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lexiseigneur · 4 years

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Part 2 Chapter 2: Out of the light, into the unknown

Lexi showered to rid herself of the stench of the city. Then she read, cozily tucked in her blankets. At some point, she fell asleep, her book forming a tent above her chest.

The slamming of a car door woke her. She frowned because this was not Quinlan. Whoever this was entered the house, and she jumped out of the bed and listened. Then because she did not want to meet that person in the confines of her bedroom, she flew toward the stairs and collided with him. Her brain was overwhelmed by dissonance.

This was clearly Quinlan. But it was not. She was screaming his name in her mind and the words sounded flat. They were not going anywhere. He could not hear her. The Bond was gone. His expression exacerbated her anxiety. Quinlan was as lost as she was.

“How?” she whispered.

She sighed when he touched her and his skin was rough and familiar. His arms around her were almost crushing.

“Are...are you hurt?” he asked.

“No. You?”

Lexi did not feel better that he was already looking for a solution. It only highlighted how clueless they both were. What good were two thousand years of experience in such a situation? He knew as much about the Bond as she did. And she knew very little.

“I am unharmed.”

“There...there must be a reason this is happening.”

Quinlan buried his face in her neck.

“We will fix this.”

His words were a little muffled and she wanted to cry because in the Bond, they always rang clear.

“There are only so many reasons the Bond can be disrupted,” she said. It was just another problem to solve. And together they had solved the impossible. They could do this. They had to.

“There is distance...” he said.

“Dense metals...”

He stood straight and alert.

“The jamming devices.”

“What? They don't work like that.”

“You deducted that we function on another plane...another frequency than the Strigoi. We could even perceive the original devices. Is it such a stretch someone might have modified them to produce this effect?”

“I really don't see how or why.”

Quinlan let go of her and drew his sword.

“With such interference, we are distracted… weaker. Perhaps whoever did this was not expecting my return to occur quite so early.”

It made sense. Lexi strained to listen to the sounds around the house. Mice, deer, birds, a few squirrels fighting nearby. No humans.

“I don't hear...”

“It does not mean they were not here. The range of the devices is limited, but they could be lying in wait on the edge of our perception.”

And with those words, he rushed outside and lifted his face to the breeze. Lexi imitated him and picked up irrelevant traces near the cars. Quinlan disappeared between the trees and she followed, hopeful. Had he detected something she had not? In those matters, he still had the advantage of his considerable experience.

Then he veered, one time then two then three and her hope died. He was not following a trail, his changes of direction appeared random.

After almost one hour, he stopped. His sword fell on dry leaves and his shoulders slumped. She could not feel him, but she was not completely blind.

“I don't know what to do,” he said.

His voice was hoarse and suddenly the possibility that the Bond might never be restored hit her.

“Quinlan…If we don’t find it...”

He winced. She took his hand and faced him. His eyes were fixated on a point on the ground, unseeing. Lexi knew that expression. He was looking for the silver place. If he unleashed his soul to surround her, its warmth didn’t reach her.

“I’m sorry, I failed. Please, try to find it,” he said still looking at the ground.

Lexi couldn’t bear his looking away. She reached for his face, caressed it, begging. Quinlan arms snapped around her. His hand dug into her hair, pressed her face against his chest.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

His heartbeat was familiar. Calming. Anchored by his familiar music, she plunged into herself.

Lexi opened her mind’s eyes, intact in that realm. She stood in the house that was her psyche. On her right, the plain wall used to be the entrance to a dark basement.

She faced the front door and ran to it. It was locked. So she pulled and kicked and even pleaded, but the door remained locked. Then she ran to the nearest window and pulled the curtains open.

There was no window, only another wall. She checked another curtain and met the same light green tapestry.

Lexi was the problem. The silver place was out of her reach, not Quinlan’s.

She opened her real eyes.

“I can't find it. I mean...it's blocking me. The door there is locked. I'm the one who changed. What did I do wrong?”

“You cannot be sure it's anything that you did. This is not something that ever existed before. We are wholly ignorant of its inner mechanisms.”

She mumbled how scared she was, but she wasn’t sure he could hear her.

“Lexi…I loved you without the Bond, and I will continue no matter what happens.”

She believed him but his absence in her head left a crippling abyss. For just a moment, she needed that pain to go away.

So she kissed him. In between those desperate kisses, she whispered words of love that now needed to be passed from lips to lips.

When they fell on the damp and uneven forest ground, she didn’t care. It only mattered that when he pressed himself inside her, the ache in her soul was forgotten.

After that moment, they continued kissing until her lips felt bruised, because that also dulled the emptiness.

They stayed on the rotting leaves, tucked inside Quinlan’s coat, until rain forced them back inside the house. Lexi wanted to drag him to bed and sleep. But Quinlan had other ideas.

He stood in the middle of the living room, dripping on the hardwood floors from the rain, seemingly lost in thought. Lexi knew better than to interrupt.

“The book might have answers,” he said and started toward the stairs.

She followed closely.

“What?”

“The Occido Lumen.”

She had not thought about it in years. Quinlan yanked open the metal trunk sitting in a corner of their bedroom and took out a wooden box. Inside the box, the pages of the Occido Lumen were bound together by string.

“I thought it was just a bunch of allegories and stories about Strigoi hunters.”

“When I translated it with the Professor and by myself, I focused on mentions of the Master and the Ancients. I only glazed over those that were not useful. But this would be the only place containing knowledge about our kind.”

The velum was yellowed by time but the illuminations still brightly colored. She recalled a conversation on their first encounter.

“There were others before you? You think they are mentioned in there?”

“I recall explanations about the silent voice of the Master. Perhaps we can find similar texts about the silent voice of the half-breeds.”

“They could have shared the Bond, if they met.”

“Indeed.”

He shed his harness and coat, dried himself and unbound the pages. Lexi did not have the desire to smile but it was close. If there were any clues to be found, Quinlan would have them sooner or later.

“Let's get to work,” he said.

Lexi assisted where she could. Mostly by waiting until the sun shone bright and high to take pictures of the hidden scriptures. As he studied the texts, she associated the pictures with their translations. She made three piles, one for the useless ones, another for the ambiguous ones and one for those whose content was unknown and possibly useful.

This took four days. When he was not working, she listened to his retelling of the contents he had just translated. That night they drank their lab-grown blood in front of a roaring fire.

“In the 9th century, a village on the coast of France became deserted in the span of three days. The author describes how strangers came with weapons and dug out the villagers from a nearby beach before killing them and burning their bodies. Those strangers never showed their faces as they wore hoods and masks.”

“Sun Hunters? Cleaning up the Master's mess?”

“So it seems.”

This story would join the pile of useless anecdotes.

“It highlights a particular point that has been nagging me,” said Quinlan. “The book is supposed to be a translation from Sumerian, from tablets found in Mesopotamia in the 16th century.”

“Yeah...unless whoever made the tablets was a time traveler, there is a problem there.”

“The author added much more than what the original texts contained. However, if I learned anything from my travels is that much is lost in translation.”

“You want the tablets?”

“I do. A primary source of information is always most valuable.”

“Where are they?”

“Destroyed by a French king when the author showed him those heretic writings.”

Lexi scowled. What was the point then?

“The Occido Lumen was also ordered destroyed,” he said and had a small grin. “One can surmise that whoever saved the book might also have saved the tablets.”

He seemed so convinced, she could not tarnish his excitement with her pessimism. Lexi could not afford to base her hopes on mere speculations.

“Where would we even begin to start looking for those things?”

“Where they should have been destroyed. In Paris.”

Her stomach dropped a little. She had not been back in that city since she had been human.

“Professor Morecci's connections could open doors in that milieu,” he said, finished his glass of blood and picked up the phone from the wall.

Lexi glanced at the time. It would be ten in the evening where she lived. Calling at this time might seem a little rude. But Morecci picked up after only two rings.

“Mr. Quinlan? How unexpected!”

This was followed by small talk that Quinlan generously indulged. Then he cut to the chase.

“I need help tracking a Mesopotamian tablet. It surfaced around 1667 in Paris and ordered destroyed.”

“That’s vague.”

“It might have last belonged to Madame de Montespan.”

“Now that’s better.”

“I’m sorry to say this but it is a matter of great urgency.”

“We are historians, for us there is no such thing as urgency.”

“Ciara, please.”

“Do you remember what we discussed last year?”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. This strange behavior would have amused Lexi in less problematic circumstances.

“Fine. I’ll do it. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Not really, you’re just unusually stubborn about very small things.”

“When would that be then?”

“I will let you know. Maybe Reykjavik.”

Quinlan sighed, wished her a good evening then hung up.

“What was that about?” asked Lexi as soon as he put the phone down.

“The professor has attempted to obtain my services as a speaker for those gatherings with her colleagues.”

“A conference, you mean? Why did you say no?”

“I am not a zoo animal.”

“They would come to hear you speak not to throw peanuts at you.”

Quinlan grunted and this time she could not help but laugh. It also dulled the emptiness.

***

The next day, they received a call from the curator of the Louvre Museum informing them they were welcome to examine their collection of Mesopotamian tablets. It was fortunate, since they were about to embark a plane bound for Paris. Quinlan had not considered the possibility of a refusal.

Inquisitive eyes followed them everywhere from the moment they entered the airport, until they sat in their first class chairs. They were blessed with a professional flight attendant who did not even flinch at their appearance. The other passengers ogled and whispered.

“Beverages?” she asked and leaned forward.

“No, thank you,” said Lexi.

Quinlan shook his head and the attendant walked on.

“You usually have a coffee at this point,” he remarked.

“I don't feel like it today.”

Several hours into the flight, two boys seating ahead of them still observed. Their heads poked from the sides of their seats and fascinated eyes followed Quinlan and Lexi's every move. Quinlan ignored them and focused on a troublesome passage of the Occido Lumen.

Signs of the author's madness were becoming more numerous. When he looked up, the boys still stared but much more quietly. A long and thing object protruded from the side of the seat in front of Lexi. It was an amalgam of straws, taped together into a lengthy stick. Its tip poked Lexi’s knee. She slept and didn’t notice. Quinlan sighed, and hailed the flight attendant. Intervening himself would likely involve the children screaming and crying. No need for this raucous.

The attendant confiscated the stick with stern warnings, and apologized quietly. Quinlan only wished for Lexi to rest. He hadn’t even notice when she had finally fell asleep.

Her hands twitched and her eyes moved rapidly, but he could not hear her dreams. It was tempting to lean back in his seat and let himself be submerged by their loss. Quinlan sat straighter and resumed his work. Self-pity did not solve problems.

Le Louvre had once been a royal palace built over the span of eight centuries. Quinlan had not visited Paris often across the centuries, merely a dozen times. But with each visit, he had witnessed the erection of yet another luxurious addition to the monumental palace.

Had this been travel for pleasure, Quinlan would have loved describing this remarkable endeavor to Lexi. At night, the city of light had not yet found itself. The streets were deserted, and it took lengthy negotiations for a taxi driver to take them to the museum. They stopped in front of the eastmost façade of the palace, an entrance exquisitely sculpted and divided by thirty-four columns. In the center, the large wooden doors opened and a tall black man ushered them inside.

“I am Jean-Pierre Abenon. Welcome to Paris.”

His accent was very thick. Quinlan shook his hand, much larger than his. When Lexi did the same, her tiny fingers were engulfed within his grip. When he spoke again, she had a vague smile. The historian took them to the secret and unseen parts of the buildings. There, beauty was replaced by the practical, with concrete and innumerable shelves. Under the Richelieu wing were stored the antique treasures not currently shown to the public.

“I took the liberty to start a little,” said Jean-Pierre as he rolled up his sleeves. “Here is a list of artifacts that could have belonged to Madame de Montespan.”

He gave them a binder containing a hundred pages. Each sheet represented one tablet and a summary of its history. Quinlan lifted a brow and exchanged a look with Lexi. She mouthed a quiet “wow”.

“Do you know Rabbi Avigdor Levy? He was a scholar executed by Louis XIV.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. How is he involved?”

“The tablets would have belonged to him beforehand. It doesn’t matter, your initial research is of tremendous help. Thank you.”

“Initial being the operative word. Please check what I gave you, and I will continue looking,” he said. He directed them to a desk with several uncomfortable chairs. Jean-Pierre trotted from shelf to shelf before returning to his computer. He repeated this dance over and over again with no sign of slowing. From time to time, he smiled to himself and printed another page.

Quinlan and Lexi poured over the considerable list. Those that were accompanied by a brief translation were easy to discard. None of them spoke of bloodsucking creatures. Most were bills, or simple letters. The desk was soon covered in neat piles arranged by Lexi.

“Here are the ones that are a definite no. Those are a maybe and those are really interesting.”

The first two nights they spent trimming away the tablets that were certainly useless. When they returned the third night, Jean-Pierre waved them in and positively ran toward the stairs leading to the basement. He babbled the entire way.

“I have found something that might be very useful to you! I’ve been sitting on that all day.”

“Jean-Pierre…when do you sleep?” asked Lexi.

“I had a few hours today. I don’t need much, never have. That’s why I work nights.”

“What have you found?” asked Quinlan.

“Trash. I found trash.”

“Excuse me?” said Quinlan.

Intrigued, they approached the desk on which a metallic chest rested. It was the size of a shoe box. Quinlan’s heart lept.

“Is that…?” asked Quinlan.

“It must certainly is.”

“Why did you call it trash?” asked Lexi.

“Well…”

Jean-Pierre put on gloves and carefully opened the chest. Lexi made a pathetic sound, and Quinlan wanted to scream in frustration. The chest was divided into six compartments filled with sand and loose stones. On closer inspection, letters that he now recognized as Sumerian were engraved on the largest fragments.

