who the **** was this guy?

“Does it look like I know anything, Thor? You found me tweaked out of my ******* mind,” she reminded him, a brow raised as she forced herself to focus on his features. [colo=#A62D4D] “It’s not like I’m exactly tethered to this reality.” [/color] Her voice had a bite to it, and as she fell against the back of her chair, she tossed the remains of her toast onto the table. Her gaze followed the path of the food, and she watched as the miniscule crumbs flew through the air. If he couldn’t care enough about her sanity to look her way, then she wouldn’t give a damn about the mess she was causing of his precious apartment. ****, she just wanted out of there. Shifting again in her seat, she twisted her wisp of a form so she could follow his line of sight out the glass, though she could see nothing that caught her attention. An idiot of a woman who thought shopping in this weather was a bright idea - and snow. A lot of ******* snow. However, it was like he saw something that no one else could see, a threat that left him carved from stone. He was like a dog on watch, though, the lines of tension evident in the tightening of his eyes. She half expected him to start snarling and clawing at the glass like some rabid guard dog.

Instead, he turned towards her like a man renewed, his eyes glittering with intent that she couldn’t place. Unease had her shifting her position, and she put both feet on the icy hardwood as if to prepare herself for a quick getaway. It wasn’t until he lifted that ******* teacup again that she felt her control slip, the grating sound of porcelain on porcelain finally causing her threadbare rope to snap. “I honestly don’t give a damn if you’re ******* her or the old bag of bones in the next room, Mr. Trump, I just want my ******* answers!” Slamming both hands against the heavy surface of the table, she was so focused on him, that she didn’t notice the crack that spiderwebbed through it.

“You’re just sitting there, staring out the window like some dog and bouncing around the subject at hand. You told me you were going to give me answers, so put the goddamned cup down and ******* tell me!” She couldn’t explain what came over her in that minute. It was as if her world shifted and she became a woman possessed. There was no rhyme or reason that a five foot six, hundred pound girl soaking wet should have been able to do what she did next. The second the last word left her lips, she gripped the table and lifted it, the sudden shift in position causing the dishes to crash to the floor as she swung with all of her strength. It flew from her hands to slam into the wall opposite of her where it splintered, raining pieces of broken oak around them, leaving her standing in the wake of her own destruction with wide, unfocused eyes.


<Ephraim> As her anger began to boil to the surface, he watched warily, keeping his eyes on her in some angle or another, his hands resting easily against the surface of the table. He could see her losing control of herself, could see a power rising inside of her that he doubted that she understood. He knew that he hadn’t quite grasped it yet, but he was certain now that it was his fear, his hope that was pushing ignorance on him like an undesired shield from the truth.

What he was seeing was a vampire’s reaction, the nature of an animal, wild and rabid, that needed to be put down. When she threw the table, his hand moved with a speed like lightning, the tip of his blade made a crack against the air as the speed of the swing broke the barrier of sound. The point of the razor sharp weapon stopped just shy of puncturing the hollow of her throat. The needle-like point dug lightly into the velvety soft flesh of her neck, a single crimson tear weeping from her skin and creeping down her neck, through the hollow of her collarbone before staining the shirt she wore.

He turned the blade, the motion making the presence of the weapon more apparent against her skin without doing any further harm as his stone cold stare levelled on her, eyes like ice burrowing into hers as he kept his grip firm, the power he had been endowed with brimming from every muscle of his body, the blade in his hand an extension of his own arm. Dispatching her was the last thing he wanted to do. Too many things didn’t make sense. The sun poured through the window, lighting the entire room. She sat in the full force of it, without flinching. This, for starters, was curiously suspect. Along with her lack of the usual dental equipment the others had been endowed with, or the particular lack of desire to parlay with him until things were far too late.

He frowned, and looked at the floor, littered with shattered porcelain and the splinters of the table, before his eyes moved back to her again. Quietly, he ground his teeth in thought as he held her at bay with the length of his blade before he chose to speak. “I asked you a question, Sawyer. Directly pertaining to what is going on here, because if I didn’t need to, I didn’t want to talk to you like you were five. I wanted to credit your intelligence more than that. Someone from the streets might very well know a lot more about this than I might. It would appear I was mistaken.”

His thumb ran against his lips and drew away the beads of the tea that had lingered there when she had crushed his teacup with the flipping table. “There are things in this city, a kind of evil, that are infecting innocent people, bystanders with no connection to this war beyond simply being human. They are murdering and changing hundreds, running wild through these streets by night, and what you are, what you’ve become because of what one of those creatures have done to you, I can’t begin to venture a guess. I’ve not encountered anything like you before.” He tightened his grip on his blade, ready to defend himself and his home if she chose to make a move for either.

“The man that attacked you last night was a vampire.” he twitched the blade just enough to remind her that it was there before she would speak. “I know how crazy I sound. I thought Father Uphrin was crazy, too. He was just some lunatic to us all, but we followed his teaching, because what he taught us was a way to purify our bodies, to become stronger, faster, through sanctification. I’m the last of his followers, now. The rest of my party was murdered in less than three days here in this city. I’ve seen the truth, the hardest way possible, and I fight so that others might not ever have to learn of the evil the way that I had to learn.”

