AC/DC [Closed]

[Azraeth]

Diego was doing well, all things considered. For one, he hadn't taken a look at the scene and demanded to immediately go home. He hadn't run away into the night. One of the common functions of humanity was that people came into, and exited one's life almost randomly. An accidental bump into someone walking on the street could turn into a date. A marriage could dissipate due to lack of passion, boredom. A family could disown a person if they didn't hold a certain ideology. And people could choose to adopt someone for no reason other than love. Longevity of any relationship was not a given, no matter how deep and strong that connection felt. Az knew that, in some ways, better than anyone else. Born Azraeth William Carpenter, he had been a twin. He hadn't spoken to his brother in years. He hadn't spoken to the rest of his family for even longer. The only pagan, queer, liberal in a family with significantly more conservative and monotheistic beliefs, his mother and father had not wanted him.

Indeed, he knew about people leaving him. To an extent, he expected it. So Diego had passed test number one. He'd not chickened out. He had decided, for whatever reason, that Az was worth the stress and violence, and sweat. And my how he had grown in such a short period of time. Only an hour or less before, the human had emptied his stomach in a parking lot. But show him a head exploding and he seemed fine. Well. Perhaps not 'fine', by every account, but he didn't look fatigued to Az's gaze. And the vampire had an exceptionally discerning eye when it came to that sort of thing. Though he often thought it (and would never say it), one of the few benefits of his deranged dragon eyes, was the ability to hide emotion behind the cold visage of a reptile and yet use his humanity to pick up on the feelings of those around him. A trick. A small device that made it a smidge easier to survive, and that was everything Azraeth was about. He wasn't the most powerful. He wasn't the fastest. He didn't have the most connections, or money, or any of that. What he did have was a wide array of little tools at his disposal and those were the things he used to make it through.

He went to retrieve the ear, or what was left of it, so he could carefully stuff the rotting bit into a ziplock baggy. At one point, he'd been exceptionally fussy about the whole thing, wanting to wear rubber gloves when retrieving the things he needed for rituals. However, time had worn away a lot of his inhibitions. He didn't even live in the same body he'd started in, after all. And he had to regularly give up his own blood to make his magic work. The baggy was just for convenience. Cheap, disposable containment. So once he'd retrieved the thing, his head snapped around, carrying with it the movement of a serpent striking its prey. He glanced first to Diego and then to the window with the sound of the zombie trying to make its way inside. The words registered, but at first he didn't respond. He pulled his sword then as he got closer. He made no move to dispatch the creature on the other side of the window. "Normally, I would suggest against firing through your cover." He commented as he came to pause close enough that if he needed to step in, he could. However far enough away to make it clear that he expected Diego to handle it, "That being said, glass really doesn't make for good cover unless it's tempered or it's ballistic glass. However, you'd find the former in car front windshields mainly, or in free-standing glass structures." He continued.

His shoulders rolled back, and his gaze continued to move between his partner and the window. He could tell that the thing was about to give out under the onslaught. "Ballistic glass is used primarily in places where firearms are a danger, so police stations, jewelry stores, and banks. Since this is a shop, chances are that's just regular glass." He concluded. No, it wasn't really an answer, and the whole thing probably came across like a lecture, though that wasn't the intention. Azraeth believed in giving a person the tools and information they needed to make an adequate choice. He didn't believe in directing or controlling. No. He was a guide. But in now way was the intention to come across as condescending. He grinned faintly when he realized it might have sounded that way, as if to offer up an apology for having not given a straight answer.

Diego didn't have much time to consider the nuances of Az's facial features or his words though, because it seemed almost immediately, the zombie which had been attacking the window began to make it crack. There was a single concussive circle at first, and then the sound of brittle crackling. Quickly, vines of clear break began to snake up the glass panel. The thing abruptly shattered, and that was when the zombie began to crawl through, throwing a hand through the void where the barrier had been. A foot came through next.

[Diego Santos (DELETED 7309)]

Given the intensity of the situation they were in, Diego didn’t have the time to consider whether he should be offended or feel even remotely slighted by Az’s words. He couldn’t think of a single time where he’d genuinely been upset by something the other man had said – not even when they were being bratty toward each other. Sometimes Azraeth was like a walking text book, but, that wasn’t a bad thing – not in those wide and adoring green eyes. After all, Diego thought himself to be a handsome son of a ***** – not a genius, or even remotely clever – and was totally cool with it when Az would take the time to spell out even the simplest of things about the most smallest of things. The Brazilian also thought it was pretty cute too, as well as a little bit fascinating, that one man could make the world look like a foreign land as well as one of promise. Maybe it spoke of the Vampire’s detachment from regular society, that he felt like he had to explain even the minute details of a thing to ensure they were on the same page. Diego often viewed Azraeth like some sort of unicorn – a theoretical one, not simply because of any magical horn – but maybe it was actually more like the Vampire’s behaviour was simply a result of Azraeth being a natural guardian; a guiding hand but rarely a forceful one.