“Oh…I guess you wanted them intact…”

Jean-Pierre scratched the back of his head. There was a page tucked in the lid of the chest and Quinlan took it. The historian seemed to want to protest, then thought better of it. The paper stated the king had ordered the destruction of the Occido Lumen and six clay tablets.

Quinlan stared at the remnants, as though his gaze could reverse time and bring the pieces back together. He had been so convinced that the answer was there. That something in those strange etchings would bring back their home.

“That’s bad luck but you still have the seventh to work with.”

Both Dhampir turned to him as one, and Jean-Pierre startled.

“After you gave me the name of the person who possessed them before their destruction, I found proof he bought the tablets in 1606. It mentions seven tablets.”

“Where…”

Quinlan could not finish that sentence. Was it lost as well?

“The six tablets have peculiar compositions unique to the region where the clay was extracted. And there is only one other with the same composition…”

Jean-Pierre took a page still waiting in the tray of the printer.

“It’s in Cairo but it’s…weird.”

Under the picture of the tablet, there was a paragraph which included the word “gibberish”. The tablet was written in what appeared like Sumerian but besides the first line, nothing made sense.

“I don’t want to be touting my own horn but technically, I am the foremost specialist in the Sumerian language and this…”

He pointed at the page clutched in Quinlan’s hand.

“…is not it.”

“How is that possible?” asked Lexi.

“I’m not sure...Sumerian is not written like English or French, it’s closer to Japanese kanas. The symbols represent syllables. I see a pattern. It’s not random. But it doesn’t fit anything found in that region at that time, or even right now.”

His large smile was back.

“I like a challenge so…just give me time.”

“We don’t have time,” whispered Lexi.

“The tablet is 3000 years old, hardly news…” he said with a shrug.

Those historians. Quinlan closed his eyes and stopped himself from punching him. The man did not know, and he was helping.

“How long do you think this would take?” asked Quinlan.

Jean-Pierre’s gaze shifted from Lexi’s gloomy expression to Quinlan’s closed fists.

“It took decades to decipher Sumerian last time but…I have tools my predecessors didn’t have. If you hoped for an answer during your stay here huh…I’m sorry but that’s not realistic.”

***

During the flight back, Quinlan finished studying the Occido Lumen and found nothing of value. He did not tell Lexi. She rolled onto herself, staring at the carpeted floors. There was nothing else to do.

Lexi was sound asleep as Quinlan drove them to Greystone. When they arrived, she did not wake. Quinlan kissed her brow, where her stripes split toward her cheeks. Then he carried her inside and tucking her in bed. Exhausted, he hugged her, breathing in her loose hair then authorized himself to sleep.

He stood in a Parisian street, and carriages pulled by horses passed by him. When he looked down he did not wear the suit he expected but the rough cloth that had been his first garment. The sun did not burn. Another dream. Across the full street, Ancharia smiled.

“Mother?”

“One of them.”

She smiled and walked away. Quinlan’s mouth fell open and he forced himself to wake up. With a jerk, he opened his eyes and reached for Lexi’s shoulders.

He wanted to kick himself for being so unfathomably dense.

“Lexi…wake up.”

She grunted and buried her face in her pillow.

“II know what is happening. Why the Bond is gone.”

She turned to him.

“What?”

“We were wrong…we thought only three situations could cut off the Bond.”

“We know only three. What else?”

“How was I born, Lexi?”

She squinted, wiped her eyes and growled.

“I…Your mother was infected.”

“By the Master.”

“Yes? So?”

“Why would she flee? Why would she stay away from him? How did he not find her as she gave birth to me?”

“She was cut off from him,” Lexi murmured.

She shook her head.

“That can’t apply to us.”

Now Quinlan wished she would remain quiet for a moment, so he could listen.

“Quinlan? That doesn’t apply to us. We’re half-breeds. Hybrids are sterile. You never had children.”

“I never had a child with a human.”

“It doesn’t matter…the chromosomes they…they…”

Then she stuttered, unable to complete another sentence. Her heart knocked violently against her ribs.

“Lexi.”

She stopped mumbling and looked back at him. Her eyes were filling with tears. He had to control his own breathing as his heart felt too big for his chest. Quinlan pulled her close and waited until she quieted down. He had never wished for silence harder in his life.

“Lexi, listen.”

Together, they held their breath and focused. Quinlan cursed the house with its creaking bones, the wildlife scurrying about, and that damn wind.

…Oh.

Quinlan half choked. He held Lexi tighter and nuzzled her neck. She gasped because she had found it as well. It was tiny, less than a whisper, quieter than a mouse. A third heartbeat.

#Mr. Quinlan #Mister Quinlan #the strain fx #the strain #quintus sertorius #the strain fanfiction #The Strain fanfic #part 2

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5thinvictus · 6 years

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📚 Happy Book Lover’s Day!!!

Do you love books as much as I do?! If so, you can read my first one here: A Savage Inconvenience by essenceanddescent at https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348572 via @ao3org

❤️ Life’s Too Short To Care About Shame ❤️

Chapters: 124/124 Fandom: The Strain (TV), The Strain Trilogy - Guillermo del Toro & Chuck Hogan Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Mr. Quinlan | Quintus Sertorius/Dawn Maxwell, Mr. Quinlan | Quintus Sertorius/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Mr. Quinlan | Quintus Sertorius, Dawn Maxwell, Abraham Setrakian, Dutch Velders, Vasiliy Fet, Augustin "Gus" Elizalde, The Master (The Strain), Thomas Eichhorst, Ephraim Goodweather, Canon Character(s), Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Plot, Slow Burn, Duct Tape, Dragonflies, Poetry, Better Than Canon, Better than Season 4, Replaces Season 4 Series: Part 1 of Straining for Originality Summary:

Mr. Quinlan finds himself in a most precarious situation. Alone, wounded, and restrained, he is forced, yet again, to choose between his humanity and his survival.

ℹ️️ This story follows the TV Canon loosely, taking place after Season 3 and replacing Season 4 entirely. It also uses and expands upon existing Novels/Graphic Novels canon to weave it all together.

*credit for my cover art goes to my incredible husband* 💋

#quinlan #mr. quinan #its a fan thing #the strain #rupert penry jones #guillermo del toro #life's too short for shame #fanfic #bookloversday #book lover's day #take your shame and shove it up your puritanical asses

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cyberpunkxd123 · 7 years

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#the strain #the strain fanfic #quinlan #mr. quinlan #vampire #rupert penry jones #the strain fx #vampire kiss

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cincity-quinlan-fanfic-blog · 7 years

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This was never intended to be chapter of its own. It was meant to lead straight into the next chapter. But I guess I had more to write than I thought!

#the strain #the strain fanfic #quinlan #mr quinlan #quinlan fanfic

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msbarbiebelcher · 7 years

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— Conway Twitty “That’s My Job”

#Other World #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fic #Lyndsy Fonseca #Claire Goodweather #Mr Quinlan #rupert penry jones #conway twitty #quotes #Claire x Quinlan

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randomredneck · 7 years

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Seriously, what half-rate fanfic writer wrote that script? Quinlan gets bitched and Eph gets turned, so little Mr. Nuke The City gets to be the hero.

What a fucking load.

#the strain #the strain fx

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essenceanddescent · 7 years

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Fanfic of the Strain

There’s been some negativity about the Fanfic currently available for the Strain and I’d like to address that quickly as it is INCREDIBLY easy to demotivate a Fic writer.

To all of the authors out there currently writing fic for all of us for free, this post is for you:

Other than some mis-tagged fics, there is NOTHING wrong with the state of our fandom’s Fanfic.

While our fandom might be tiny and our fanfic small in quantity, we are still fierce and full of passion and talent. Because of that, there are some lovely stories out there which people are still writing. We spend HOURS and HOURS on this.

If the complaint is lodged specifically that there’s not enough ‘Explicit’ or ‘Porn without Plot’ fics, I think this is because the fandom accepts that anything other than a Slow Burn for Mr. Quinlan would be wildly Out of Character.

#the strain #the strain fanfic #fanfic is hard #fanfic is awesome

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octoberland · 7 years

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essenceanddescent mentioned you on a post “octoberland: mr-quinlans-blood-doll: octoberland: I have so many...”

@octoberland The writing, the plot holes, the incredibly rushed romance, the cheesy sexy scene, the strange action sequence. I like me some quinlan too, but the tropes ... my god ... the incessant tropes.

It really felt like they were just trying to cram as much in as possible as quickly as possible. Which is a shame because if they had done the Quinlan stuff sooner they could have taken more time with it and developed it better. Ah, well. I guess that’s what fanfic is for.

#essenceanddescent

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strainingfororiginality · 6 years

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13.6 - Redemption

Note from Author: It has been weeks since the last update and I’d only gotten halfway through this chapter when I realized it was already longer than most other updates. With some convincing persuasion from one of my eager and lovely readers, I’ve decided to split it into two updates. I hope you enjoy!

Hey - Matisse & Sadko Remix - Fais, Afrojack, Matisse & Sadko

Sandalphon took a wide stance and faced the newly opened gate. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, both in mind and in spirit. Uttering encouraging words to herself, she nodded. "Alright then. Now for the hard part."

"What … hard part?" Uriel asked from behind, though she had no intention for him to hear her and even less intention to answer his question. She wasn’t even certain if anything was happening until the chamber began to rumble. She expected it to be jarring. In fact, she had only seen how uncomfortable it would be, but the actual pain was even more than she assumed and her legs buckled. Her palms flew forward as she gripped the sides of the well to steady herself. “Oooof!”

Uriel nearly caught her in the stumble, but her words were firm. "Do not touch me … please … don’t … I can’t do it if you’re touching me ..." Everything ebbed and flowed all around them. Everything around them danced and waved and she nearly vomited into the well itself.

"What exactly are you doing, Andy?" His words were both slow and fast. She didn’t have it quite right yet. The rock cave vibrated in waves, the ripples moved out and beyond their remote location. Everything was ...

"I have to …" She twitched. Her jaw clenched. Her hands gripped the stone until her knuckles turned white. “... speed it up … and slow it down … or they all won’t make it through … before ...”

"Speed it up?" Uriel swallowed. “Speed what up?”

"Heaven must spin faster …" Everything sped up, but then slowed. Dammit. She gasped and pinched her eyes shut. Her brows furrowed madly. “As fast as Hell … but only the lower levels …”

"You just finished telling me that if we’re out of alignment … we’ll spin out of control."

"I know …" Ooof. Good lord. The nausea weighed heavily inside the pit of her stomach. Her shoulders heaved as she bit into her lower lip. As soon as she would speed it up, everything would grind down again and she craned her head to the right. “I know what I said, brother … let’s just hope it doesn’t, yeah? And it doesn’t help with you rattling in my ear!”

"Fine. Whatever. Why am I still here again? To twiddle my god-damn thumbs?"

She could feel him step away as she tried and failed again. Everything slipped back. "Shit." Letting the well go, she stood and shook herself off as the tiniest of winds blew through her hair. “Yeah, yeah. Ok. Ok. No worries. No worries. I’ve got this. I’ve got this.” Glancing back, she glared at the angel who had opted to cross his arms and lean his back against the wall rather than bother with a continued argument. She knew what she had to do and as she swung back to the well, she cringed. She had hoped she could just spin one gear faster, but it wasn’t possible. Of course it would slip. They were gears afterall. She would need to spin two of them. If Heaven was to move faster, then Hell would need to move slower.

She closed her eyes and relaxed her form. The gears cranked and she moved her hands blindly across them, gripping their teeth. She stood her ground and for a moment, the cave thundered and shook before everything slipped marvelously into place.

The hum that emanated from her was both satisfying and excruciating. Her body convulsed and just as she opened her eyes, she saw the first soul step through.

"Where? Where am I?" The old woman asked, bewildered and confused, and Uriel snapped to attention, touching her arm and pointing her towards the large door as he ushered her towards the chamber’s exit. The next soul stepped through immediately.

"You’re home now. You’re safe." He guided her out before turning to the next soul just as two more funneled through. They stepped around the Wheel and began to crowd the small room. Sandalphon’s smile could have lit up the entire room as she heard her Traveller quake across the Nexus, flicking it back on for this specific message and her relief only grew because the Nexus would need to be fucking purring like a kitten for the next part to happen.

Camiel, Jophiel, Zadkiel, Simiel, Oriphiel, Raguel. To the Well of Judgement. Quickly now. You are needed for the Rapture.

A dozen souls now. Two dozen. As the Elder Elohim arrived, they aided in funnelling the souls out of the area and suddenly two dozen became a hundred, and then two hundred. Sandalphon clenched her jaw and ground her teeth. Almost there ...

Three hundred ...

Four.

Five ...

Devil Inside (Epic Trailer Version) [ feat. Casey Hensley] - J2

Here come the woman

With the look in her eye

Raised on leather

With flesh on her mind

Words as weapons

Sharper than knives

Makes you wonder how the other half die

How the other half die

Makes you wonder

The woman in black placed her hand on the glyph etched into the stone slab. She could sense the violet energy pulsing through it, tickling her dark fingertips. And though she couldn’t feel anything beyond its barrier, she knew the Morning Star’s body laid beyond its obfuscation. She was closer to him at this moment than she had been in millenia and her body flooded with nervous bumps.

"Are you nervous? You look nervous. Should I be nervous?" Deebaj prodded her. “I’ve never seen you nervous.”

"It is not nerves, Sun King." She glanced at the golden-haired Djinn lord. “It is relief. I am so tired of hiding in these shadows.”