He let his eyes watch hers in a moment of silence, waiting, preparing, ready to counter her irrational anger with force, if he must. She wasn’t a vampire. That much, he was certain of. What she was, however, was beyond him, and was far from natural. She had the powers of a demon, but not the aura, the sort of cloud of darkness that clung to the others like another skin, warning him away, or drawing him to, he hadn’t sorted out yet. She exhibited their strengths, without much of their weaknesses. This could either be good news for him, or the start of something far more horrifying that the simple vampire slaying he had come to Harper Rock to do. “There is a coven, growing in the slums not far from here. They are the bane of this community, preying on the people here and in the neighborhoods surrounding the slums. There are dozens like them, all around Harper Rock. This one is where I’ve made my start, set my sights. They are growing faster than I can kill them, faster than I can find new recruits. These things, Sawyer, they aren’t so easily removed. They aren’t to be taken lightly, and what you are… what you’ve become? I can’t help but note the similarities between you and them. The differences, though… the differences are the only reason your head is still on your shoulders.”

His mouth twitched as he tightened the grip on his blade again. “How this continues is up to you. I’m going to pull my blade from your throat now.” He was true to his word, twisting the blade away from her without further damage, though the superbly crafted weapon remained at the ready, prepared to defend as he retracted the folded steel from her flesh. “I think, truthfully, we’re going to need to consult some of Osmond’s friends for more information on what has happened to you.”

He paused for a moment, thinking, before he drew a cloth from the ruined table and wiped the drop of blood from the tip of his blade. “And, my name is not Thor. Please, call me Ephraim.”



<Sawyer> She was an animal; caged and exposed. Her muscles were coiled like springs, her skin tight and her cerulean gaze wild. One wrong move, and she would snap. It didn’t surprise her that he had reacted as he did, his blade pressed against her throat before the final wood-chip had hit the ground. What did give her pause, though, was the fact that she was still breathing. She could see the tension in his arm, the way his bicep twitched as he stayed his killer instincts. Trailing her eyes along his thick arm, she took in his beard, thin lips and strong nose, until she finally met his glacial stare. All warmth and acceptance had faded, though a thread of doubt remained, causing him to hesitate in his attack.

“Moron,” she whispered, her accent thick with tension, “where I come from, hesitation gets you ******* killed.” Even as the words left her, she made no move on him. She kept her hands at her sides, her fingers curled inward so that her nails dug deep into her palms, causing blood to trickle between her clenched knuckles. He was a ******* nuisance, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. If she had, she wouldn’t be standing there now, withering under his glare like a flower at the first signs of winter. Narrowing her eyes on him, she forced herself to remain still until he finally snapped the blade free, giving her room to breathe freely. Without missing a beat, she lifted her blood coated fingers to her throat and curled them around the slender column as if to make sure everything was in place.

“I’m pretty sure my question was enough indication that I have no ******* clue about anything. You wouldn’t be the first to overestimate my intelligence.” Grinding her teeth together in an action that mirrored his, she finally dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, leaving the crimson stain of her fingerprints on her neck untouched. This man in front of her, this warrior, was seriously one of the most entertaining - and infuriating - people she had ever had the displeasure to meet. His eyes held a glint of steel to them, that even the most uneducated person couldn’t mistake as determination as he spoke, leading her to the conclusion that he bought into the Grimm Fairytale that he was spouting. It was almost too amusing for her to remain angry, and then he had to take it a step further. In a flash, the amusement was turned to ash as her rage roared back to life like a hurricane.

What you have become.

“I’ve not become ******* anything,” she snapped, her voice rising as her panic - and doubt - grew. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you really believe what you’re saying or is this some kind of sick joke? I thought you were going to give me answers - valid answers - but you’re just talking nonsense. Vampires don’t exist. I don’t know what killed your party, but I’ve heard what PTSD can do to some people. It’s seriously time you start looking into some help for yourself.” Scraping her nails across her scalp, she curled her fingers to bunch handfuls of violet into her palms as she shook her head. Am I being too blind to see the truth? The thought gave her a brief pause, but within seconds, she laughed it off. No, she wasn’t blind. She was a drug addict, a freak and useless, but she wasn’t blind. Ephraim was just seriously tweaked on something, and she had somehow found herself in the middle of his and his cults manic delusions. Running her tongue over her lower lip, she wet the dried and cracked skin as she searched his face, though she hadn’t a ******* clue what she was looking for. The truth? Signs of insanity? Of hope?

“You two, you and Gandalf in there, you’ve got one hell of a scheme going on here. I mean, seriously, kudos - but I don’t have time for this ****. Go back to the streets, find some other tweaked out girl in need of a bath to fulfill your fantasies. Trust me, there’s plenty, Thor, and some don’t have a boyfriend that would raise hell if they don’t check in soon.” Holding her wounded hands in front of her in a sign of submission, she began to back for the door, her steps easy and as non-threatening as she could make them. Before he had a chance to react, she was out the door, the heavy wood swinging with a loud and familiar creak on its hinges. It was a serious case of deja vu, only this time, she didn’t stop at the elevator. Instead, she bee-lined for the stairway, her feet slapping across the cold tile as she ran down the two flights of stairs and out the door to freedom.

She instantly regretted it.