After all, Diego didn’t have to be here in the Quarantine Zone shooting up Zombies. He had that choice to walk away; it wasn’t like he felt pressured to conform. The only reason he felt compelled to be there at all was because he was curious about this world beneath his own, this world he knew nothing about, and wanted to get closer to the being who dwelled there and was willing to teach him, take him on that journey. Unlike a lot of people, Diego was not a naturally curious person. Generally he didn’t care about what didn’t affect him – which was both good and bad depending on the perspective. Because it meant that he wasn’t distracted from what he wanted to do and could keep his focus on his goals, but it also meant that he wasn’t very empathetic. Diego didn’t care if someone felt sad because they’d lost a match to him, he was more concerned by his own victory. Likewise he wasn’t bothered that people around him, in this very city, were falling prey to the nocturnal inhabitants of Harper Rock. Diego didn’t care because it wasn’t his neck under the bite, and he didn’t care probably because he felt like he couldn’t do anything about it anyway. There was about as much victory in fighting off a Vampire as there was fighting off time itself. He could probably handle one Zombie though, right?

The Brazilian had found too soon that he had the opportunity to prove to himself – as well as Azraeth – that he was capable of fending off a single Zombie. When the glass of the supermarket window shattered, caving inward like rushing water, the corpse was quick to follow. It carefully threw one leg over the window sill, as if it still had the cognisance to recognise that that was how you got over a waist-high wall. Often in video games, this would be the defining factor in a physics engine – could the player character or NPCs get over such an obstacle or would they be cursed to hobble awkwardly into the barrier? Unfortunately in this case, the Zombie possessed enough brain power not to throw itself through the gap – chompers first – at its meal. Diego gawked at the scrambling corpse, and how it appeared to be far more animated than the Vampire beside him. Sunken, sallow eyes were focused on the beating heart in the room, almost as though it could sense the life in him. It lunged once it had its last foot over the window sill, but stumbled. Gravity took the creature down, its face connecting with the floor in a sickening thump. Diego cursed himself for flinching for a third time in less than five minutes, but recovered quickly.

Despite what the media would have one believe about the natives of Brazil, they didn’t all possess a fundamental understanding of drugs, trafficking, and guns. In fact, before this very moment, Diego had not even held a real gun before. Everything he knew about firearms could be attributed to too many hours playing Call of Duty in his cousin’s basement, or somebody else’s basement. Sao Paulo is one of the most expensive cities to live in Brazil, and one of its most affluent neighbourhoods was Jardins, where the spoilt Brazilian happened to be born. Jardins is an area composed by the neighbourhoods of Jardim Paulistano, Jardim Europa, Jardim Paulista and Cerqueira César. All these upscale neighbourhoods are located southern to Avenida Paulista, towards the Pinheiros River. It is one of the most prestigious areas in São Paulo city because of its proximity to the major financial centres. Suffice it to say, Diego had access to the best money could buy and so he didn’t need to know how to handle a weapon. He had attended a few martial arts classes as a child, he grew up learning how to fight off his brother – and various bullies – and as he got older he learned how to throw a proper punch, but that was as far as the Brazilian’s understanding of self-defence went. So, when the Zombie lunged for his legs and Az seemed to be making no real effort to halt that, Diego’s instinct was to… move out of the way.

It was a tiny bit pathetic and he understood how it didn’t exactly look cool to hop away from the creature that was trying to bite at his ankles, but it seemed like the best solution at the time. Hell, it was his body’s first reaction and he complied with a certain kind of nonchalance that suggested he was side-stepping some semi-conscious mess on the floor. There was no real sense of urgency in his movements, no real sense of fear, just this look of grievance on his face that made it loud and clear that the Brazilian didn’t appreciate that the Zombie was clawing at his pants leg. Instead of a festering corpse; its face marked and oozing with what looked like treacle, its emaciated body dragging fabric with it that might have been clothing at one point, and its desperate and longing stare; Diego side-stepped the intrusion like he was walking past a drunk or a homeless person begging for change. It was an inconvenience, an obstacle that he really would have preferred not to deal with, but perhaps not something that pissed him off to the point of shooting it in the face.