She took the deepest of breaths. Short and dramatic as she felt the Wheel begin to spin the gears of time. A near smile crept upon her hidden mouth, but it fell away as time ratcheted back to normal. She felt the angel try again and then again … and then again.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake …" She gripped the edge of her niqāb and thrust it away from her face. Her back was still to the men but did her anonymity really matter anymore? After this, her secret would be out. And nothing could be stopped now. She pulled the fabric constraints away from her visage and cast them to the floor. “Must I do everything myself?!” Lilith pushed her shoulders back and took a massive breath. Closing her eyes, she reached out, beneath and behind Sandalphon. Just out of the Angel’s perception and she gripped the gears with her mind. The angel nearly had it, but as Lilith steadied her, everything began to hum in perfect unison. “Ahhhhh … Yes. There it is, my sister …”

As she pulled away, she opened her eyes and felt her Morning Star snap from this world entirely. "It has started … Lucifer has gone dark."

"It’s time?" Deebaj asked and reached to place his hand on the slab, but Lilith caught it quickly, swatting it away.

"No! Not yet, idiot! He is not the one we need to be blind. The other must go dark ..." Lilith felt exhilarated. Her heart pumped furiously in her chest and the blood thundered in her ears.

"So … the Morning Star is really gone?" The Sun King chuckled. “I still can’t believe that little halfling actually beat the Lightbringer himself.”

"He is not gone!" She spat at the ignorant assumption. Of course he was not. She would not have agreed to such terms. Her eyes closed as relief washed over her face. Her shoulders relaxed and she peeled all of the constrictive outer clothing from her body, allowing it to drop on the ground as she stepped out of its pile to reveal a tight tank top and jeans. The men behind whispered in disagreement and she stretched her arms high above her head. No more hiding. No more covering. No more false subjugation. “And the halfling was never meant to beat him … She was always meant to push him to the only one who can save him.”

No Man’s Land - Zack Hemsey

No man alive this planet can illuminate your path

No guide that came before can show the way beyond the pass

No footprints on the trail for you to follow in the tracks

For you to make it there you have to leave without the map

And no amount of pleading can release you from the trap

There’s no degree of toil that can serve to bridge the gap

You can trek across the plains without much weight upon your back

But if you’re tortured in your mind, you will crumble from the facts

So flee the shelter for the storm before the caves collapse

Everything paused and she stood, leaving Lucifer crouched and frozen in the middle of the dead campfire as she spun around to take in her changed surroundings. She half expected to see her sisters all still sitting there, but ... they were alone. The confluence was empty and quiet, completely serene in this eerie final moment of its existence.

Her hands trembled and her stomach churned over the situation as her decision sank in: the spark had been ignited and it was going to ripple out from the very center of him … no matter what she did now. No matter what anyone did.

Eventually, she would need to let time flow. Eventually, she would need to accept the fate she had delivered to herself. Eventually, she would need to let herself end, but she wasn’t quite ready for that yet and so she stepped away from the the logs and the dead campfire. Letting her hand brush against the waist high grass of the surrounding field, she began to explore as she stared up into the perpetual twilight of the multi-colored, cloudless sky of the confluence. It wasn’t brighter on any particular horizon and so she picked a random direction and began to walk, curious of how big this strange world might be.

It wasn’t long until she came to an edge and found the ocean. When she first arrived, she had heard the waves crashing from afar and as she squinted out across the now still water, she saw no end to it. Crossing her arms, she decided to walk to the right, and began to follow along the curved water line as she considered her decisions and actions that led them to this moment.

In the beginning, before the world changed, she had been afraid.

She had always been afraid. Her fear had stemmed from the first moment she took breath and she often wondered if everyone experienced life this way. And it wasn’t just one thing. It was everything. Afraid of heights. Afraid of failure. Afraid of life. Nothing she had ever done had mattered in any way and she had always been afraid nothing ever would. She had never been strong or powerful or courageous enough.

She had been weak.

She had only ever been weak and she knew her weakness was not only in her body, but it permeated every inch of her being. Weakness of mind. Weakness of character. Weakness of emotion. Weakness of appearance. She lacked so much and she had made so many mistakes. Her life was full of more blunder than success.

She had been alone.

She had no family left. She had no friends and she was certain Ellie didn’t count. It never had. That friendship hadn’t been out of choice, but rather, it was manufactured out of necessity … necessity for this sacrifice. For her sacrifice.

And she had been a complete failure.

Not in every way but just in the only way that mattered. None of her impressive feats and accomplishments had mattered at all in the end, because she was a failure in the most fundamental and important way.

As defiant as she was, she had still tried to change, to fit into the world, but then the world had changed instead and she relished in it. The false masks of humanity were thrown aside and false strength was punished. The truly weak were outed for what they really were. Fake and hollow and without merit. Evolution had taken humanity by the neck and it was purged. She was no longer found wanting. When so many had fallen, she was cast into the fire and she rose from it.

And then … after she had survived the fire on her own … there had been Quintus …

She grinned at the memories of him. All of them. In all his strange and antiquated tendencies, his harsh and often rude manners, his utter lack of small talk or need for candidness. He was himself in every instant and he never showed shame for it.

She questioned now … Was it him with which she had fallen in love? Or was it how he made her feel? Did the difference between the two even matter? She felt like it should and she accepted it did and she decided it was more the former than the latter. He had not judged or pitied. He had not chosen to see her for only what she was lacking, but rather what she could offer. Her differences were never a weakness, just like his own, but they were an asset. In fact, he had held her to the highest of standards, refused to accept anything less, and desired her like none other.

She could have survived without him, but knowing him had made her better. But then when he was gone, the world started to slip back into what it was before. Slowly at first, but then quicker with time, it found a footing in the superficial and fickle nature that had led to its downfall in the first place. Old habits die hard and she saw the survivors reverting to what they had been before the fall.

Whatever place Dawn felt that she had earned slowly melted away and there was no place for her again. In that life ... For months she fought it, but she fully accepted it when Gus laid eyes on Anya again and she felt his heart flutter towards the woman’s beauty. He was a good man. He would have stayed with her, but she knew that wouldn’t be fair to him and she recognized that terrible feeling because her ex had felt that way as well. When they looked at her, there was nothing but judgement and pity. The former towards her, and latter towards themselves.

Perhaps if she couldn’t feel their emotions ... if she could have just been blind to the unfair reality of what she was to them, then she could have feigned happiness. She always thought it was in her head ... how she always knew what they felt ...

Her Mother … despised her daughter’s differences. She regretted having her.

Her ex … pitied himself for the responsibility of being stuck with someone so plain. It weighed on him over the years. His eyes wandered often and she felt it … every single time.

Gus … punished himself with an overwhelming sense of responsibility, and what they had was nothing more than that. His heart was never in it. He never loved her, not in the way that she needed. She never felt that from him. He was just a man and like every boring man she knew, his emotions did not expand past his eyes.

Ellie … was always so proud of her. She had driven and pushed and motivated. She knew there was potential where Dawn didn’t think any existed.

Michael … protected and taught and nurtured, in his own fucked up way. Everything he had done had been out of necessity, desperation, and compassion. She wasn’t the only one he had to worry about. He had an entire family to care for, and she was only a small piece of what he needed to protect. He was broken in much the same way she was. They shared this failure together.

Quintus … accepted and embraced and loved and desired her. It is such a simple but powerful thing to be desired and until she really felt, she had no idea how much she had been starved for it.

She thought of his painful sting the first time they met. She thought of the kisses most of all. Of that unreturned kiss in the subway and then the very-much returned kiss in the dream and then, the kiss on the couch and then subsequently in the tiny cabin. And then she remembered her dream of Rome. They were walking hand in hand down the cobblestone streets. Her inner optimist had hoped it to be a glimpse of the future …

And Lucifer …

She looked down and recognized her own footsteps in the sand before her. She had come full circle already and it was no more than a mile. This place, the powerful Confluence, was just a tiny island in the sea of time and she turned back towards its center, trying to retrace her steps precisely. She found the Morning Star exactly as she had left him: crouched and frozen in the center of the dead campfire circle.

Nodding, she breathed out. She was so tired and it was time. Ellie had told her that she could not be fully fixed until she finished breaking, and that it had now finally happened, but her friend had been wrong. Dawn would never have time to fully heal.

She knelt beside the Morning Star and relaxed her body, allowing just a trickle of time to flow. She turned the spout just far enough so that infrequent, single drops could escape through its spigot. It was just enough for the Lightbringer to consciously become aware of her. Everything around them crawled.

"Aurora?" His brows pinched as much as they could. His finger twitched as he tried to move, but the energy rippling from the center of him prevented him from shaking her shoulders. “What … what have you done?”

"I’ve won." All of this. Everything he had done. She knew him. This had been a game. An infinite game that she had made finite. She smiled. It wasn’t sinister or smug. It was a smile of acceptance and victory. It was a smile of pride. “You’ve lost and I’ve won. I am the captain of my soul.”

The Forgotten - Zack Hemsey

Formless cuz your forms are shameless

You’ve forgotten where you’re from

And all your flaws that made you famous

Threats are painless, aim this at your heart to make the pain lift

Shape-shift on this track to scratch your name right off the game’s list

The Sun Hunters swung into an open window and Raum followed closely behind them. Even with their sizable force, they made good time and moved swiftly across and through the rocks. He gazed at the two dozen men.

"I’ve got point."

"Sir." Vaun waved him to the front of the group.

Raum moved towards the shut door, but before he reached for the handle, the marid paused. It was time. Closing his eyes, he allowed his human facade to melt away. It had been so long since he had taken his birth form and as the change rolled over his spirit, the strigoi took a step away from the devil.

Flicking his head to the right and then to the left, his bones cracked. His body grew and changed. He was already fairly tall, but his spine stretched an additional six inches and his chest widened several more. His skin reddened. His feet hooved. His eyes turned black and yellow. His canines and ears pointed. Black horns erupted from each side of his temple, forcing his ears down as the width of each neared the size of his own neck.

Though he had missed it, Raum hated this form now. His brother’s dark reputation had tainted it. Once, the Marid had been seen as powerful, beautiful, and strong. But now, they were the very embodiment of Hell and seen as that of the devil himself; evil and repugnant.

But he accepted it now because In this place, at this time, it would be far more useful than feigning human. Flashing a fanged smile, he turned back to the strigoi and found their eyes wide. They had seen fallen angels. They had seen Ifrit. They had seen many lesser Djinn. They had even seen a Giant Sun God himself, but they had yet to lay their eyes on a full blooded marid. "Ready?"

Vaun drew his sword and nodded compliance before Raum breached the hallway. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but entirely empty had never crossed his mind. The strigoi worked around him, moving with silent swiftness around each bend in the path. At each corner, they found nothing awaiting them down the next long collider. He thought they might be alone until the distant sound of dragging and shuffling pricked his oversized ears.

When the prey was in full view, ambling away from them down the hallway, Raum drew his blade and held a palm back to the Sun Hunters, silently commanding them to stay and then he advanced on the thing.

He was nearly to it when his intended target turned around. "Ummm … Sir?"

Sir? This thing believed him to be Shaitan and Raum froze in his advancement, blinking. "Halaz …" He remembered this Nasnas, one of the accursed half things. A good soldier, but not overly bright … obviously.

"I thought you were … with the Lord?" The Nasnas glanced behind himself with his half-head and pointed his only arm down the path the other direction.

"Ah, yes. I was … " Raum cleared his throat and glanced down at his drawn blade as Halaz eyed the weapon suspiciously. The marid feigned a weak smile and resheathed it slowly. “I was just on… uh … my way back …” Raum scratched the back of his neck and stood straight as the half-monster hopped past him.

"Very good, sir."

"Halaz …" Raum called to the lower minion and the pitiful being turned to him slowly, but fully. The thing was clearly nervous about something.

"Sir?"

"Where is everyone?"

"Sir?" The thing tilted his half-head and his lone brow furrowed. “You ordered everyone to the gate. Everyone.”

"Right. I know … but … " The Marid smiled. “I mean … Exactly. So why are you still here?”

"I …" The halfling looked down in shame. “I am so sorry, sir. I did not wish to leave my … catalogue. I … I have kept a journal of our time here and I do not wish to … “ The being sighed heavily and fished a leather bound book which had been hidden within his shirt. He held it out, expecting Raum to confiscate it from him. “I … I want our real story to be known. I did not want us to be remembered as … the devils we have become …”

"Halaz." Raum reached for the trembling thing. Empathy bombarded the Marid and he pushed the offered book away with his right hand and gripped Halaz’s shoulder with his left. “Go to the gate. Go now. No more delays, do you understand me? Go to the front. Tell them I sent you there. Now.”

He looked up into the Marid’s eyes and nodded. Making good time, he hobbled around the corner and came face to face with the hidden strigoi. "S-s-s-sir … ??" Halaz’s eyes found Raum’s again and his voice cracked as actual recognition danced across his half-face. “Sir … Sir ...”

"It is good to see you again, Halaz." Raum winked, accepting the minion understood his true name. “Go to the Gate now. Make sure our story is known. Do you understand?”

The halfling nodded and hopped passed the Sun Hunter force. Vaun carefully watched him hobble by before glancing to Raum. "He’ll warn others."

"No." The Marid shook his head. “He won’t.” Raum turned and his cautious stroll turned brisk as the revelation they didn’t need to sneak anymore fully sank in.

Absolute silence. Both armies. All four Hayyoth. Nothing moved. Not even the Nazi that held his breath as he questioned his own action. Stillness crawled over the area and now the only sound was that of the wind as it whined viciously through the jagged rocks and kicked up dust into the hot, humid air.