The adrenaline pumping through her veins was no where near powerful enough to battle the frigid temperatures that only Canada seemed to offer. The second she emerged from the warmth of the building, her skin felt as if it had turned to ice and her feet began to burn. Gripping her hands around her biceps, she huddled herself forward to shelter what part of her body she could from the wind, and headed down the street, her steps hurried. She had no idea if he was behind her, and she wasn’t about to take any chances that he was. She still couldn’t figure out what his point was or what he was after, but if he was some deranged psychopath looking for a cult bride, she doubted he would waste too much more time on the likes of her. Or maybe he likes them fucked up and worthless, her mind countered, and she shook her head. It was possible. Some people really got a kick out of the freaks of the world. Her only hope was that mentioning Bradley had been enough to deter his interest long enough for her to escape.

Teeth chattering and feet feeling as if they were made of ice, she glanced towards the street signs and frowned. She was miles away from her usual haunts, and she had no money to her name to catch a transit or call for help. She doubted that Brad would answer, anyways. He claimed to love her, but he treated her no better than a whore, but he kept her in a steady supply and she didn’t ask questions or demand attention. Most days, she could hardly remember his face. Even now, she couldn’t bring him to the surface - all she saw when she tried was ice blue eyes and a halo of blonde hair. “****,” she sighed, before holding a hand out to brace against the wall. She was exhausted and ******* cold. There was no way she was going to be able to find her way back anytime soon, and she needed some place warm. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure that he hadn’t followed her, she ducked into the nearest building and curled into a corner, her body already craving a fix for her addiction. Sweat cooled on her forehead and dripped down her nose as pain wracked her frail form. She had only wanted to escape - but maybe she should have stayed a little while longer, though none of it mattered then. Within seconds, exhausted and pain claimed her, sending her spiralling into darkness.

Nine hours later

Curling her hands against her ribcage, she stepped from the building and into the dark, her hands shaking as she gripped her stomach tighter. She could still taste the bile on her tongue, and she knew that all of the hard work they had done to clean her up had been for naught. She was a ******* disaster. Shaking her head, she quickly stepped into the middle of the street, only to have a hand curl around her shirt. With a shocked yell as she was pulled back, she threw her hands out and stopped her descent to the snow covered ground a second before her face would have crashed into it. “Looks like Ephy’s got himself some fresh meat,” a snide voice purred, before shoving a heel into her side and sending her sprawling onto her back.

Squinting against the bright light of the street lamp, Sawyer made out the outline of a thin girl before her vision began to clear. As it did, her features came into view - shockingly large eyes, angular face, and thin lips that were twisted into a sinister grin as she glared down at her. “Hell, you’re ugly. Go home, E.T.” It probably wasn’t the brightest idea to taunt her attacker in the middle of the night, but she was seriously reaching her limit of patience with the entire population. Pressing her hands to the cold ground, she leaped back to her feet in a movement that was far too graceful for her and dusted off her bare thighs. “Attitude. Maybe I won’t kill you. Heather might like someone like you,” the redhead sneered, before her hand shot out, fist aimed for her face. Ducking the blow, she reacted without thinking. Swinging her hand out, she barely noticed when her nails morphed, turning into large, razor-sharp claws that embedded themselves into the redhead’s stomach. The strength of the blow sent the woman flying, her back slamming into the wall behind her with a sickening crack that had Sawyer cringing as she stared down at her blood covered hand. “What in the **** is happening to me?”

“He’s recruiting vampires now? How the mighty have fallen,” the thin woman quipped as she pushed herself upright, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “You’re dead.” It was a simple sentence, and it sent a chill down her spin that battled the fierce storm around them. With a cry that echoed in her mind, the redhead lunged, her movements far too quick for her eyes to trace. One second she was standing, and the next she was flying, her body slamming into an abandoned car, causing the glass to shatter around her. Blinded by blood, she didn’t see the girl until she was on her, fingers wrapped around her throat and cutting off her air supply. Lifting her hands, she pushed at her chest, fully expecting to send her soaring - only to have nothing happen. Mustering all of the strength she could, she pushed against her as shadows began to creep into her vision, and the redhead just laughed and tightened her hold.

“Aw, looks like you’re all out of juice, sugar.”

<Ephraim> “Where I come from, control means the difference between murder and execution. I would find it pretty hard to recruit anyone if I left a trail of innocent bodies behind me, now wouldn’t I?” He lifted a hand and brushed it across his shoulder as her temper flared. He didn’t move to stop her as she jumped to her feet and ran for the door. He looked outside, watching in a solemn silence as the sun’s light slipped behind the cityscape, the last few rays of the day disappeared into shadow. The darkness crept across the city, slowly closing its grasp around the throat of the living, choking the light and the life out of everyone and everything in its reach. It was an oppressed world down in the streets, a world of burden and despair. Why anyone would actually want to throw themselves into that nightmare, he would never understand.

He stood, dropping the long sheath of his blade down his back, the polished wood drawn across his spine by a slender thread of leather that encircled his torso, holding the weapon in place, where he could easily reach the long blade and draw it in an instant, already in a downward arc. He tucked a MAC-10 machine pistol into his leather coat, the short, squat weapon bulky in his jacket but small enough to keep from hindering his movements. The automatic fire was likely to help in his lack of skill with any kind of projectile weaponry. He took the help he could in whatever areas he would need it. Firearms was certainly one of them. He pulled three small grenades from the shelf, neatly tucking them into small pockets sewn into the inside of his jacket, just for that purpose. They sat easily in the pockets, and could be drawn with a flick of a wrist and a single finger in the pin.