“Urg… Just please don’t touch me,” he grumbled, green eyes watching the creature crawl along its distended belly after him.

As Diego continued to move away from it, he couldn’t help but recognise his actions for child’s play, like a kid pretending the floor is made of lava as he made away from the insistent corpse. Eventually, Diego looked across to his Vampire companion crossly, almost like he was expecting Azraeth to start laughing or roll those starburst eyes at him because Diego was hopping about like the ******* Easter Bunny instead of delivering a fatal blow to the head. He prophesised these instances because he knew one of them had to be true, and that it was likely the latter based on the rather serious nature of their circumstances. He probably should have dealt the creature some peace, granted himself peace in the process from having to jump away from its grasping hands and snapping jaws, but he just didn’t feel that urge to kill. It wasn’t a danger, just a nuisance, and could he kill something just because he didn’t like it? Diego didn’t think about any other eventualities, like the Zombie might break loose and kill someone else, because – again – he didn’t care about anyone who wasn’t him or somebody he cared about. Frankly, the list of people the Brazilian did care about currently housed the two of them in that supermarket.

“Do I really have to kill it?” he whined again, turning green eyes on those impassive dragon-pupils. “It’s like a puppy or something. Seems cruel.”

[Azraeth]

Well that certainly hadn't been what he'd expected. But what had he expected? Azraeth, being of a reasonable mind, tried not to make a lot of assumptions, but instead chose to observe the world and then use those observations to construct theories as to how future events might turn out. That, combined with just a smidge of the arcane, gave him often uncanny foresight. However, much like prestidigitation. it was still just a parlour trick, the cobbling together of dozens of little things. He was rarely surprised though. People, no matter how unique they thought themselves, were often motivated by the same things across the board and responded to situations in one of a handful of ways. Diego was one of the rarities, who stepped outside of the norm. It wasn't fear which made the human retreat, at least that didn't appear to be evident in the man's features. And then the question. And then the observation.

Most people, in Azraeth's experience, had no problem with just ending the undead. They weren't alive. They didn't feel. They were gross. An entire generation of gaming and television had programmed people to believe they were monsters. Period. Full stop. Monsters were most often portrayed as not deserving life. But maybe it was Diego's very reluctance which displayed a personality trait thus far unrecognized by the vampire. Az had always assumed his human companion was attracted to him for all of the same reasons humans normally did. Dracula. Twilight. Just as much as media represented zombies as monsters; it displayed the alluring, romantic, sensual side of vampires. But maybe for Diego, it wasn't about that dark and enchanting stranger. Maybe for him, it was about looking at the individual, regardless of history, or stereotype, or what society said about that type of person. Or what culture demanded one recognize. That was perhaps the first moment Azraeth realized just how shrewd his partner was. Not necessarily book smart, but intelligent in the way of people, of seeing through ******** to assess both those very people and situations independent of distractions like expectation.

He regarded the other man for a moment, watching him quietly. He didn't respond at first, his gaze only dropping to see the zombie crawl its way after Diego slowly. "You know, the bratty side of me really wants to make you eat those words. Call it a puppy and I say we take it home. Maybe you hold it down while I rip off its lower jaw and pick out its teeth one by one. Then all we'd have to do is cut off the hands, and we'd have our very own pet. Tongue bloated and hanging out of its face...neck hole?" He began as he drew closer. He ended up between Diego and the zombie, leaning a little closer to the latter so he could brush his cheek against a shoulder before he handed off his gun so he could wield the katana lone.

"Did you know there are vampires who can make these things? We call them necromancers. There are two components a necromancer needs to create a zombie. The first is the part that we all see. The body. Usually rotting. Sometimes skeletal. Sometimes totally fresh, but given to eventual decomposition. The other component is a spirit." He said as he moved around the zombie, so he could press his foot against its upper back to help pin it in place. The thing struggled to try and get free, much like an animal which had been caught in a snare. Because it crawled on its belly, there was little it could do to turn around and force the vampire off. "These things naturally occur in this place, in this part of town, because there's a hole in the world. Much like the spirits, you can't see the hole, but it leads into this dark place. We call it the Shadow Realm, and it's where my kind go when they die. However, sometimes human spirits are sucked inside of it. We feed on them when we are dead, to give us power. They aren't naturally they though. They are pulled in like light into a black hole. Sometimes the Rift, that hole, spits them back out into bodies. And that's how zombies happen 'in nature'." He continued, even as he carefully placed the end of his blade at the back of a neck. He was aiming to cut off the spinal column. To cleanly sever it from the brain.