The other three Hayyoth were still on their backs, but Raphael was already cradling her empty, limp shell in his arms. The sparks of their divinity were so hot that it had fused the surrounding sand and the ground was covered in glass shards.

As he began to pull the shaft of his staff from her impaled body, sliding it out of the passage the Nazi had sent it, into her back and through her lungs and ribs, nearly grazing her heart and he stitched the skin, muscle, bones, and cells back together as purple energy flooded across her skin. There was no divinity left in her now. The staff had stolen all of it. Hers and that which Lucifer had shared with her.

Thomas stuttered from behind. "I am sorry, Sir … I am … I … I thought it necessary. The Master said … I am so sorry--"

"It was. It was necessary." Raphael did not tear his eyes from her blank stare as he reassured the stammering strigoi without gazing upon him. “You did good, Thomas. You did good.” The Traveller waited, his breath bated, his grip on her firm, and his brothers finally began to stir. Gabriel was first to rise again. And then Ozryel. Both gazed down at the empty shell in his arms, unable to physically voice what was on their minds, though their worry was thundering across their minds.

And last, Michael was to his feet …

Raphael still didn’t look away from her eyes. "Don’t do this …" he whispered and, as he knew they would, his brother’s agony began. “I’m sorry …”

"What happened? What happened?!?!" Michael clambered forward, reaching out to her but Ozryel caught him. The angel already knew what happened. “No. No!” He fought to fall forward but Ozryel held him back. “NO! Raphael! Where is she?! Where is SHE?! What did she do?!?”

"She took him to the confluence." Raphael closed his eyes and embraced her, holding her tight against him, he buried his face into her neck and whispered into her again, knowing she could not hear him. “Please don’t do this … please …”

"No …" Michael fought Ozryel’s arms, but in his weakness, he collapsed into them. “No … why would she …”

"Because … it was the only thing that could be done. She saved … everything."

Silence. In this brief moment, even the wind held its breath …

"What? Sorry … but … " Scratching the back of his neck, Gabriel asked as his ignorance finally overwhelmed him. “What the fuck is the Confluence?”

I Can Get It Back - Zack Hemsey 4:40+

Cuz now I'm pushing forward and nobody dare oppose

Now I'm moving faster while that ticking clock slows

And now I'm climbing higher like the ground can't hold

So I don't plan on stopping when this summit plateaus

I'm that invasion of the body by the soul

Sickened from the cold but soon a certified whole

Never one to fight but I just hit it on the nose

It took my spirit, but I got it back, case closed

His powerful legs pounded against the rocky ground as he outpaced the lesser fallen charging around him. If he hadn’t been pushing himself to his very limits, he might have felt the low rumblings that had finally reached the top level as the very foundations that held the structure of Hell together began to fracture and break apart beneath them, but he was entirely distracted with the passion of battle.

His sword was already drawn in his right hand and both arms trailed behind him while he sprinted through the tail of heat left by the Titan in full fury. The legion had spread out from their phoenix leader in an triangle pattern as Prometheus was leaving such incredible heat in the wake of his burn.

The form of the advancing force was quite advantageous. They would ram into the much larger army like a fiery wedge and Quinlan had every intention to be at the front of that marvelous impact. He pushed himself harder and faster than he ever had before, taking the direct heat from the Titan as he trailed directly behind. All of his other battles had been against mere men and his excitement brewed and bubbled under his focused surface.

Persephone was no longer the voluptuous redhead that he saw jump from the cliff edge. She was that marvelous dragon again. Basilisk Prime. And all four of her legs pounded, full-sprint, pacing to the right of the Sun God. As she came fully in view before Quinlan, her head flicked back to acknowledge his presence and she edged to the right, giving the dhampir the space to pace them, in the very front, in the very center. Quinlan took the offer and smiled as he emerged from the heat trail.

And as he came to the very front, the moment he was aligned perfectly with the seraphim, a glorious whirlwind danced up before them, leading the charge and kicking up the sand, the dirt, the rocks, everything it could, in a viscous trifecta of massive dust devils.

But this was entirely expected … for as history itself remembers, as Plutarch himself wrote, the wind had always been on the side Quintus Sertorius.

They crashed viciously into the Army of Hell and this moment was no different. Certainly the enemy had felt the rumbling of something large, and some soldiers turned towards the distant quaking. Some even attempted to run at the last moment, but there was nowhere to go and the sand had masked the truth of the impending impact. As the Titan sparked the moment of contact, a fourth of their opposition was simply gone without even the time for the souls to scream at their own tortuous destruction.

Perhaps Quinlan should have taken the distance of the gregori and djinn in tow as a careful warning, because he felt his soul begin to singe at the start of the blast, but The Maiden’s speed proved unmatched even against her brother Titan’s. Her claws gripped Quinlan’s rib cage and she came up to two feet and turned her back to Prometheus’ fire. The Earth elemental’s arms wrapped him and her endurance, no doubt created for this very purpose, shielded the dhampir against The Face of God.

What followed was absolute silence and her grip on Quinlan eased. His boots hit the dirt and he waved at the dust that stung at his eyes and face. They heard ... nothing. Not even the force that had charged behind them.

The smoke and ash were so thick he couldn't even make out the Titan any longer. Slowly, the gentlest of breezes rolled through the area. Where the back of the army had been, there was nothing but charred earth. From a great distance, he heard coughing and then voices. The wind swept the area again and the remaining army was a good quarter mile from their location.

"Deodamnatus …" All of those souls. All of those soldiers. Gone.

Shaking the soot from his coat, he made it no more than two steps before her claw gripped his shoulder. The massive grin painted across her face concerned him and he might have asked what she had in mind, but her hold on him shifted to his torso and then tightened as his feet left the ground. Uh oh. Quinlan cringed. "Hold tight to your mini-pigsticker, halfing."

Oh … Oh gods … oh … gods ....

She was running at full sprint and then she threw him. In a beautiful and perfect spiral. When he understood what was about to occur, his body grew rigid. His grip on the sword solidified and she thrust him perfectly through the air, sending him like a spinning spear into the heart of the force ahead.

He kept his arms tucked in tight until the moment before he would launch into his first target and then his arms relaxed, allowing the blade to cut savagely around him like a saw. Everything in his path was cut down. Arms, legs, torsos, heads. He rent them asunder and soldiers tried in desperation to leap from his path.

The sword’s edge ricocheted against the hard ground as his velocity slowed and the trajectory of his path curved down, putting his head in a direct collision with the ground. On his final revolution, he thrust the blade into the dirt, hilting it entirely as his body swung around and his boots found the ground and skidded to a marvelous halt.

No soldier made any immediate movement. Quinlan’s dizzy head swam, but he feigned perfect level headedness as he stood entirely erect and then spoke. "You have all been misled!" He yanked the sword from the ground, cracking his neck from side to side as they regarded him and fully accepted who it was that stood before them, perusing his Hayyoth features. Not even one of them had moved yet and he took the opportunity to try and sway them further. In fact, he could not help himself but try. “You know who I am!”

The first wicked-souled man stepped forward to foolishly challenge him, and the dhampir rid him of his head with a mere flick of the wrist. Smirking, he continued to speak. "Were you not once The Rebellious Ones?!" He bellowed to the fallen riddled amongst the confused and most wicked of human souls. “Pitiful that you bow before such a pathetic tyrant child!”

There was a movement to the left that caught his attention and the dhampir turned to address the next to challenge him. This was an Infernal Djinn. An ifrit; a being of half-fire, half-spirit. His skin rippled with waves of heat and his horns maintained a fiery crown above his red-skinned head.

He towered over Quinlan by several feet as he scoffed at the dhampir’s words. "I bow before no one … not even you." He swiped at the dhampir with a hand full of black claws and though his speed was impressive to say the least, it could not match the dhampir’s own. Quinlan sidestepped the motion, grinning as familiar footfalls grew closer to them. His heel was into the back of the Djinn’s knee as he thrust it forward causing the larger creature to buckled before him … to his knees.

A trine of Gregori moved to aid but she broke through the dust cloud looming behind, swatting one away with ease and grabbing the other between her massive jaws. She crunched hard before flinging him to the side with a flick of her head. The last writhed uselessly from beneath the talons of her hind legs and she screeched so loud the rock trembled on the ground and she stood her ground beside Quinlan.

His arm found its way around the Infernal’s neck and he whispered down into the Djinn’s ear. "And yet … you now bow before me … do you not?" There was pathetic resistance and he flexed the muscles of his arm as he whispered it again. “Yield.” One nod. This was all that was needed and he pulled back, placing his boot squarely on the Ifrit’s back, he thrust the Djinn to his face and into the dirt before him.

"I am the son of Sempronius Densus!" If only he had known Honoria’s true last name, this would have held even greater weight among these fallen. His lip sneered as he proudly claimed Ozryel as his maker. “And the offspring of the Angel of Death. The True Right Hand of God! Stand with us or burn!!!”

Us. The timing was perfect because the Titan was in motion again. Quinlan could hear his thundering fists rocking the ground.

He wasn’t expecting what happened next but he didn’t resist it. Her claws were around his torso again and she flicked him up and onto her back. He normally rode into battle on horseback but this was very different. There was no saddle to hold him in place and his heels pinched at her sides. He gripped a handful of her scaled flesh in his left hand as he thrust his blade into the air with his right. A savage and barbaric scream escaped his lungs as she roared in rhythm with him.

At first, he assumed his speech had no effect, but rebellious words and thoughts rippled through the army and in a beautiful wave of final defiance, the Djinn and Gregori turned their blades to the wicked human soul beside them as Prometheus finally emerged from the dust behind. His legs and arms beating against the ground as he thundered passed Persephone, striking anyone and everyone away with broad sweeping ape-like strokes.

As he and his dragon steed galloped into the heart of battle, and as their Djinn and Gregori forces finally caught up from behind, Quinlan found himself laughing. He picked off what targets he could, flicking his sword from left to right, while trying to maintain his position upon his fast dragon stead.

It was very unlike her to remain so quiet, and when she finally did speak, he fully expected the immaturity that accompanied it.

"I told you you’d like riding me ... didn’t I?"

Seeing is Believing - Zack Hemsey

Adam laid a hand on the priestess’ helpful shoulder. When he had approached her first in Purgatorium, as her original memories came back into focus, she was more than eager to help. "Keep them moving." He instructed. “I’ll be back shortly.”

"Where are you going?" She urged the next one through the now open portal and the soul was whisked away, dissolving into the stream of light that shot up and beyond the ceiling. The next stepped up and she held an open hand, guiding the old man up the steps and into the energy.

"I must do one more thing." Adam wasn’t sure if he should really voice it and he decided against a full explanation. It was unnecessary. “I will be back. Keep it moving. Quickly.”

He left the chamber and walked down the line of thousands of people. Down the long, long corridors until he came to the round staircase. Where the people were lined up from above, he diverted and went down. His steps were swift and he began to jump several levels, running his hands against the wall and the newly forming cracks. The further he went, the larger the cracks were becoming and a low vibration rattled the ground beneath.

"I know what I’m doing." He assured the voice that rang with concern in his ears. “I’ll be back in time … I know. I know … I just can’t … leave him there. It’s not right.”

And when he was back to the level before the bottom, he did not waver to turn the knob on the newest door and the pitiful figure within fell forward. He had been sitting with his back against the door and Adam bent, helping the older man to his feet. The soul had been a boy when he arrived here, but that was a very long time ago.

"Who are you?" Zach allowed the prophet to pull him to his feet, squinting into the sudden onslaught of light.

"I am your salvation, Zachary. Quickly now. Come on."

"I don’t deserve … salvation."

"Perhaps not, but I offer it nonetheless. Shall we?" Adam waved a hand towards the exit, but the man hesitated. “Do you not wish to see your father?”

"... father? …"

If not for the utter silence, he wouldn’t have heard that tiniest of whispers repeating his last word. If not for his utter blindness, his sensitive ears wouldn’t have even heard it. This was not Zach.

"... father? …"

Adam held his breath. The whispered word repeated and Adam’s heart cringed.

"... father?"

He was familiar with the intonation of this voice, but nothing more. It was now old and harsh and different, yet he still heard that child in it, the soul he knew.

"S-s-sir?" Zach tugged at Adam’s arm, desperate to be away from the cells.

Adam touched the face of this criminal and compared his crimes to that of his own son’s. Zach had caused so much more pain and death compared to that of his own offspring. There was a moment of remorse, a tiny instant of possible forgiveness, until Adam remembered Abel’s face and Abel’s voice ... which he would never hear again.

He thought of Abel’s beautiful soul and he cracked completely. Convulsing forward as every bit of anguished emotion he hid poured forth from the prophet’s being and he gripped his own forehead. Tears streamed down his dirty face.

"I can’t …" He shook his head as he remembered Abel’s laugh. He remembered his son’s joy and wonder and mercy. He remembered the love. “I’m sorry …. No …. I won’t.”

"Sir? Won’t … what?" Zach asked.

But Adam wasn’t speaking to him. He was speaking to the voice that consoled him from within. The voice that urged him towards forgiveness, towards retribution, but the prophet couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Not yet … in fact, never.

Abel’s soul was gone and there was nothing that could fix that. There was nothing that could change what Cain had done.

"Nothing." He gripped Zach’s shoulder. “It’s nothing. We need to go … now.”

Zach nodded and stepped forward, gripping Adam’s hand as if the blind man needed his guidance and before the prophet was entirely out of range, he heard the word one last time, but this time it wasn’t a question or a plea. This time it was acceptance and just a statement of fact. This time it was angry.