Satisfied, he made his way down to the street, locking up the shop behind him. He made for the corner, the place that had been calling him all afternoon, the darkness stronger now than it had been all day. Something dangerous was lurking right by his front door, and he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t let such a bold insult slide, and would have to make an example out of these invaders, these scouts. He could taste Heather all over this. When he rounded the corner, the scene was already beginning to unfold. Glass littered the snow around a pair of feminine figures, one shoving the other into the side of the car, pinning her against the unforgiving steel as she struggled for her freedom. Purple hair wasn’t so common, was it? He could see the flash of the unusual color in the thrashing of the pair, the redhead standing over her clearly overpowering her larger opponent. He could feel the unease radiating from her like an oppressive aura, a weight on the air that made every hair on his body stand on end. He reached over his shoulder, silently pulling the blade free of its sheath against his spine.

The woman’s choked sounds filled the street, the only other sound the kicking of her worn boots against the snow covered ground, her body thrashing against the car as her life was slowly choked from her. The redhead sneered as she squeezed harshly at her windpipe, threatening to snap the cartilage like a twig. “Not so snotty now, are you, Sugar? Just relax, it’ll be over in just a second.” She chuckled as the woman beneath her began to weaken, her struggles dying to faint twitches as the life fled from her, threatening to abandon her entirely. The sneer on her lips was a satisfied smirk as she leaned down into the woman’s face. “Die, you slut, and I’ll make sure he sees what’s left of you when I’m done.” She chuckled, the sound a throaty laugh that caught in her throat as she gasped, her chest erupting in a length of bloody steel. She tried to scream in pain, and all that would leave her lips was blood, washing down her chin in a wave as her hands abandoned the blood thief’s throat to grip at the blade that had pierced her heart. Wide eyes grew wider, the terror that filled those deep browns watched the face of the woman in front of her as she choked on another gush of blood.

“****.”

She hissed in pain, before she slumped on the length of the blade, her limbs falling limply at her sides before she slipped from the blade, hitting her knees. She maintained a sort of unsteady balance as she swayed, before toppling into the snow, the impact bursting her body into a cloud of ash. Hard blue eyes turned to the nearly fading Sawyer, one hand helping her remain upright, leaning against the car. “Are you alright?” He asked the question as another figure burst from the shadows, a blade held high over her head as she wailed. “You killed Sabrina!” Her blade flashed in the light, his own sword raising in a wicked arc, the two impacting just above Sawyer’s head, the blow deflected away from them both with ease. The attacker’s weapon snapped in half, the blade tumbling through the air to fall, lost in the snow.

A blow to her jaw silenced her, her legs wobbling drunkenly as she groaned in pain. She lifted the broken blade and made to swing at him again, his own sword jamming through her foot and pinning her into the spot. She grunted in agony, her blood washing black against the air in a kind of smoky ethereal cloud as she fought to free her foot. “Wait, please wait. We can talk something out…” Her hand moved against the handle of her blade as shadows crept along its length, forming a weapon out of the very darkness that surrounded her. “Just don’t kill me…” She swung the blade as quick as she could manage, and his hand caught her wrist. The other pulled the pistol from his jacket and pumped six rounds into her gut, two slamming into her chest. Black, smoky blood clung to the air as she gushed blood from her mouth, vomiting the inky black stuff into the air as she fell to one knee, her other foot still impaled by the sword. Soft, pain filled brow eyes stared up at him, tears running down her face as she shook her head. “I’m sorry…” He pressed the muzzle of his pistol against her lips and forced her mouth open, digging the weapon into her skull and resting across her tongue.

“If you’ve got the spine to crawl back here, tell the ***** this is what happens when she comes after the people I care about.” She tried to shake her head, squealing some kind of muffled plea as he pulled the trigger. Three small rounds burst her skull like a melon, her body falling limp into the snow. He spat into what was left of her coat, most of her abdomen bare against the cold as he yanked the blade from her foot. He turned to Sawyer, then, and ran the flat of the blade across his palm, the inky black blood rolling off his skin like smoke. “These girls always travel in a group. At least two of them, every time. Keep your eye out for more.” He reached out a hand, then, and tipped her head back to inspect her throat. The bruising was deep, but was already managing to fade, the prints of “Sabrina” s fingers turning an ugly yellow-green against her flesh. “She about had you. What happened?”

At his feet, the second corpse was slowly melting into shadow, a darkness creeping over her until she was naught but a dark shape, slowly evaporating in small wisps of blue-black smoke.

[Sawyer (DELETED 7853)]

<Sawyer> With her vision dimming, she could make sense of absolutely nothing. The hand on her throat was far too tight, and her air was far too constricted. Her feet drug against the ground as she tried to find traction, to find anything that would save her life. It was strange, how one minute, she didn’t give a **** - and the next she was fighting to survive. The light of the moon illuminated the vampire’s hair, causing the red to light like a flame, and it was the only thing she saw. The fire was drawing closer, and she could feel its breath on her face, putrid and thick, as it pulled her forward - only to slam her back again. The car rocked on its suspension with a wail - or was that her? ****, she didn’t know. Lifting her hands, she curled them feebly around her wrists, her nails breaking against her skin as she tried to claw her way free.