"This thing is relatively harmless next to some of the things you are going to see in the future, lover. But even it, is little more than a caged soul animating long dead flesh. This is not the body of the mind and person that exists behind what's left of its rotted eyes. This body is a prison." He drove the katana down. The thing continued to struggle for a few moments and eventually fell completely still. This left Azraeth to step closer to Diego, over the unmoving death so he could take his gun back. "Of course, chances are, that same spirit is just getting sucked back into the Shadow Realm, only to be feasted upon, or repeat the same process, so I guess cruelty is the only reality for it." He concluded, even as one arm curled around his partner's. He huddled closer, so he could feel the warmth against his side.

"Come on, let's get going. I know I promised violence, but for some reason, I really want to make out with you right now."

[Diego Santos (DELETED 7309)]

If Diego had felt like a vulnerable child before now, complaining at the opportunity of finding something he couldn’t deal with and therefore needing the Vampire’s protection, then he had officially just been upgraded to brooding teenager. His attempt to overcome an obstacle by avoiding it, coupled by his whiny and surly disposition during the sluggish chase, could easily have awarded him the label all on its own. But there was more to the equation than simply being a lazy grump. It also didn’t help matters that when Azraeth talked about how he could be bratty and approached to brush his cheek against the Brazilian’s shoulder, that Diego’s reaction was one of arousal. It was basic engineering that resulted in a teenager’s heightened sexual appetite. Hell, most youngsters could get turned on by cutlery on account of all that testosterone flooding through their system. So as Diego listened to the sultry tenor of that voice while Azraeth spoke about deforming the corpse into their pet, and as he watched the man approach him with this distinctive predatory vibe, he felt powerless to do anything but warmly regard those serpent-like eyes fixed on him like prey and feel himself grow a little flushed. In those moments, it was true that Diego had officially fallen into the category of brooding teenager, but on the plus side, at least there was potential that he could eventually mature into a man.

It didn’t appear as if that transformation was happening any time soon, however. When Azraeth handed over his rifle, Diego accepted the burden as he would any kind of chore and groused about it. He grumbled a few words in his native tongue, nothing specifically lurid; only a few expletives that meant little more than to express how ungrateful and immature he was being. Still, he watched what the Vampire was up to guardedly, as if he was expecting Azraeth to make good on his threat. He was so convinced, in fact, that he started to think up a few names they could call it. Corpsey was the first that came to mind. When Az loomed over the corpse, katana in hand, and mentioned something about Necromancers being able to summon these kinds of creatures, Diego felt like he could use that in a name too – Necrosis, Boney, Corpsey-Bones, Dead Thing, Sunken Face… He was having a hard time trying to think of names as Az was talking at him, giving him the details on why these Zombies existed in the first place. One might think that it would have added fuel to the fire, given him inspiration for better names, but, Diego was far too simple-minded for that. He wasn’t capable of listening and thinking at the same time, and since it probably wasn’t wise to stop paying attention to whatever Az was doing in general, Diego ultimately gave up trying to name their future pet for the meantime.

It was from one discovery to another, only this time it was far more Discovery Channel in nature. Because as Az gave a summary of how Zombies occurred ‘in nature’, Diego felt like David Attenborough was there in spirit too, giving him the low-down on an incredibly rare species known as Homo Necrosis Zombifis. The Brazilian didn’t have the imagination to conjure up a picture of what happened to force Human souls to get sucked into this rift and then spat back out again as the walking dead. He did have enough sense to recognise that Az was aiming to kill the corpse as he pinned it to the floor with one foot and positioned the end of his katana at the base of its neck. Diego’s expression changed from mild intrigue and amusement to straight-up disappointment as that blade came down, severing the spinal cord. It went limp and still so quickly it was startling, but most of all, Diego thought it was a shame. Az might have described that body as a prison, but he quickly recognised the fact that the ‘caged’ soul was now going back to swim in the streams of death and rebirth until someone took it out of existence by draining its essence in the Shadow Realm. It was kind of cruel, which was why Diego was quick to make a complaint by the time Az returned to his side and retrieved his rifle.

“Aw, man. We could have named it Skully,” he said, and despite the grumbling nature of his voice, he quickly began to chuckle. “And maybe if we looked after that one, we could have had another and named it Moulder. Like mould. Because dead things get mouldy. And… like, X Files.”