"Father."

Betelgeuse - King Creosote

Oh I have travelled far

To douse the astro fire within my heart

Drop off the radar screen

My ship has set course for the space in between Orion's Belt and Betelgeuse

I may not be back

Believe me

Peace at last, please

"This is not what I wanted, Aurora …" EL’s voice cracked as it exposed more emotion than she thought he was capable. “This isn’t a win. You didn’t--”

Between my desire ...

She giggled. He was grasping and she knew it. "We both know I don’t belong there … I never did, EL."

"No. That’s not right. It can’t be right." He couldn’t move. The spark had gripped his body and he felt it growing, emanating out, so very painfully slow. If he could move, he would have shaken her. He would have … done something ... “No. No. No … That’s why I hate it so much. That’s why I loathe it …”

… And your spasm.

"Because I don’t belong there? That’s why you want to destroy it?" She laughed again and shook her head over even the thought of it. “Don’t blame this on me. You’ve always hated it.” She relaxed fully into the sand. Her bottom sinking into the back of her heels as her knees dug holes. “Nothing would have changed that.”

"I wanted to remake it. To reshape it. It was broken. Every soul that came to Hell. Every ugly soul. I could see it. Something isn’t right about it. Father knew that … He always knew it wasn’t perfect. He knew he had created something … broken. I wanted to fix that. I wanted to make it perfect."

"That’s your problem. That’s its problem." She took a deep breath. “Don’t you get it, EL? It’s that obsession with perfection that makes it all so very … broken ...”

"How fucked up of a creation is it that something as beautiful as you … feels as broken as you do."

Between your potency ...

"It’s because I am broken, EL. I don’t belong there. I wanted to …" She looked down into her empty hands, as if she expected to find something there, and when she didn’t, she shook her head. “

"You aren’t the failure. It’s the failure … it failed you. Creation failed you ... just like it failed me. Please ..." He didn’t want this. Oh god. He didn’t want this …

… And my existence.

"I’m not so dumb to buy that excuse ..." She nearly laughed. “I know your silver tongue. I know what you are trying to--”

"All this time … all these years … I only saw it only through the eyes of the most damned … through their memories." It. Earth. Mankind. “Through the darkest and grossest souls that earned their way into my kingdom … through the most broken and despaired and evil. I knew I was seeing the worst of it and I understood that. I did have hope … but then I saw it through your eyes and ...”

"So it is my fault." Her face fell. “We both know I was never meant to belong to that world.” This smile was weak and disingenuous. “That’s on me … but not on it. That’s just evolution.”

The spark was now past his diaphragm and if he could move, he would have lunged forward, but the power had him and he was a prisoner to it. "Go now. Run. Leave me here … alone. As I’ve always been … as I was made … You don’t have to be here. Please. I don’t want you here. Not like this. This isn’t what I wanted … "

Between our essence ...

"You still don’t get it, you silly bean." She touched the very tip of his nose with right index finger and the simplest of gestures tore at him. She wasn’t afraid of him and it had been so long since anyone had treated him with such … equality and candor. “You’ve never been alone. Neither of us have.” She smiled again. This time genuine and his brows knit with confusion. “You didn’t have an other. You had four.” He shook his head, but offered no words to refute this claim. “And then you had five.”

Had. She was already speaking about herself in the past tense.

"I … You need to go … now." His rainbow eyes squinted in frustration. “Aurora, you have to--”

But she couldn’t and he knew that. They were tethered here together. If she went, so did he. And some small part of him accepted, that even if she could, she wasn’t going to leave him here … alone. "I’m not going anywhere."

… And our descent

"It’s too late, Aurora. I can’t stop it." He shook his head. His body heaving with deep, emotional breaths against her embrace. “I shouldn’t have … I so sorry. I was angry … I was …”

"I know."

"Nothing can survive this."

"You will survive." She nodded. “I don’t know where it will leave you. I’m sorry for that. I hope you find your way back home.”

"Please … go. At least try to go ..."

Falls her Shadow ...

"I can’t. There’s nowhere left ..." She held his shoulders, touching her forehead to his. Her connection to everything else was gone. She had pulled him along and severed everything else so that no one could follow.

"Aurora …" The chain reaction was still meandering slowly from his center but nothing would survive this. Just as he had shown her Raphael’s release in Sodom and Ammorah, she knew the cost.

The Confluence. The Prophet’s sight. And her soul. Everything that she was, everything that she felt, everything that she was, was here … with him.

For Thine is his Kingdom ...

She touched his chest, laying her palm across his sternum. "You didn’t need her, you know that right? I don’t know what will happen to you, but … you don’t need her to find happiness."

"And you didn’t need him." EL countered. The blast was nearly to his skin.

"No I didn’t … but damn did I love him …" That grin. It was half joy, half agony. She gripped his clenched hands. “If you find your way back … please tell him I was brave. Tell him …” And then she giggled. He couldn’t tell if this release was out of sadness or glory, but as she shut her eyes tight and opened them, he understood it was the latter. “Tell him … we’re even. He did the same to save me … didn’t he?”

"Aurora … I …" It was beyond the barrier of his skin now and she shuddered as it tore into her hands.

No. No. No. This isn’t what he wanted. This isn’t … this is the opposite of what he wanted …

He had no control over the spark. He had no control over his divinity, but he did have control of his mind and as the pain cracked her face and her body trembled further, he made a choice.

"This is the way this world ends …" She whispered. Her eyes pinched shut and she let go of her hold on time.

He reached out, in blind desperation at first, but then intimately and he tugged gently on the tiniest of threads that he found still waiting for him. Still open to him. After all this time. After everything he had done. He turned away from it long ago and he had never looked for it again. He had never even felt for it, but it was still there and his heart lurched at its presence.

He had vowed long ago he would never touch this thread again …

It was dangerous, because he would be raw. He would be open. Exposed. In all of his flaws, in all of his emotions, in all of his torments … There would be no hiding. He would never be free of it again if he tugged on that string.

This is the way his rule ends ...

And without hesitation or fear or resentment or delay, the Lightbringer reached out and rejoined the Nexus. For the first time in millenia upon millenia, the Traveller accepted his hand and his heart. Without remorse, without judgement, Lucifer fell into his brother’s outstretched arms and ascended again.

This is the way our world begins ...

In this vulnerable moment, EL chose something other than his anger … other than his revenge … other than his defiance … In this precious moment, EL chose something other than himself. He grab the thread with both hands and yanked it hard.

I have you ...

He cringed as Raphael’s arms wrapped around him and he breathed relief the instant the blast was entirely expelled from his spirit and he felt them being pulled from that place into something he had missed. Into something he had needed. Into something beautifully familiar.

I have you … both.

He whispered into him and EL tenses at his voice. He tried to pull back from his brother’s impending embrace. It was instinct. It was pure reaction. He had been alone for so long that he flinched at the contact of Raphael’s soul as it grazed against his own.

I have you … my little brother.

The Traveler gripped his brother’s head and pulled him closer. He would not permit the Lightbringer to pull away though Lucifer futilely pushed against his chest. Raphael’s hands were firm and unrelenting as he placed his temple against his brother’s.

… and I’m never letting go again.

Not with a bang

Lucifer’s hollowness filled as he accepted the embrace and returned it, his arms wrapping around Raphael’s torso, there was the tiniest of whimpers as he wept into his brother’s heaving chest.

… but a beautiful whimper.

David Becomes Goliath - Zack Hemsey

Her precious confluence. Her most beautiful creation …

If Lilith had time to mourn, she would have doubled forward and allowed the tears to flow, but she didn’t … Not now. Perhaps later … Perhaps she would cry later. Unlikely though. This was all part of her plan.

The Traveller snapped away and for the very briefest of moments, the Nexus was empty and Lilith knew she would only have one chance at catching this split second. Everything halted around her and she flexed her time bubble out and around the Marid king and the men behind them.

"Now?"

"Now. It is time to light it up, little kingling." She gave Deebaj a single nod and the blonde Djinn turned to face the massive door.

"Finally." He looked down at the pendant in his palm. “This better not kill me.” Deebaj quipped and breathed deeply as he gripped the tiny glass tube in his fist until the glass popped, piercing into his skin and the single drop of Lucifer’s blood mixed with his own. The power of the blood surged within him and his body burned at its contact. “Whoa …” This drop was the last thing she had of her Lightbringer. This drop, she had been saving for so long because a Mark of Power can only be subdued with the blood of a Hayyoth.

The glyphs on the door were Raphael’s masterpiece. An alarm system etched with such careful power that he would have felt even the slightest tampering. Its spider webs stretched into the Nexus itself and the Traveller would have felt even the slightest of tugs.

The door, the tomb, and the sarcophagus within were constructed by Ozryel. Stitched together with atoms so dense and tightly woven that even the strongest of men wouldn’t have been able to break through it in a thousand years.

But the heat from a Marid king was hot enough to melt even the Celestial Blade itself ...

He pushed a nervous palm against the tomb’s closed door and as the glyphs burned with light, bowing to the Hayyoth divinity that coursed through his trembling hand, the rock began to melt at his impressive intensity.

"Quickly! I cannot hold this forever!" She snapped her fingers once the door was a puddle on the ground and the men piled into the inner chamber before them. Setting up the metal harnesses around the massive coffin, they began to wrap, wedge, and lift it. Motorized winches were brought in, but she waved the king over. “Quickly!”

"You sure you don’t want me to just open it now?" Deebaj grinned and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t wanna give him a kiss?”

"No." Laying a palm against the sarcophagus lid, she smirked, tapping her finger tips against it. “Not yet. He needs to fall just a bit further still.”

But the men struggled to get the proper leverage on the multi-ton coffin and Deebaj stood idly, staring at his bloody hand as they finally began to lift it from its resting place.

"You are really going to just stand there?" She shook her hand at his laziness. “You are stronger than all of these men combined.”

The smiling Sun King leaned his back against the chamber wall and shrugged. His grin was as sinister as they came. How she hated it. How she hated him. "Come on now. You know I don’t like to get my hands dirty … unless there’s proper … reward." He gave her a wink and she hid her bubbling revulsion.

"Your hands already seem to be fairly dirty." She stared down at his blood palm and he fished a clean, white handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping the dried blood away from his already healed skin.

"How did it feel?" She prodded though she already knew the feeling of that power coursing through one’s veins.

"Intoxicating. Unlike anything I've ever felt ..." He admitted and then countered her previous statement. “You’re just as lazy … You aren’t exactly weak either.”

"Such a gentleman." Of all the Djinn kings she could have saddled herself with, she was most annoyed it had to be this one. In all the possibilities she had looked into, the other six kings would have all had a moral and ethical dilemma in standing against the Hayyoth and freeing Lucifer’s body, but Deebaj was as smarmy as they came and when he winked at her again, she looked forward to the end of their partnership.

"I didn’t hear you complaining about my manners last night … or the night before … or the night before that … or--"

"Enough!" Oooof. She rolled her eyes though he had a point. He was gifted in more ways than just making celestial fire. The sarcophagus swung wildly when a harness gave way under its weight as they were trying to guide it into the back of the awaiting truck. Deebaj moved instantly, gripping the corner before the entire thing slid out of the straps. A normal man would have been crushed.

"Fucking fools!" She bellowed and the men moved to re-secure the wayward strap. “What are we paying you for?!”

But it was done and secured. Deebaj offered her a hand to join him in the bed of the covered truck and she accepted. She pulled a tarp across her love’s prison and Deebaj slapped the side of the fabric.

"Lets go!"

The truck bounded along the desert and everything flowed again as she smiled and then laughed … and then cackled.

Sandalphon buckled when the Confluence snapped from existence. She wasn’t sure if it was her handle on the gears that made the sensation so unbearable, but she held them even as her body collapsed. Uriel was pulling her back to her feet before she realized what had happened.

"Andy! What the--"

"You asked why Dawn …" Her mind swam with stimuli. It beat down on her from all around. It was all new and strange and absolutely unknown. “Why her … because we needed a way to get a Hayyoth into the Confluence. But you see, it was only open to prophets.” Was. “But Hayyoth are connected to each other in such a uniquely fundamental way ... Their minds are woven together … we needed … someone who was both ...”

"Into the Confluence?! Why would you need to get a Hayyoth into …" He realized and his face fell with understanding.

"No matter what we did, Uriel. No matter what path we took … Lucifer was always going to pop."

"But ... the Confluence?" Uriel blinked. “That’s a hell of a price to pay.”

"You’re telling me?!" She snorted. “It had to be something.” Sandalphon closed her eyes and she felt the last fragments of its connection rip away from her mind. “It had to be somewhere.” The last vision from it was always the one she knew would happen. The last flash that she ever saw of the future was always Raphael. Smiling in pride as his arms collapsed down around both of them. “The Morning Star was always going to blow. He had grown too powerful.”

And then she remembered that first night on the small beach, sitting across the fire from her co-conspirator:

"You want to sacrifice the Confluence? You want to ... blind us all?"

"Would it be so bad?" Lilith’s smile was genuine and she took a deep breath. “When he asked me to blind him … when Adam begged me ...” She poked at the fire. “He cried, but when it was done and he laughed.” She looked up into the twilight sky. “I would rather be alive and blind, than nothing at all.”

"What did … he say it was like?" The Wheel’s curiosity piqued. “Not knowing … everything?”

"Freedom. Actual freedom. He said it was like … being born all over again." Lilith took a handful of the sand and let it slip from her grip in a steady stream back to the ground. “He said … you cannot understand wonder until you experience it … until you experience the unknown.”