She needed to ******* breathe!

Parting her lips, she tried to scream - to cry - to do anything to deter the attack, but the only thing to emerge was a choked gasp as the woman’s fingers tightened more. Where was her strength now? Her power? Where was the ******* monster that he thought she was? She had been able to throw her across the street seconds ago, but now, she couldn’t even find the strength to pry her fingers from her throat. She was ******* useless. As usual. Shadows began to dance behind her eyes, and as she felt her limbs start to numb, the deathly hold suddenly loosened. All she could see was the glint of blood covered steel as it stopped scant inches from impaling her, and suddenly the redhead was falling back, her hands dropping to her sides. She swayed where she stood, her hands clawing at her own throat, as if that would help her breathe in the delicious mouthfuls of frigid air. It was a painful process, and when he offered her his arm, she did nothing to fight him. Instead, she turned, and buried her face against his chest. “****--”

The sound of metal against metal stopped her words cold, and when she was suddenly pushed back, she stumbled into the car and slid to her knees, her hands shaking. She was weak, cold, and she needed a goddamned fix to numb whatever the **** was happening. There was no way she was going to get out of this unscathed. She would never be the ******* same. Unable to watch as he disposed of another woman, she kept her gaze down until she felt his hands on her, lifting her steadily back to her feet. His eyes glinted like ice, and she felt his hands against her face, her throat, assessing damage that she was too fucked to care about. Running her tongue over her lower lip, she worked her throat as she tried to speak - only to grunt in response.

What happened?
What the **** do you think happened, you psychopath?

The accusation was clear in her dim eyes as she swayed into his arms, her fingers gripping his shirt as she attempted to keep herself upright. Again, she parted her lips to speak, to tell him that he had brought this on her, to lay the blame at his feet - only to find that she couldn’t. She couldn’t form the words, she couldn’t even ******* remember the words. Instead, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she was collapsing towards the ground, her legs unable to support her weight.

--------

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Her voice shook as she whispered the words, and his lips twisted into a sinister smirk. Flinching back when his fingers moved along the length of her jaw, she tried to pry herself from his grasp, only to find herself unable to move. “Why? You really though that ***** killed me?” Gritting her teeth at his words, she finally shrugged from beneath his hold and stepped back, hoping the distance between them would allow her room to breathe. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together everything that had happened - and was happening. There was no ******* way he had survived that. No one could have survived that, and yet here he was.

“She did kill you! I ******* watched her do it!”
“Then how do you explain this, kitten?”

As the pet name fell from his tongue, she felt her blood run cold. It was impossible. It was ******* impossible. He was ******* real.

Turning on her heel, she took off in a run, her feet pounding against the grime coated floor as she ducked for the stairs, only to draw up short when he appeared like a shadow in front of her. Stumbling back a few steps, she gasped when she fell into the table, his hand bracing her jaw faster than she could blink. “You’ve grown up nicely, kitten. Are you sure you’re her daughter?” His voice was like honey as he leaned in, pressing his lips to her cheek. His touch was frozen, and there was no breath on her skin as he trailed his lips to her throat. “You smell so ******* delicious.”

Frozen in place, she could do nothing but whimper when she felt his teeth graze across her skin, her fingers digging into the weathered table behind her. Fear had her immobilized, but it was something more. She felt as if he had slithered into her mind and taken control of her body, bending her to his will as he dotted kisses along her shoulder and collarbone before moving back to her ear, his tongue licking along the shell with a bitter laugh.

“I can’t wait to make you mine.”

The scream was what woke her, and as she bolted upright in bed, she gripped her blankets tight to her chest. The nightmare had left her in a cold sweat, and for a moment, she swore she was still trapped in his cold embrace, his lips still pressed to her skin. It was the first time that particular dream had happened, and yet, it seemed so vivid, so real, that she couldn’t shake it. Running her hand through her hair, she nearly leaped out of her skin when the door flew open and a rather harried looking woman flipped on the light, blinding her. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? ****, you don’t look so good,” she rambled, before dropping her hand to conceal the sword that was gripped in her slender hand. Kicking the blankets off of her legs, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the blaring light, and tried to take her in. With her vision blurred and her head pounding, she could barely make out her shape - let alone her face. Parting her lips to speak, she found herself doubling over instead, yellow bile spewing from her lips like a scene from The Exorcist. “Oh, ****. ****, ****, ****. He’s going to ******* kill me. Okay, hold on. Don’t die on me.” Spinning on her heel, the woman rushed off into the apartment, and soon, she heard the sounds of her frantic voice as she spoke to someone before the thud of footsteps echoed through the house.

She was suddenly surrounded, hands pressing to her back, to her face and soon fingers were moving through her hair. Tipping her head back, she groaned as she felt a cool liquid against her lips, and she whimpered when the hands moved to her stomach. The voices were far away, and the words they spoke meant nothing to her. Pain radiated through her form, and suddenly, arms were around her, lifting her from the comfort of her bed. Her head fell to a bony shoulder, and she kept her eyes closed as she was moved swiftly through the apartment. “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep, I know you can’t hear me - or can’t understand me - but I’m sorry. I should have been there, just please, hold on. He needs you. You can’t die on him. On us.”