Ok, so, that was terrible and not even remotely funny. He was sure he was laughing more out of nervousness and embarrassment than genuine amusement. Despite not being impressed by his own terrible joke, it hadn’t seemed to entirely put Az off. That, or the Vampire just wanted to leach as much of his Human warmth as possible and was happy to put up with a stink-bomb of a joke for the privilege. Diego didn’t mind either way seeing as how he had yet to graduate from brooding teenager. When that cooler arm wrapped around his own, he sidled closer, his eyelids growing heavy as he purred on the inside just because the other man was near him again. Diego forgot everything about where they were, what they were doing, and even the fact that he was carrying two bulky-*** weapons. At least until he realised he couldn’t stroke his lover’s arm with the rifle because that was not sexy. He straightened up quickly enough, but any thoughts he had about saying something else that was goofy, or, doing something profanely stupid, was relieved by the arrival of a very handsome suggestion. Diego looked both dumbfounded and incredibly excited.

“Seriously? After that awful joke and all?” he asked, gazing into his lover’s starburst eyes in slight disbelief. “I’m starting to question your sanity just a little bit.” Because there was nothing crazy about anything else that had happened tonight, or in the entire time they had known each other. Nope, nothing at all. He reached to brush a kiss against the other man’s cheek, right up beside an ear, and then whispered, “Alright, but… What are we doing about these?”

He gestured to the gun in his hands still, raising it autonomously and then dropping it back down to rest across his abdomen – it seemed like the default position for it now that he wasn’t expected to use it. He was so relaxed and at home there in that moment that he didn’t recall Az’s first rule: always be aware of your surroundings. In fact, the instant he knew he was in danger and had fucked up was when he felt an extra pair of hands grab his shoulder and under his arm from behind. Diego turned immediately, his back being pushed in Az’s direction to act like an unfortunate barrier. Lightning-quick reflexes or not, there was little that could be done to stop that rancid mouth from snapping forward, to stop it twisting in and closing around a section of Diego’s bicep. The Brazilian had thrown the arm up to fend off the attacking corpse, but had inadvertently positioned his flesh directly in its mouth. Green eyes finally showed an ounce of fear as he stared at that creature’s face. The skin of its scalp was the first thing he saw as the Zombie grappled against him; it was grey in colour, like the skin of a shark, but appeared to have been chewed away by a bigger one since the very back of its head was completely exposed. Next, Diego noticed its recessed cloudy eyes, and beneath that, its yellowed blunt teeth that were sinking repeatedly into the fabric of his shirt. What he couldn’t understand, however, was why he didn’t feel anything or why there wasn’t any blood.

[Azraeth]

Was that? It was. It was an X-Files joke. Azraeth paused what he was doing. He could hear the low sound of the other man chuckling, and the serpent found himself attempting to keep his features deadpan, unmoving. However, that laughter, even if it was nervous, was infectious, and Azraeth soon joined his lover, because it was 100% his type of humor. Of course, the footballer would likely come to find that out in the near future. Azraeth's downtime was usually spent reading or binge watching anything based on fantasy or the supernatural. He had been a fantasy nerd as a boy, loving the works of Tolkein, Rowling, Martin, Asimov, Card, Pratchett and more. While he was often busy translating texts, or hunting down leads for important 'finds', he was still fundamentally the same guy he had always been. And sometimes he just needed a night of switching off his mind to enjoy the muted colors of shows exactly like the X-Files.

Maybe he was already rubbing off on the Brazilian. Az found it extremely endearing and painfully cute. He was reminded, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, just how happy he was with his life. It went unspoken that Diego saw him like some sort of prince. The human worshiped him, not out of devotion to the undead, but because of the bond they shared. An equally unspoken truth: Az considered himself to be amongst the luckiest of men in Harper Rock. He had a family that fulfilled him, an occupation that challenged him, and a partner who completed him. But all of that was really rather sappy, and as modern and in touch as Azraeth was, there were just some things that were better left to silence. It was better, after all, not to tempt the cruelty of fate. "How about we get someone to raise a few skeletons for us in the apartment? We can let them guard the hydroponics or something." He offered. Because he really liked the idea of having a Skully and Moulder. "And I hope you know, we're going as agents to the next comic con."

Though the truth was that he'd probably end up changing his mind a dozen more times by the time it actually happened. Then again, the idea of Diego in a suit certainly had its merits outside of the world of public-friendly cosplay.