The Morning Star’s throne room was exactly as Raum had imagined. Wicked and sinister. By design, no doubt. The grey granite walls had been carved to resemble the rib cage of a long and massive creature. Its bones curving around the room in an embracing fashion and its spine running along the ceiling before running down the far wall, directly behind the throne itself.

He wasn’t sure what the chair itself looked like, as the Morning Star covered it entirely from view. Red tendrils of threads erupted from every inch of his skin in lines down the sides of his body, head, arms, and legs. They connected to everything around them, overflowing the throne, running over and into the ground and ceiling. The glowing, living vines throbbed with a heartbeat of pulsating energy. Though Lucifer’s eyes remained closed, Raum dared not even utter a breath for fear his other senses might still be keen, his strigoi companions did not show as much caution.

"Whoa. Is that …?" Vaun asked from behind, the question trailing off but its subject was obvious and Raum nodded.

"Yuuuuup." Their eyes trailed the veins of light on his right side, as a hand full of them branched off and ran into something ominous looking carved directly into the wall. Almost nautical in design, a series of gears wound together and in the very center of it all, there was a wheel, no more than two feet in diameter, similar to that of a bulkhead door handle.

There was little doubt this was what they were here for and Raum took one step towards it before he heard and then saw Shaitan.

"I’ve been waiting for you, my most merciful brother." His identical twin greeted.

His younger brother, having been born second by only five seconds, stood at the large, round, broken window, exactly opposite the room from the throne. His hands clasped behind him as he stared down into the ensuing carnage below. His sword still securely sheathed at his side.

As he turned to face them, he smiled and Raum was thrown. It wasn’t a grin of challenge nor of animosity or even annoyance. He knew his brother and this was a smile of beautiful recognition and relief. "Tell me … Have you come to open or close the gate?" Both marid glanced at the controls on the far wall.

Raum hadn’t been entirely honest with the dhampir of his true plan concerning this very question. When he had actually voiced his intention, he was surprised when there was no push back from Vaun and the Sun Hunters. Quintus was right. They were good soldiers. And they understood the need for sacrifice in this instance. "After the boy is through, I plan to close the gate. Until then … we’ve come to make sure it remains open."

"Yes. Very good. That’s what I assumed." Shaitan nodded as he took a seat on the bottom of the circular window sill and placed his hands on top of the end of his broadsword’s hilt. “It’s just a spin of the wheel. Righty tighty. Lefty loosey. Or you can simply cut the lines of power, if you really want to close it quick and nasty.”

Built for This Time (Music Video Version) - Zayde Wolf

Standing there on the edge

Ain't scared of what’s ahead

Walking up like revenge

I was built for this time

Bleeding red like the sun

Taking over everyone

Watch me as I overcome

I was built for this time

"What’s your game, Shaitan." Raum pointed his sword and squinted. He was expecting a fight. He was expecting an argument. In fact, this was the very opposite of what he thought would occur. “Have you booby trapped it?”

"Booby trapped it?!" The Djinn nearly snorted as he scoffed at the accusation and stood. Everyone, including Raum, took a solid step back. “Psh. Please. Is that really what you think of me, Raumaniel?”

"I don’t know what to think of you anymore, but I don’t blame you for your corruption. Everything that has happened has been the fau--"

"If I had wished to move against you, brother, I would have done so the moment the boy cut his way out of Purgatory. Or perhaps the moment before he severed the Titan’s bonds ..." Raum’s left eye twitched and he kept a distance from his brother as the identical Marid approached him.

"What? What are you on about--"

"I knew the instant you escaped from Purgatory. I’ve been watching everything you’ve been up to ..." Shaitan waved an open hand towards a round table beside the throne, although “table” was the wrong word to adequately describe it. It was at least six inches thick and filled with clear, still liquid. A glow emanated from within it and Raum craned his head to the right as he glanced over.

"You knew?" Raum didn’t believe him. “You … knew … ? Bullshit.” He moved towards the device and looked down into it. It was a display of some kind. There was a series of boxes, each filled with a live view. One showed the Battle currently underway. Another, showed Purgatorium. Another, the Staircase. Tartarus. Prometheus’s cell. All of it. All of the places they had been. Raum touched the surface of water over one of them and the video rippled out to fully expand across the visible space. It was a close up of Quintus’ tear in Purgatorium. He was telling the truth. Shaitan had watched them escape. “Why … why didn’t you stop us?”

"Stop?" Shaitan chuckled at the thought of it. “I could have delayed at best. The boy already bested me once. With the Maiden and the Prophet Prime … and you … by his side … we could have merely slowed you at best. And what would have been the point?”

"You couldn’t have stopped us? Is that the only reason?" Raum knew it wasn’t. He watched his younger brother stare down into his empty hands and all pity he felt for him washed away with the gentlest of laughs that escaped Shaitan’s lips.

"I heard what the boy said. What Lucifer really intended to do. It is not freedom. He lied. I thought … all this time … I despised myself for what I had become … for what I had lost. For the reputation that I tarnished. For the damnation and the groveling and ... I thought … when I bowed to him, I had compromised everything I was … everything we were."

"Desperation makes fools of us all."

"No. You don’t understand." Shaitan smiled. “It was not desperation. It is destiny. My destiny. This is where I was always supposed to be.” The Djinn waved both hands, palm up, around him. “In this position of power. In this room. At this time. I was always supposed to be here. I knew it when I watched Humanis Prime talk the Basilisk Queen down … Nothing was what it seemed and this is where I was always meant to be. I was never forsaken. I was chosen by the Wheel, by Fate herself. She chose me for this task.”

"And what task is that?" Raum cautiously took a step forward, lowering his blade no more than an inch.

"To stand between them …" He glanced to the army below. “Between you …” He grinned at him. “... and him.” Shaitan cackled as he waved a hand towards the Morning Star. “This whole time … The Prophets knew … God knew … I was their inside man and I had no idea!” There was more he wasn’t saying and he closed the distance between his reluctant brother, pointing to the water screen. “You’ve missed the best part. May I?”

Raum looked down and touched the water again, reverting the screen back to the previous view and he stared at all the tiny windows. Shaitan reached forward, across his brother, slowly at first as their eyes met and Raum’s tension abated. The Djinn touched one of the many staircase views, maximizing it to the view port. The video had been speeding along, but slowed to read time once maximized.

"What is that?" Raum’s curiosity piqued and his sword fully lowered as his eyes grew wide. The staircase was full of people, shuffling quickly along. “What the fuck is that?”

"Adam." Shaitan laughed again. Genuine and pure. His tongue flicked against his fang as he exited the view and touched another tiny box. It was a small chamber, filled with a brilliant light and Adam was rushing people into the stream. “He has emptied Purgatory.”

"But why … What is that?" Raum tilted his head. “What is--”

"Gentlemen … ?" Vaun said lowly from behind, but the brothers ignored, carrying on their much needed conversation.

"Home, brother." Shaitan gripped Raum’s shoulder and squeezed it. Relief. Love. Hope. “That is our way home. It leads to Heaven.”

"Gentlemen … ?"

"That son of a bitch …" Raum’s upper lip curled and his nostrils flared as he stared at the prophet shuffling along the line of people. Raum turned towards the large, broken window and flicked a hand towards it and the battle ensuing below. “Then what the fuck was that all about?! If we could have just--”

"Sir … Sirs?"

"A beautiful distraction … of sorts. A very clever sleight of hand." Shaitan stated the fact simply.

"But … why? Why do they matter?" Raum pointed to the people of purgatory.

"Before Michael faltered, Lucifer originally planned to destroy the gate."

"That’s not possible. That gate is indestructible. It was made by God himse-"

"We’ve both seen the destruction Ozryel is capable of with one single soul. Imagine the scale of that … for hundreds of thousands. For millions."

"Jesus … He was going to … destroy them all?" Raum shook his head at the thought of such an act.

"Was? If he doesn’t get his way, I’ve no doubt he’ll--"

"SIRS!"

Raum swung around with absolute annoyance. He would have demanded a reason for the interruption, but none of the Sun Hunters, including Vaun, were looking at the Marid. Their eyes were locked onto the throne as Lucifer’s fingers had begun to twitch.

"Shit." The whispered word escaped Raum’s lips and no one moved a muscle. “Is that supposed to happen?”

It was just the very tips of his fingers. Once, twice, three times and then entire digits began to move. Then his face. His mouth opened first and his jaw flexed.

"Shaitan … ?" Lucifer’s voice was groggy and dry; everyone glanced at each other. “Shaitan …”

"Sir." The Djinn stepped forward and Lucifer’s eyes cracked open briefly but then shut again, the light seeming to be painful.

"Is …" He cleared his throat and the tendrils began to move, just slightly as the Morning Star gained his bearings. He swallowed hard. “... is the gate still open?”

"The gate, Sir?" Shaitan glanced at his brother and both Djinn shrugged to each other as Raum raised his blade, but Shaitan pushed it down shaking his head as if he was mad. What should they do?

"YES. THE GATE. IS IT STILL OPEN?!" Lucifer’s hoarse voice forced the question out thick with desperation.

"Yes, sir." Shaitan answered and he flicked his head towards the door, instructing them to leave, to sneak away, but Raum shook his head. There was no way they were leaving him to close the gate.

"Help me up … please … help me to the gate …" Lucifer tried to open his eyes again, but pinched them shut and the tendrils that held his body began to slowly pull back into his form. “We’re leaving …”

"S-s-s-sir? Leaving? Your … body? Why are you back? The woman--"

"She’s a sneaky little thing, but I haven’t lost shit yet ... she’s weak now. She won’t be able to resist me again." A sinister smile spread across his face and Raum’s heart pounded at the words. No. “‘Sides, I don’t need a body to control the army.” No. “Get me to the gate … Quickly. Before my brother can close it again …” The tendrils continued to retract from the throne and the ceiling and the floor as the Morning Star pulled himself back together.

The Djinn exchanged glances as the situation took a sharp turn. He had come to ensure his brother did not close the gate on the escaping force below, but they could not allow the Morning Star the same freedom. Both Marid glanced back at the gate controls and the lines of power that flowed up from it.

"Shaitan? Did you hear me?" Lucifer coughed. “Shaitan …?”

Raum stepped towards the gate control. A single nod from Shaitan and a single nod from Vaun. He needed their consent for what his next action meant for everyone in this room and everyone in battle below, for the fate he was resolving them all to.

Before he swung his blade through the pipes of coursing power, severing the gate’s mechanism and power, closing it the "quick and dirty" way, Raum pinched his eyes shut the moment the Morning Star fully opened his.

"Noooooo!"

#the strain fanfic #quinlan fanfic #Mr. Quinlan fanfic #quintus sertorius fanfic #quintus densus #an insatiable ache #chapter 13 #part 6

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alexologyart · 5 years

Photo

Quintus and Dawn // A Very Merry Christmas

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU!!

🎄🎅🎁❄️☃️

Specially to my beloved friend @5thinvictus, this is for you! :D

[INSTAGRAM] [TWITTER]

#merry christmas #the strain fx #mr quinlan #quintus sertorius #fan art #digital #alexologyart #myart #a savage inconvenience #fanfic #fanfictyion #an insatiable ache #5thinvictus #dawn maxwell #dawn x quinlan #quinlan x dawn #quintussertorius

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lexiseigneur · 5 years

Photo

Quinlan and Lexi from Defiance and Pride, Ao3.

#Fanart #mister quinlan #mr. quinlan #quintus sertorius #the strain #the strain fx #the strain fanfic #the strain fanfiction

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strainingfororiginality · 6 years

Text

Chapter 13.4 - Redemption

Note from Author: Chapter 13 was supposed to be 6 parts, but when I looked at the current chapter, I already had over 30 pages and it was only half done, so I’ve broken the latest one into 2. Looks like Chapter 13 is gonna be 7 parts.

The fight outside of her mind had come to a standstill and all of the attention was on the assault that waged within. None of their consciousness could spread their attention between the two separate realms and their shells upon Earth had frozen in whatever stance they were in when she started to fluctuate the flow of time.

Raphael watched calmly from the back of her consciousness. He was better than any of them, but he needed to let his brothers have their victories. He needed them to know they were better as well.

Biding his time in the shadows, as he was so used to doing, he knew there would be a moment when he would need to step forward, but they were doing so very well without him and he billowed with pride. The twins and Gabriel took turns coming forward and Dawn accepted their motions, matching their speeds with Lucifer’s.

It wasn’t until she suddenly flicked a glance in Ozryel’s direction that Raphael realized something else was afoot, something outside of this internal fight. He could have picked into their minds to see what might have been stirring, but he didn’t want to bring any attention that the Morning Star might catch.

There was some sort of plan in the works and the concerned look on Oz’s face was matched with Dawn’s own. In that fleeting and miniscule moment, that one look seemed to convey an entire conversation. Ozryel was asking for something. Gabriel was at the forefront, allowing them to pay full attention to each other. For just that split second and Dawn gave a half nod to Ozryel, accepting whatever she was promising.

The twins stepped forward again, always together, in beautiful and elegant unison, and that’s when he heard the voice from outside. Masculine, distant, and very distinctly German. Raphael’s skin flushed with bumps as he heard it so faintly in the background. The look between Ozryel and Dawn was understood. The Angel of Death was asking her permission for something terrible and drastic.

"I’m so sorry, my Dear. Forgive me."

Lucifer’s ears pricked, his eyes growing wide. Of course he had heard it and he attempted to pull back into the real world, to flee back into her physical body and Raphael knew it was finally his turn.