What in the **** was she talking about?

Unable to concentrate, she barely flinched when she felt herself being submerged in cold water. It washed over her skin, and she simply dropped her head to the tile. “Please,” she whispered, but she had no ******* clue what she was asking for. The woman quietly shushed her as she tipped her head back, pouring a cup of cold water over her head. “It’s going to be okay. He’ll be here soon.” He? He ******* who? What the **** was happening? Shaking her head, she tried to push against the edge of the tub, only to groan when pain shot through her stomach and twisted her in knots. She wasn’t sure how long she remained like that, bent over the edge of the tub, but soon she was moving again. Slender arms embraced her and lifted her to her feet, and holding her up against the wall, she dried her off before pulling an overly large t-shirt above her head. The scent was familiar, but in her state, she couldn’t quite place it. With a low whimper, she felt another pair of arms hoist her to her feet.

[font=#FFFFFF] “I got her, get her something to drink.” [/color] The voice was gruff - and she instantly tensed in his arms, but she couldn’t figure out why. What was so wrong with him? Instead of fighting, however, she merely dropped her head back to his arm and made another pathetic sound as she trembled in his hold. The nightmare still clung to her, but it was more than that. She was ******* craving, and she was craving bad. The need to lose herself, to pull from this world - this fucked up reality - was far too powerful, and she was crashing against the cages in her mind. Her body was sweating the toxins, battling her will to lose herself back in the need, and she found herself suddenly slamming her fist into his chest. Either he was too strong - or she too weak - but he barely reacted as he eased her into her cleaned bed, the sheets cool and smelling of lilacs.

“He’s almost here. You just rest. It’s okay. Close your eyes.” Fingers once again were tenderly moving through her hair, this time, lingering before he suddenly pulled back and headed for the door. Even free of their embraces, she couldn’t move, and instead, she sunk into the mattress, her eyes closing as she whispered the one name she could remember.

“Ephraim…”

<Ephraim> “The blade is my right hand. With this instrument, I will strike down the enemies of my God, I will carry out his will. With this blade, I am made vengeance, I am made justice. I am the redemption of the wicked, the light in the darkness, a beacon to the lost. Come, and shed your blood upon this holiest of steel, and cleanse yourselves.”

Blood dripped steadily from the needle point of the weapon in his hand, the slender, curved blade a wicked piece of his own work, able to slice through a body without effort. The woman in front of him was on her knees, her lifeless eyes staring up at him in horror, in reverence. She had seen the light, and tasted the beauty of its forgiveness. Her throat ran red, blood gushing over her chest and spilling from her abdomen to the floor of the warehouse, a pool around her growing as every ounce of the life drained from her. Blonde hair tipped red swayed in the breath of air moving through the cavernous room, her body trembling against the wind until she slumped to her side with a splat of flesh against the hard floor. Her corpse remained unchanged, the blood around her still growing as her throat gushed red.

A pile of ash rested behind him, another of his kills, slowly stained black by the slick, smokey substance of what was left of another as it dripped into the ash. All around him, the evidence of the bodies was piling up. A fine layer of dusty ash was covering most of the floor, crates were splashed red and black, and here or there the half-nude body of some girl or another lay broken over a crate. Most of them couldn’t be more than two-thirds his age. Others younger still. Only a handful looked old enough to be his peer. None of them fought like they knew what they were doing. None of them had put up much resistance at all. Still, they kept coming, swarming from the warehouse in wave after wave.

This was a nightmare. This was the worst of what he could have possibly imagined.

What have you done, Heather? What have you become, to send these girls to their deaths so that you can cower behind their sacrifice? What kind of monster have I allowed to live?

A small brunette with a hooked, Roman nose leaped over the crate at his right without a sound, sending her body flying through the air as she lifted a knife and screamed as she descended on him, a bloodcurdling warrior’s howl as she swung the short blade in a downward arc toward his arm. His blade moved like lightning, the steel tip cracking like thunder against the air as it whipped around, catching the girl in the throat. Her weight and momentum drove her skull down the spike of the blade, puncturing through the top of her scalp and heaving her weight down over the weapon to dangle from the blade like a boned fish, her limbs swinging lifelessly as her brown eyes flickered in pain. Her mouth worked itself against the blade before her tongue fell still and she died. Her body burst into ash as a pair of women rounded a wall of crates in front of him.

One had a vibrant, purple hue of hair, the same as Sawyer’s. The other, a hot, neon pink. Both had the same soft, baby face that could have been fourteen, or could have been twenty. He would never know. Each of them lifted an automatic pistol and leveled it in his direction. The one with purple hair laughed as she squeezed the trigger, the Glock barking in quick, guttural bursts as the pink haired girl screamed, “Die, asshole!” Ephraim moved in a blur, his feet kicking against the floor as he swept through the ash and blood. He swept toward the first, on his left. The pink haired girl’s cry fell short, his blade swiping across her waist with a lightning quick flick, the steel biting through her body and leaving a thin red line in its wake. A splash of blood gushed from her abdomen before she burst into ash, the purple haired girl’s bullets bursting through her sister’s ashes as they fell to the floor, her brows knit in concentration as she levelled her pistol on him again.