"Especially after that awful joke." He responded as the pair of them slide side by side. He settled naturally close to the other man, and had Diego's arms not been occupied carrying things, Az probably would have grabbed his hand and tugged on it to pull him more quickly towards the door. "You lived through me nearly eating you, and you're only just now questioning my sanity?" He pressed, the corner of his mouth jerking as he glanced sidelong over Diego's profile. He was actually pretty sure there was something fundamentally off of center about the way his human thought. Not that he was complaining, since he was absolutely reaping the benefits of whatever lagging survival instinct kept the mortal so close to him.

He didn't have time to answer Diego about the rifle, because as soon as he was about to broach the topic, he felt a shift. He was pulled a step in the wrong direction, and then Diego's back was to him. Everything happened very quickly. He smelled the zombie. Saw it. He watched it move like the roaring waters. For a second, he was still, shocked into inept immobility. Then there was this sound that rose in his chest, which was best compared to the rattle of an agitated snake. It was completely reptilian and never should have come from the living. With one hand, he pushed Diego to one side. His katana was lifted, but not to strike the foe. Instead, he slid the blade across one hand so blood could well up.

They began to materialize only a second later. Bits of shadow stitched with magic to skin. They were abominations of fang and claw and darkness. Three of them seemed to pull themselves up and out of the shadows. Three of them screamed rage at their very existence. As if being itself was pain. Az's already pale flesh became a fraction more white, his jaw tight and fingers curled into what might have been claws in an earlier incarnation. The three creatures each began to grab at the zombie, reaching for it, tearing at it. They were brutal and blunt in their assault, digging their ghastly digits into limbs until rotting skin puckered, then tore. Bones shattered and the undead thing was dismantled like some kind of cheap IKEA furniture. But Az didn't have time to stay back and watch. His wound healed almost immediately and before the fadebeasts could take note of him, he had an arm around Diego's shoulders, tugging him towards the door. No doubt, the monsters would turn on each other soon. In the end, there would be only one.

He cursed himself for having let down his guard before they were safe. And waited until they were out into the cold air of the night before he tugged Diego around to investigate. "Where's the wound. How bad is it?" He asked, gaze scanning. It was around that time he noticed the scent of blood was distinctly lacking. Or at least, the scent of his human's. His hands moved with the familiarity of a parent assessing their child for harm. No time for Diego to answer the question. No time for explanations. He needed to see for his own two eyes that it was okay. And so he lifted hands and arms closer, looked at chest, and shoulder. He stared blankly at the lack of wound and then stepped back. Relief wanted to find a place in him, but he rejected it. "Come on. We're going to bunk in Corvidae tonight." He insisted. "And I'm going to look very closely to make sure you're completely okay."

[Diego Santos (DELETED 7309)]

Blink and you’ll miss it!

These words often accompanied moments of short surprise, brief bombshells, and fleeting thrills. Blink at a fireworks display and you’ll miss part of the show. Blink as you’re whizzing by on the train and you’ll miss the tiny towns – the tiny worlds – that linger out there. But it wasn’t that effervescent sense of excitement or anticipation boiling in one’s gut that kept the Brazilian’s eyes peeled. He watched the point of connection between his skin and the Zombie’s teeth like it was the only thing keeping back the pain and the blood, and from halting a deadly infection. Irrational as it might have been, he failed to come up with a better explanation. Every time the corpse bit down, Diego saw it shred the cotton of his clothes; great spools of it being caught between those sallow teeth like tufts of fur in the mouth of a predator. By the time a wolf skins a rabbit, he usually manages to get his teeth through that fleshy hide, into the meat of the animal, but somehow the Zombie couldn’t breach that barrier. It was as though the Brazilian’s skin was not that velvet-soft casing that it always appeared to be, as if some supernatural enchantment had embalmed him in a protective shell.

But that couldn’t be possible. Regular people just couldn’t summon up that kind of strength out of the air! Sure, the Brazilian had heard of people being able to lift cars in a feat of desperate strength, to save their life or the lives of someone they loved, but, this wasn’t the same kind of scenario. When we find ourselves under intense pressure, it’s scientifically understood that fear can unleash reserves of energy that normally remain inaccessible. Under acute stress, the body's sympathetic nervous system prepares the body for sustained, vigorous action. The adrenal gland dumps cortisol and adrenaline into the blood stream. Blood pressure surges and the heart races, delivering oxygen and energy to the muscles. It's the biological equivalent of opening the throttle of an engine. We become, in effect, superhuman, but there's a limit to how fast and how strong fear can make us. Fear cannot, in ordinary circumstances or even in circumstances involving Zombies, provide the body with a second-skin – a substance strong enough to deflect ivory. So what was that crunching sound he heard whenever those blunt fangs sheared against his skin? The only thing the Brazilian could attribute it to was the sound of pebbles rubbing together…