"This …" He stepped forward, his skin crackling with divine light. He gripped the fleeing Morning Star, holding him in place.

"No. NO!" Lucifer struggled, pulling furiously at his soul to stop the impending blow. “Don’t. Don’t make me do this! DON’T MAKE ME--”

"This is how you lose, little brother." Raphael whispered into his ear as he held his ground. “Through redemption …”

They all felt the staff the moment the Nazi pushed it into her body.

As he descended into the very center of the crater, Quinlan hoped, as he always had and always would.

"Hic abundant leones." He urged himself on, pushing himself forward and down the steps as his eyes locked onto the cowering mass below.

"The rapture? Andy, you’re talking about Revelations." Uriel’s path dipped slightly as her words fully sunk in and his mouth fell agape. “You’re talking about … The End of Days?”

"Of course it is! Are you daft? Have you not put all the signs together, brother?!" She was certain she had never before seen such amusing panic on the overly stoic angel’s face. Perhaps it was that unusual response that made her snort, but she quickly regretted it as his flight slowed and more panic set in. “Come on. Come on!” She needed to stop smiling, it was only making his fear deepen, but his reaction was continuing to wildly tickle her. “It’s not that bad! I promise!”

"But this .. this can’t be the end."

"‘The End of Days’? ‘The End Time’? I assure you it is, brother. Everything lines up with what was foretold, does it not?" The Left Hand grew silent. “The Great Tribulation itself has already occurred. Don’t you see? The Seventh Shard’s stranglehold on mankind, when everyone, across the globe, experienced disasters, famine, war, pain, and suffering. The Master decimated three quarters of all life on the planet. He was the Abomination of Desolation, Uriel. He was the perversion of Baal Shamem, one of the Lords of Heaven. And then the Second Coming took place. Lucifer had no idea he would be the catalyst for it.”

"The Second Coming?? The children … " Uriel hadn’t yet put two and two together. Even after the story she spun him, he couldn’t see passed his own assumptions of what the next messiah should be.

"The children. And they have both already died and risen again. Have they not? One for the Right. One for the Left. Do you not see it? Does it not make perfect sense now? Like a painting that has finally come together. And do you know how many weeks it has been since that plane first landed in New York, brother?"

Uriel’s lips pursed together. She knew he knew the answer but he didn’t utter it, at least not out loud.

"Seventy weeks. One year, four and a half months. After seven weeks and sixty-two weeks, the messiah will be severed. They will die and rise again. And the Battle of Armageddon? It wages right now on the shores of Baikal. Two divine armies are clashing there as we speak, before the end times will occur."

"If everything’s gonna end …" She’d never heard such defeat in the warrior’s voice. “Then why are we bothering right now?” He slowed even more, even as the wind carried him on. “It can’t … it can’t be … over. I need to find …” His words trailed off, ashamed to utter the name that fluttered on the end his tongue. Sandalphon knew the name that clung to his mind. “If this is the end, I need to find …”

"The end of everything? Oh good Lord no. Calm yourself. I expected less drama from you, of all people. End of Times, I mean, it sounds scary, but I assure you, it’s not what you assume. It’s merely the end of an era. Nothing more. Nothing less. They used my prophecy, my words, translated it poorly, to strike fear into the hearts of man, to obtain compliance."

"And the rapture then?" Uriel grasped for straws. “How does this even play into your plan? How is going to the Well of Souls going to help us save the souls on Earth.”

"The souls on Earth?" She nearly giggled. “Who said anything about the souls on Earth? The Rapture is the time for the dead to rise. For those forgotten to be received into Heaven light … finally. For them to be gathered into the air by God.”

They landed on the ledge in unison and swiftly entered the cave. The chamber hadn’t been used in nearly six thousand years. It was locked when the first of the Basilisk used the portal to flee Heaven, against the rules. Uriel placed his hand on the keystone and the doors shifted and rolled open before them.

"So why Dawn?" Uriel waved his sister in first. “I know you’re still not telling me everything.”

"I rarely do." Sandalphon chuckled as she accepted the lead and entered the cave. “She has a very important purpose she has yet to fully grasp. But she already has all the clues and she’s very, very clever.”

As Uriel entered from behind, the torches mounted to the walls around the room came alive to his presence and the room danced with amber light. They approached the dark, round well in the very middle of the room and Sandalphon sat on its edge, peering down into the perfectly still water. Such a tiny opening. This was going to take a long time and she sighed over the coming task and its inevitable exertion upon her. "Riddles. All you say are riddles. Fine. Don’t tell me then. Then why Quinlan? Of all people, why did you choose Honoria’s son? Why would you make her an accomplice in this--"

"Why him?" Repeating the question to him, she smiles. She liked that question. Quite a bit actually, especially coming from him. Now she was laughing again and his expression was growing more exasperated. “Don’t you get it? You’ve already answered the question.”

"What?"

"You are the answer to your own question. I found him because of you, Uriel. It was your love for Honoria that put a spotlight on that child." The look on angel’s face was priceless. “And we knew, anyone that we picked, would need divine help to escape Heaven ... and in all the possibilities, in all the futures … no matter what we did, you’ll always love her.” She stood and placed her palm on his chest, directly over his raging heart. “He would never have made it out of Heaven without your submission to her and you would not help me now unless your love for her had not spilled over onto him.”

"You … used me?" Uriel’s face contorted, unsure how to process the information.

"I use everyone." She had never been one to beat around the bush, nor refuse the truth, regardless of its uncomfortable undertones.

"She is … " His shame tormented her. It oozed from his eyes as he stared down at the ground. “Honoria has always been my downfall.”

"No." Sandalphon gripped his shoulder. “She is your grace, brother. But enough chit chat. Yeah?” Turning back to the well, she raised her hands, bellowing into the air. “Well!? Your turn. Finally. We’re waiting.”

The faintest of breezes tickled the brown hair across her face and as it grew into a torrential cyclone in the circular chamber, visions of memories fluttered across her mind. Uriel’s question riding the front of her consciousness.

Why Quintus? No, the correct question was: why Cassius?

Heavy - Birdtalker

Are you tired are you weary of the hidden hate

You’ve been holding, yeah

Did you lose that love

Or have you never had it

A simple house. A poor family. The Roman Empire, 50 A.D

It wasn’t actually Rome. At least, not the one that would be known. It was just an echo of a possible future of it. A fleeting shimmer of a memory that would never actually occur. Reverberating across the waves in the confluence, Sandalphon watched this possibility again from afar. She watched herself approaching the sleeping boy in his bed, his siblings and parents still fast asleep in the only room of their simple house.

Time slowed to a near halt and she sat quietly on the edge of his straw filled bed. She watched his closed eyes darting back and forth as the nightmare took hold of him. Sweat beaded up on his tiny forehead and when the nightmare climaxed with his fall, he sat straight up in the bed, panting wildly and her arms were there to catch him from rolling off onto the hard and cold ground.

"Shhhhh. It’s alright." She consoled him. He tried to pull away from her, shocked at her strange yet beautiful appearance. “Not to worry, little Cassius Densus.” His tiny eyes had grown wide at the site of her towering above him. “I am not real. This is your dream. You’re still sleeping.” She lied, brushing a lock of his golden hair from his dark blue eyes and she tucked it lovingly behind his ear, urging him to lay back down.

"I was … dreaming." He confessed as his lids grew heavy, threatening to close as he relaxed back into the comfort of the bed and stared up into her divine form with absolute innocence.

"What were you dreaming of, child?" She smiled. She already knew, of course. It was always his fall. When his foot slipped on that wet boulder and the violence of his fall cracked his leg in two. He always dreamed of this. It tormented him.

"I was dreaming … that I was strong." It wasn’t a lie. That’s what he wanted so very badly each and every time his fall happened in his nightmares. Careless and young, he wished nothing more than to take that moment back, as he rightly feared his life would be shaped by this poorly healed injury. “I want to be strong again.”

"Do you now?" She asked, placing her palm on his chest as she felt his thunderous and hopeful heart rage within. “And how strong do you wish to be?” He looked ashamed, his eyes darting down and refusing to meet hers. “You can tell me. It will be our little secret. I promise.”

"I want … to be strong … like papa." This little boy respected that grumpy man so much and she grinned at his unwavering devotion. Cassius had no idea that he would already be stronger than his father. This mother’s special lineage had already solidified that matter.

"Really?" Her tone feigned surprise. “Only as strong as him? He’s just a man, you know.” She patted his chest and leaned forward, whispering down to him in hushed tones. “Are you sure that’s it? I thought your ambition knew no bounds.” She leaned further down and her voice grew even fainter. She knew he wished for more than just that. “Come on now. You can tell me what you really want. It will be our little secret, dreamer. I promise it.”

The boy’s face lit up and he clenched the top of his wool blanket in his tiny fists. "I …" He hesitated. “I …”

"Yes?" She egged him on. Oh how she loved to indulge this boy’s imagination. It was spectacular. “Come on then … this is only a dream, right? Indulge me.”

"I want to be as unbreakable as Vulcan." The confession poured forth and his true desires escaped with so much excitement, he might have woken his family had she not plucked them out of the normal flow of time. “I never want to break again.”

"Never again." She nodded, accepting the request. “Alright. Got it. Anything else?” She knew there was more. There was always more.

"I want to be …" He bit into his lower lip. “As smart as Apollo.”

"God of Knowledge himself? Hmmm. It’s a good choice, but nope. Can’t do that one." She refused and his face fell. Poking him in the chest, she grinned madly as she admitted to him. “Can’t do that one because you’re already smarter than he, little Cassius. I will not make your mind shine less than it already does.” This wasn’t a lie. He was absolutely brilliant and that was one of the reasons she was consistently drawn to him, over and over again. She loved to pick through his vibrant thoughts and the smile that spread across his face now was well worth this visit. “What else?”

"I want to be …" He fidgeted under the covers and she could feel his excitement rising; his eyes darted to the single crutch leaning against the wall next to the bed. “I want to be as powerful as Hercules!”

"Hercules?!" She feigned surprise again for she already knew this. This hero was always his favorite. He beamed. “Are you certain?!”

"Yes!" Upon her question, he sprung straight up, standing on the bed and grabbing at his crutch as he swung it wildly in the air like a sword. He swung it around and around as he fought an army of invisible foes all around him.

"Remember that Hercules was made to suffer for his strength, dreamer. Perhaps a different deity might suit your needs better?" But his enthusiasm did not waver from her words of caution and she knew it wouldn’t. “He paid a most terrible, terrible price for what he was. In fact, his family paid that price. Those around him, those he loved the most, suffered greatly for who his father was. The gods took everything from him.”

"If I could save everyone, I would pay the price! I will slay the Nemean Lion and the Lernaean Hydra." He was young and foolish and even with his crippled leg, he was full of so much hope. “I will steal from the Amazons. I will capture Cerberus.” She beamed as he danced around, hopping without mind to his weak leg. “And I will climb to the top of Mount Kazbek! As Aeschylus foretold, I will free Prometheus himself! I will undo the injustice upon him!” He had been completely obsessed with that play since he’d seen it three weeks ago. Since then, his crutch had become his go-to sword and he had hobbled around in the grass as he pretended to free the Titan from captivity.

"Free Prometheus himself?! You wish to defy the gods, little one?" She giggled. “That is either a brave endeavour, or a truly foolish one. Why would you want such a thing?”

"Someone has to! I would stand against the tyranny of the gods and--" He had spun, swinging wildly again and his leg finally gave out. The twinge of pain that jolted across his little frame sent him collapsing back down onto the bed. Even through the pain of it, he didn’t whine or make any noise at all. His strength and fortitude, even at this size, even at this age, was greater than most grown men could even dream about.

It seemed the sudden collapse caused him more emotional pain than physical. "Papa says I’ll never be the same again." Cassius sighed as she took the crutch from his little hands and set it against the wall again. “He says I’m broken.”

"Your father speaks the truth to you. Appreciate that. He loves you. He knows your life will be hard. And he knows that you must understand if you are to find peace with it."

"He’s says I can’t be fixed." The boy continued to struggle with his father’s demand that he let go of hope for a better life, for a miracle.

The pain in these words were such agony to her ears. If only the child knew the truth of it. That the fact that he was strong is why he still breathed at all, because that fall would have killed a mere human. An adult much less a child. Plummeting twenty-five feet down that slippery crevice, cracking his head on the rock from side to side as he tumbled. Had his leg not caught between two jagged rocks near the bottom, his fall would have continued straight down, head first. It would have crushed even his skull upon impact.

"Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros, Cassius. Those who break are not weak. In fact, those who break are very often stronger than those who have never." She pulled the covers open, encouraging him to lay back down and he melted into the bed. The excitement died away as his eyes grew heavy again. “You know, dreamer, you remind me of a little girl I hope to know someday.” She pulled the blanket up and tucked it around him snugly.

"I do? Why? Is she broken … like me ... too?"

"Oh yes. Very much so. And she will break many times. More than even you will." Sandalphon nodded as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forehead. “And it too will make her stronger. Fire tests gold, little one; adversity builds the strongest of us all. Painful but necessary.”

"Just like Hercules."

"Yes." She laughed. “Just like him.”

"Can I … meet her?" His eyes were growing heavier and heavier. His mind was dancing around the possibility of her words and she felt him beginning to daydream about it all. “Do you think she’d want to play with us? Is she good at swords?”

"Silly boy. She isn’t even born yet ..." She took a deep breath in. “Not for a very long time, in fact.”

"Oh … I can be her friend still?" His pure disappointment amused her endlessly. “Is she pretty?”