He was on her in an instant, and the only word she could manage as his blade slammed through her left breast was a grunted, “Oh…,” blood erupting from her mouth as she slammed against the crate with a grunt as all of the air expelled from her lungs with the impact. She reached for the blade and tried to pull herself free, finding herself too weak. She whimpered once, and gave a final tug before she slumped down, hanging around the blade slammed through her chest. Her corpse remained. Eventually, he would learn more about these… things. Why some of them died one way, and some died another. For now, it appeared that there were different classes of the demons, some with certain abilities, and some with others, though some seemed to have multiple abilities that spanned several of the others. It was all a very complex biology, one that he was going to need to study further.

He reached up and took the hilt of his blade, jammed just beneath the girl’s breast, and yanked it free. She crumpled into the floor like a sack of meat, and lay in a heap. He didn’t bother with her after that. It seemed ill, even of these monsters, to treat the dead with disrespect. It seemed, for the moment, that he had a chance to catch his breath. He flicked the blood from his blade and began to take inventory of the kills he had made. Seven, here in the warehouse. That was a tremendous blow to Heather’s army, even if it was only a small fraction of her force. He had learned a lot about them in this small skirmish. They were incredibly untrained, most of them barely able to aim a pistol, much less hit anything with one, particularly a moving something. And with a blade… well, they were beyond useless. They would have been better off holding up kendo sticks. At least they would have been cheaper than good steel. The real waste here, he thought, were the lives it’d taken to make such an ineffective little cell. She’d had to kill seven girls for what? This little outpost? And he’d simply had to kill them all over again, to send them into whatever hell was waiting for these damned souls, a fate worse than hell he was certain. At least, as he had learned in the weeks past, some of them would find their way back. They wouldn’t learn their lesson quite so quickly as the others that chose to never return.

That was another anomaly that would need his study. Why did some of these things stay gone, while others returned only days away? They were a curiosity that would take years of study to truly understand without some way to make a closer look. Perhaps… perhaps he should look into taking a prisoner, a subject to study. For that, Sawyer was bound to be invaluable. Provided she lived through the night. He snapped his teeth shut as his jaw worked angrily.

Sabrina Powers.
Redhead.
Heather’s first scout. I have her number. If she returns, I’ll send her back to the darkness as many times as it takes. I’ll never forgive her.

He shoved his hand through his hair, blood dripping from the golden tresses as he shook his head. He would need to move on, before more of them returned. They would hardly be pleased with his handiwork here, and there were other places to hit before he could return to the apartment. He rolled his shoulders and moved to slip his blade into the sheath at his back when his phone vibrated in his pocket. The name that flashed across the screen made him scowl. Jenna knew better than to call him while he was working.

He pulled the phone to his face, and without speaking, tapped the answer key.

Ephraim, she’s awake. She’s awake and it’s really not good. I don’t know what to do. Osmond’s given her the tea, and she’s not coming around. She’s falling back asleep, but I honestly don’t know that she’s going to wake up again. I’m not sure… I’m not sure that what he’s doing is going to get it, Eph. I think we need to take her to a hospital. I don’t think tea is going to fix a brain injury…

The line rustled as the phone was jostled from hand to hand, Ephraim’s features were a hard frown as he turned for the warehouse’s exit, stepping lightly over the limp corpse of the blonde. In a moment, Osmond’s voice replaced Jenna’s, his own tone much calmer, much more in control.

Ephraim? Osmond. Listen, the girl is going to be fine. She’s going to need her rest, but the medicine I’ve given her will reduce the swelling and slow the flow of blood to the damaged vessels, restricting the good blood to the portions of her brain that can actually use it. I know what I’m doing, and you know to trust me. Girl, will you hush? I have been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. Excuse me, this… miscreant wants to speak with you again.

The phone was handed back to its owner and Jenna came back on the line, calmer than she had been before, though she was still clearly rattled.

I’m sorry, Eph. I know he’s good at what he does, that he knows what he’s doing. I’m just worried about the girl. She’s really not doing so good, and I think it’s all the **** she had in her before the blood. That stuff is really going to kick her *** for a long time, and I don’t know that the rest of it is going to be handled until she can get some more… No. Stop. Just listen. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s what she needs. I think if she can get her hands on some, that it will help get rid of the rest of the trash she’s filled herself up with. You just have to try, okay? Just try.

Ephraim sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose as he tipped his head back and stood in the center of the warehouse. “You know I’m going to try, Jenna. I can’t just let her die like that, not when there’s something I can do. Just… keep her together for me. Just give me some time, that’s all I need. Time. You can get me that.”

I can get you an hour.

The line went dead, then, and he shoved the phone into his pocket. He turned to look through the warehouse, then. Nothing was salvageable. The blonde was all but bled dry, her blood splashed across the floor and hardly fit for consumption. The girl with the purple hair had bled out in an instant, the wound in her heart sure to see to that. The others… the others were just as bad, or worse. He would need to find a fresh kill. Soon.