After that, all Diego could hear was the sound of rushing waves and a whistle of air before the screaming started. This inhuman sound creaked out of shadow, ruptured into being like a fork of lightning in a gloomy sky. Green eyes beheld the figures of three creatures in the darkness, but he couldn’t distinguish what they were, where they had come from, or what they were about to do. The Brazilian struggled in the Zombie’s grip, pulling himself back, but it was like playing tug-of-war with a Boxer and its favourite toy. Diego’s sneakers skidded on the tiled floor as he scrambled for mere centimetres of ground and while his focus was set dead-ahead on the immediate threats, he was gravely aware of how cold and bare his back felt. True enough, Diego was less concerned about what that corpse was doing to his arm than he was about those three looming figures in the dark. He couldn’t rightly discern one shadow being from the other what with the way they grappled in the darkness, or with the way several Xenomorphic hands burst forward and grabbed themselves a chunk of Zombie flesh.

Very suddenly, Diego felt like a pizza delivery guy at a Frat Party – too many hands reached for him and drunkenly grabbed a prize before retreating to oblivion. It came in waves and Diego watched with his heart in his throat – muttered expletives of shock around it – as the corpse was dismantled piece by piece. Off came bits of arms, thighs, legs, some ribs, until an eyeball got ripped out of its socket and half of the undead’s face went with it. Diego didn’t have the time to really question how it was still biting when it had been reduced to a skeleton because the last group of hands came in to rip that head away. Just as immediately, Diego felt warmer, softer hands on his shoulders before it tugged him toward the exit of the supermarket. He didn’t fight, even if he didn’t consciously acknowledge who those saving hands belonged to until they were outside in the slap of cold air. Suddenly those forceful hands were searching him for wounds, lifting clothing to bare the skin and turn it into gooseflesh. The Brazilian almost slapped those hands away, but in it all, Diego saw a face he recognised, even if those princely features were so obscured by worry that they didn’t really look like Azraeth. Diego blinked, but the gloom and confusion persisted. He blinked again as if his eyelids were windscreen wipes, able to wash away it all away, but it failed this time too.

The question, although not easily answered, did bring some clarity however. It was all part of the kick-start he needed, the knock of motion that started the engine running. He could think in words again, in thoughts instead of abstract imagery, yet he barely managed to stammer out a few words before he was being dragged away again. Instinct made him wrap a hand around his partner’s arm as they moved, securing an anchor so he couldn’t get dragged away once more. Az mentioned that they would be bunking someplace tonight – presumably someplace safe that allowed them to better check for injuries and figure all this **** out. The fact that the Vampire was just as stumped as the footballer about this whole thing was a clear sign that Azraeth hadn’t been purposefully involved. Going on the assumption that Az knew just exactly what he was doing in all the moments of his life, had convinced Diego that the Vampire hadn’t accidentally cast any magic here tonight, protecting him from harm. So what did that leave in terms of theories? Perhaps someone else had been involved, or, the Zombie was broken.

“Even if those were dentures, they’d still have cut the skin, right?” Diego mumbled, his words filing in between their hurried footsteps. He routinely looked to Azraeth, down his own body, and then back at the supermarket as he considered what to say. “I don’t get it… I’m not bleeding. Didn’t feel a thing either now that I think about it. Well, aside from, like, the pressure of grinding teeth.” But that wasn’t explaining it properly, so he tried to add an example, looking directly into the face of his lover as he did – his own expressions bemused and child-like. “It’s as if there was something in the way. Armour or something. Invisible armour…”

Suffice it to say, Diego wasn’t the most eloquent of gentlemen. Ask him to describe a sunset and he’ll tell you it’s not a sunrise. He shrugged his shoulder as they re-entered the building, sweeping a glance over the denizens. All NPCs were present and accounted for, seemingly unchanged by the passage of time or the arrival of Az and Diego again after such a short space of time. There was a flash of suspicion then, a feeling that all of this was some sort of elaborate hoax and that a camera crew was about to come rushing out from behind faux walls to televise his reaction at any moment. So when they reached the elevator, Diego made the point to look around and ensure he wasn’t going to get caught off guard again. He turned side-ways, one motion away from being able to pay very close attention to whatever was coming from the elevator, and one more motion away from reacting to whatever might be coming from the foyer of the apartment complex. Also, it allowed him the opportunity to face his partner.