Like the universe had heard him, the sound of shoes crunching the glass at the front door filled the warehouse, followed by a shout. “Hey, what the **** happened here? Where the **** are Cricket and Mandy? They’re supposed to be at the front door…” the woman stepped around the wall of crates and into the carnage, her green eyes growing wide as she took in the slaughter. This must have been the leader of their cell. He could see in her face, in the way that she carried herself that she was far more experienced than the rest of them together. “What the **** happened?” She snapped, and whipped a pistol from the holster at her hip. “Who the **** are you, dickbag? Where are the rest of my girls?”

Ephraim turned to the woman and lifted his hand to his blade. “I’m no one. I am simply an instrument of a more divine purpose.[/i]” His foot trailed through a pile of ash as he moved, the dust rising into the light and drifting through the air between them. “And you’ll join the rest of your girls soon enough.[/i]” The woman grimaced, bloody red lips turned in a scowl. She lifted a hand and brushed the vibrant, flame colored strands from her face, the bright orange of her hair shimmering in the artificial light. “You’re going to regret that, you piece of ****.”

She twisted her foot against the concrete before she all but flickered from existence. He blinked, and she was gone. He whipped his blade into position just in time to catch the butt of her gun as it came crashing toward his temple, deflecting the blow and sending her off course, passing before him as he lifted a knee to slam into her ribs with a deafening crack. She grunted in pain and spun away, firing a single round and catching him in the shoulder. Blood splashed from the wound and the pain radiated like fire through his arm. He grit his teeth and pushed forward, advancing on the leader as she backtracked, reaching behind her back for her knife as she fired into him again and again, bullets whizzing past him, just shy of landing a hit as they burrowed into the wooden crates, showering splinters all about as he advanced.

He swung, the blade flicking like lightning as it lashed out, catching her knife once, twice, the third time she turned the blow away, though the deflection changed the trajectory of the sword, turning it away from her throat but leaving her leg open. The gash was deep, blood splashing across the floor as she howled in pain and fired again as she pushed herself for distance, bullets slamming into the floor shy of his feet. “****, asshole, quit dancing around like some kind of fairy and fight me fair.” She hissed, and he couldn’t help but smirk. She was good, but she wasn’t as good as she thought she was.

She kept retreating, trying to put distance between them as he pushed her on. Suddenly, her back thumped against the side of the warehouse and she froze, cornered. “****…” she snapped. It was over in an instant. He rushed forward as she fought to recalculate, to reevaluate her situation, his blade moving with a blinding speed, slamming into her abdomen, doubling her over as she dropped her knife. The air left her in a gush as she vomited blood into the floor. He took a fistful of her bright hair and yanked her head back. “Admirable fight, but the game is over.” He grabbed her wrist as she lifted her pistol, and turned her wrist, pressing the muzzle of the weapon to her chin. Her eyes went wide, the green flecked with gold as she tried to scream. The sound was lost on the blast of the weapon, the cap of her skull bursting in a shower of bone and gore, splashing across the wall.

She slumped back, her body trembling as he yanked her head to one side, his knife flicked from his belt in an instant as he opened her throat. He upturned the flask of water he kept in his coat, pouring the clear, cool liquid into the floor before he dipped it beneath the gush of blood running from the woman’s throat as she fought to speak, still, even through her slow, agonizing death. The blood filled the flask and he flipped the lid into place, turning it tight and clipping it to his belt again. She muttered weakly as she sank into the floor, her falling relieving her of the blade in her gut as well as he pulled it from her falling corpse. She hit the ground, and ceased to murmur, red lips still as blood poured from her mouth. She shuddered once, and ceased to move at all.

He lifted a hand to his wounded shoulder and grimaced. He would need to have Osmond look at the wound, but not until he had seen to Sawyer. Not until he knew she was safe, that she was okay.

He didn’t remember the walk home; didn’t remember how long it had taken him to get there. He just knew that, as he burst into the room, that he felt like it had been a liftetime, like an hour had come and gone a thousand times over, and that he was too late. When he heard the small woman in the bed moan, he exhaled his relief and pulled the flask free.

“What happened to you? You’re bleeding!” He lifted a hand and waved off the tall, blonde sorceress as he twisted open the flask. “Later. Get Osmond and see if he has anything to remove the bullet. How long does she have?” He moved his hand to the back of her head, his fingers moving through her hair as he lifted her gently, carefully, avoiding the wounds that Sabrina had left behind in their encounter. He pressed the lip of the flask to her pouty lower lip, and tipped it back, pouring the foul blood into her mouth. The sorceress hovered over his shoulder as she thought, glancing at her watch. “Another half an hour, Eph. She’s going to be alright, slow down. You’re going to choke her.”

He was sure she was right, and he tipped the flask a little more level, letting the flow ebb. “Go ahead and see Osmond. See if he has anything. I’ll tell you all about it when we’re done.” Jenna nodded, and gently pat his good shoulder before she stood. “You did a good thing, Eph. You’re going to be her salvation if anything is.” With that, she turned, and she swept out of her own room, leaving them alone. He cradled her head carefully, and pulled her close as he fed her from the flask. “It’s going to be alright now. Just wake up, and let me know you’re okay. You can sleep all night, if you like. I just need you now, just for a minute. I need to know you’re alright.”