“So… You didn’t have anything to do with all that back there?” he asked, rubbing at his own neck. “You don’t think you did anything magical?”

[Azraeth]

Azraeth was in the curious position of trying to determine the best way to excavate all of the graves in the Quarantine Zone, and then systematically incinerate all of the bodies, burn down the buildings, and then pour cement over the whole ******* thing. Because if there were no bodies to inhabit, then the spirits of the Shadow Realm could not inhabit them. Or maybe they would just have to go farther to find a place. There was a morgue very close to what had once been Gambondale, and Az sincerely wished that weren't the case. That was the last thing the city of death needed. More ways for monsters to come into being. The major problem would be in dealing with the military presence in the Quarantine Zone. While they did not make their presence known often, it was certainly there, and he personally believed they were observing what was going on with the undead. He couldn't exactly cut off the source of their research without them noticing. He also doubted they would appreciate it. Nor would the people who regularly used Corvidae Flats. Which meant that there really wasn't a solution to the zombie problem.

****.

His thoughts poured right back into his mind from wherever they had been, and he registered the sound of their hurried footsteps on the asphalt. There was chipped paint that had once been used for the roads and traffic. The area had not been maintained in over half a decade, which meant that most of Gambondale was in shambles except for the bones and veins of it. As they were walking, he heard his partner speaking, but before he could answer, there was the slithered assault of a lone zombie that made its way towards them. They were making noise, so it was no surprise. The dead liked to search for signs of the living. He gunned it down with a practiced ease that said he could probably have slept in the middle of the Quarantine Zone and not been worried. It was like second nature to him. He had been killing them for so long that he barely noticed them except for when he needed to replenish his stock of ears.

The sound of gunfire died away as soon as it was born, and Azraeth's gaze swung back to Diego, his serpentine pupils wide. He visibly softened some in his features when he saw the man's expression. "It must be some kind of other magic." He guessed. "I know that some humans have abilities. The first I was exposed to it came in the form of the blood thieves, who steal powers from vampires. But there are also those who can do magic of their own, those being Paladins, Sorcerers, and the demi-fae, though I don't know how human you'd consider that last group." He said. He was as much trying to explain it to Diego as he was trying to work it out in his head. He firmly believed that the rule of logic could be applied to virtually anything. Thus, since Azraeth was very aware that zombies had ample biting power to cut through human skin, and he'd seen that the zombie had teeth, it could only be assumed that the skin was what made Diego different.

Azraeth also knew from experience that Diego could be bitten. Deeply. So that meant it was a temporary thing. Since there was no scientific evidence to support the belief that adrenaline made skin impenetrable, it was a safe bet that Diego had some sort of magical background. Or powers. Hell. They were in Harper Rock, also known as the ******* mouth of hell. Which meant that since Diego was 100% not dead, he had to be some kind of magical human. Or at least, that was the assumption Azraeth was going to run with. The scientific method required the formation of a hypothesis, after all.

They were crossing into the lobby of the Flats by the time Diego spoke again. Az paused at the front desk, before answering. "We need a place for the night." He said. Okay. So Corvidae wasn't that kind of place. But Az had some cash to burn and he was fine with paying out a month's worth of rent if it meant he didn't have to worry about answering questions or dealing with people. He actually reached into his pocket, to withdraw a leather wallet. he handed off his credit card. A few seconds later, he got that back along with a key.

"No, I didn't have anything to do with that. Trust me, I'm very aware of when I use magic." Usually it required some sort of blood sacrifice. Well. Maybe not required, but that part was psychosomatic. He believed that blood made his magic more potent, so he used it. And it was a method that worked for him. He crossed the lobby towards the elevator, his arm curled around one of his lover's. He needed to get a better look at what was going on. See if the two of them were even reacting the right way. If there had been something they'd missed. He hit a button and the light flashed. Doors closed and they began to ascend. "I don't think there are any magical tattoos on you." He said out loud, still working through exactly what was going on, in his head and out loud. "You don't drink vampire blood, do you?" Diego would definitely know if he did. Vampire blood was absolutely gross, and left most people violently ill.

"Which means you're either a fairy or a sorcerer." Unless there was something else out there he didn't know about. When the elevator dinged, letting them know they were on the right floor, he stepped out, tugging Diego along with him, trying not to turn the man into a rag doll, and yet in that space of almost maternal concern that demanded he obsessively ensure everything was okay. He handed off the room key to the other man, and gathered the weapons to himself. They were in a relatively safe place now. "Lead the way. We can chat more about this when your shirt is off."