"Pretty? Why on Earth is that important?" She poked his side and a sinister giggle escaped him. He was on the very edge of true childhood and she knew his mind struggled with maturing thoughts. “You’re such a little lover boy, aren’t you?” The giggle erupted from her without warning and she touched the very tip of his nose. “Not everyone will think so. You see, she’s very unique. But I do think she’s lovely. Yes. And quite brilliant I assure you, just like you are, Sun prince. Smarter than Apollo himself.”

"I don’t like the sun. I burn easily." He was dozing now. His words sloppy and slow as he struggled to stay awake. “I think she’s probably good at swords too then.”

"Would you like to meet her, Cassius?" The question was fleeting and she wasn’t sure why she had even asked it, but as the smile danced across his face, she was intoxicated with the idea of it. Aurora would like him. She would like him very much.

"Can I?" He was nearly out and she could see the images dancing across his mind. He was imaging all sorts of little girls now. His mind raced with unvoiced questions of what she might look like. Tall, skinny, or plump? Dark and light skinned? Straight or curly hair? Smooth or bumpy? Flawless … or lavishly spotted. The thought of spots obviously amused him and he smiled. His imagination was on fire with simply the possibility of her. “I don’t think she’d like me …” He mumbled, glancing down towards his leg, shame and disdain for his own body thick in his dark blue eyes grew nearly too heavy to open again.

"I think she would. Your leg aside, you’ve traits that are to be admired, little one. To be sought for, in fact. Plus …" She smiled madly. “Girls love scars, do they not?” The angel touched the side of his head and fixed his changing vision of the little girl and his eyes closed slowly. The little girl, as she really was, or would be, stood perfectly before him in his blossoming dream. He grinned, uttering one final gasp before he’d fall back to sleep entirely, taking the fixed vision of the girl as they ran off into the high grass together. “Oh … She is pretty …”

"Yes." She smiled. “I think so too, my little dreamer. I think so too.” There was something in the innocent way he admitted it that crushed her angelic resolve. He hadn’t imagined anything like Dawn, and that’s what made her beauty so much more profound to him when he actually saw her.

She laid her hand on the top of his head, atop the obfuscation mark that had been placed shortly after his birth and she kissed him one final time as the entirety of his sad little life flashed before her eyes. "I’m so sorry, little Cassius. I shan’t be bothering you again." She stood from his bed and the vision of that possible future ended abruptly. She was back in the twilight of the confluence sitting before that undying fire.

"You like that one. You keep going back to it." Lilith could read her like a book. After all this time, she supposed that was expected. “What did you see? Can we use it?”

"It’s nothing. I was just looking at the Al-Mudhib Abba Deebaj line." Sandalphon explained it away with a wave of her wrist.

"His daughter … again? You are still holding out hope that Uriel’s affection for her can be harnessed? We have been down that path … countless times. You’re wasting your time. His loyalty to Heaven is unflinching. Even for love, that soldier does not stray."

"I know. I know." She shook her head and chewed on her lower lip. “But I mean … maybe there’s more to it?”

"You weren’t looking at Honoria though." Lilith sniffed out the white lie. “You look at her boy again.”

"You watching me now?" She already knew she had. They both watched each other very carefully.

"I’m always watching you. I watch everyone. I am starting to doubt this path. We should consider another child. I think it is time to consider a new path. She is weak. There is no--"

"No." Sandalphon knew the argument would revert to this again. “I’m not ready to give up on this path yet.” She was not yet ready to give up on Dawn. “There has been no soul that affects the Morning Star as she does. Perhaps your reluctance is rooted in jealousy rather than logic?”

"Hmmmm. Whatever." Lilith squinted at her. She had struck an obvious cord. “Anyways, a crippled, quarterling Marid will not help us in any way. Let it go. Let him go. There are more important things to focus on.”

"I know. I know. It’s just … It’s such a wasted life for such a vibrant soul." Sandalphon stared into the fire and it danced back and forth as she pondered the possibility again and again.

Was there something there? Something picked furiously at the back of her mind.

"I know that look." Lilith squinted again, leaning back against the log as she dug her bare toes into the sand. “What is going on in your swirling mind now, wheelie wheels?”

"It’s just … He thought she was lovely." They had looked at so very many possibilities. Nothing was lining up. Nothing was going the way they wished. Free will was skewing the results. Each and every damn time. Dawn’s sacrifice would sway Lucifer’s heart, yes, but the little bastard had a backup plan they couldn’t figure a way out of, and Dawn couldn’t be in two places at once. Anyone sent into the pit never returned. Even Hayyoth. “I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

"Oh?" Lilith tilted her head inquisitively. “How so? Are you ready to try a different child?”

"Yes and no." The Wheel looked across the fire to her accomplice and a smile spread across her face as she remembered his excited eyes when he said he wished to defy the gods. And then when he saw the little girl, when Sandalphon had showed her to him. She kept coming back to the same thing in her mind: He’d thought she was lovely. Truly. Purely. Honestly. Smitten. A broken prince for a broken princess. She thought of Zeus, and Hercules ... and … Prometheus. Everyone they sent into the depths of the pit never succeeded. “There needs to be two. Hayyoth work best in pairs.”

Avalanche - Zola Jesus

In the end I saw you

Visions of something I wasn't used to

And I let it all go, oh

With my heart, with my body, with all

And it all falls down

And it all comes around

And it all goes down

And it all comes

Oh, it all comes around

And I knew it will be you

Coming at me like you do

Feel my heart, my soul with fire

And I won't know

No, I won't know who you are

In all of the horrors that he had seen and done, none had prepared Quinlan for what he would witness next. The myth behind this legend was far more accurate than he assumed, but the reality of seeing it in person had distinctly more weight that just hearing the words of this poor creature’s fate.

This myth was not an exaggeration at all. In fact, it was clearly an understatement.

The cave itself was both the cell and the rock to which the titan was chained. The giant sat upon the ground, his knees pulled tight to his chest, his massive arms wrapped around them, and his face pushed into the darkness beneath his forearms.

There were six silver lengths of the metal, each link larger than Quinlan’s entire head. Four extended from a metal collar securing the titan’s neck to the ground, holding him in place in the center of the very room, at the very bottom of the pit. Each wrist was bound with the same metal, each chained to the rock floor to prevent him full movement of his arms. Bits and pieces of the same vibrant silver metal laid strewn across the ground.

There was no movement. No sound. Nothing. At first, he was not certain if the creature still lived. As Quinlan tried to make as little noise as possible, stepping from the final stair in Hell, onto the stone ground, everything started to vibrate. At first, he was certain he caused it, but this was obviously not the case.

The pieces of metal twitched and then rolled together into four separate piles as they began to fuse together. Quinlan’s mouth opened agape as he realized what they were. He watched, unmoving, as they formed clockwork eagles. Entirely mechanical in nature. Their gears crawled with silver sparks as they came back together and then descended upon the titan in vicious unison, tearing at his flesh.

The myth was wrong. It wasn’t just one eagle; it was four. And it wasn’t just the liver that was rent from the titan’s body. As the mechanical beasts descended, they tore savagely at all of his golden flesh and then the titan finally moved, bringing his head up and Quinlan finally saw the giant’s face. He began to fight his attackers. He stood entirely erect and he was easily over twenty-five feet tall.

He looked nothing like the other phoenix Quinlan had confronted in Heaven. There were no wings. No, this creation was more like an ape than a bird or a reptile. His arms much longer than the proportions of a man’s and his back slightly hunched from the bulk of his upper body’s mass. His head as bald as the dhampir’s usually was. Though he clearly had the physique of a man, his body was as smooth and bare as a strigois. No phallus. No nipples. No belly button at all. His skin was an iridescent, metallic gold. He had no wings, though it was clear that this likely didn’t stop the titan from flight as fire began to erupt and burn from his body. Prometheus’ body hovered above the ground, the heat of his flames pushing him up as far as his chains would allow and a spiderweb of ember ignited across his skin.

The eagles were not deterred and they tore at him from below and above, taking flight as they picked at his face, his eyes, his chest, his ears, his fingers, his toes. Talons pierced him everywhere, tearing chunks away. The fire god cried and screamed, reaching for the attacker on his face and pulling it away as the others carried on their endless, programmatic torture.

And then the titan’s fire erupted fully, pulsating away from him in a rippling explosion. He raged and sparked, sending his attackers in all directions. The remaining three eagles hit the far walls and shattered from the blast, chunks of them disintegrating with the force of the detonation and Quinlan regretted stepping into the singed room as the heat flooded across his body. His arms came up to shield the outburst, but he felt his skin singe and melt. He was thrust back to the wall.

The ground shook as the Prometheus collapsed back down to his knees. The wounds across his body began to smoke and all of the flesh and organs that had been torn out burned into ash in the air. It swirled around, dancing in circles before returning to the titan’s body, reforming him.

Deodamnatus.

The titan pulled his knees to his chest, back into the same fetal position, burying his head from view, just as when the dhampir saw him when he first entered. And then he wept.

Ozyrel had done this to him and Quinlan felt shame over it. He felt shame for her actions. She created these mechanisms, these machines to torment him because Prometheus could end any other soul with his divine fire. Once destructed, they simply pulled themselves back together and began again. Endlessly.

Thus was the poor titan’s punishment ...

Damnation … quite literally.

Quinlan remained motionless on the ground where he fell, watching the beast tremble before he was entirely still and silent again. It was clear he hadn’t noticed the dhampir yet and there was still a possibility of retreat. One which the dhampir considered very, very carefully.

He could just wait until the torment began again and slip back up the stairs and …

It was no more than a few seconds until the metal pieces on the ground began to shake again. Even the molecules of the metal that had been turned into nothing more than ash began to swirl in the air and their atoms reformed.

Oh gods. No. No! Not again. He could not, he would not, permit this to happen … ever again. Quinlan reacted before he realized what he was doing.

The first of the four eagles came together and lunged towards its prey as he flicked the sword up and through its left wing. The mechanism felt no pain and paid the attack no attention as it continued its programmed path toward its huddled and shaking target. The next flick of his wrist severed its legs across both knees and the creation fell forward, flailing into the dirt and then clawing forward with its remaining arm.

Quinlan placed a boot upon the center of its back and he raised the blade, execution style, as if it was an axe, and Ozryel’s divinity first sparked out the corner of his eyes. The energy arced over his face as his anger mounted. It flowed up and into his arms. The silver light surged across the surface of the metal and the machine’s head rolled as he rent it asunder.

"Never again, lupae filius." He wasn’t certain if it might move again. He half expected it to pull itself back together, but somehow he knew it would not. He was of Ozryel and it remained still, obeying the divine command.

But he had paid too much attention to just the one, and the titan’s screams spun him around as the other three had already begun to tear the creature to pieces again. Quinlan moved like water, swinging for the head of one, stepping between and through the giant’s legs, through the center of his stance and decapitating the third with the same broad stroke of his vorpal sword.

There was only one remaining now and it was already upon the giant’s chest, too high for Quinlan to reach from his standard human height. He would have to leap from the ground, but as the dhampir crouched and his quadriceps flexed, the titan’s skin glowed with amber fury, and Prometheus began to burn again.

Damnation.

He was too close! He was unsure if he could even survive the titan’s fury and Quinlan swung at the chains instead, hoping the face of god would not burn if he could simply tear his attacker away.

He targeted the chains that held Prometheus’ arms at bay. Accepting that with this action, there was no longer room for any doubt and he hesitated no longer. First, the blade sparked with Ozryel’s light and sliced through the massive link holding down the Titan’s right hand as if it were butter. And then he sliced the left. The metal melting away, surrendering to the power of its creator.

This was the first moment Prometheus laid eyes upon the dhampir, a sudden change in his monotonous eternity and the glow of his skin abated. There was a moment of strange reflection as his entirely black eyes rolled over Quinlan’s features and the titan’s lip curled up slightly. Anger flooded over him. His face and his mouth opened, clearly preparing to speak, when the remaining eagle tore into his chest again.

With his arms now free, he grabbed each end of the machine, gripping its head and feet. His biceps flexed as he ripped the creation in half, throwing its still-moving pieces away from him. That would not be the end of it and Quinlan moved in unison to remove its head from its twitching form, the sword prickling with silver lightning as he dismantled it for good.

All was still and he froze, peering at his companion from the corner of his eyes. He felt the quiet yet angry gaze of the giant. He took the deepest breath he thought he ever had as he held his blade steady and turned, facing the scrutiny fully. He presented himself for full inspection of the god, his arms out to express no aggression.

"איר וועט האָבן אַ געלעגנהייט צו געבן איר עמאָ יאָ? רענאָיטאַסע ים .טהעעד עטהוועד פֿאַר ניס"

Uh oh. This was Enochian. Of course it was. He really should have expected as much and Quinlan regretted not learning more of the archaic language from Sempronius before his rushed escape from Heaven.

"Προμηθεύς." Quinlan attempted his greek name and he took a step forward. The titan twitched in reaction to perceived advancement and his golden skin began to burn with amber hue again.

Damnation. Quinlan’s free hand was up, palm out, attempting to convey peace, but the Titan pulled furiously at the chains still holding him to the ground by his neck. The fear that poured from his eyes nearly crippled the dhampir from taking another step.

Quinlan could still try and run now. Flee the cave. Escape from the inevitable fire. He considered it, as the heat began to rise and he felt tiny drops of sweat beading up on his forehead, he hoped. He had come this far and he would get back to Earth. This choice was already made and he took another brave and unwavering step, this time showing more confidence in his stride. "Prometheus ..."

The titan paid no attention to Quinlan’s open left palm; his eyes were locked onto the blade in his right.

"I am not here …" The glow increased and even the sweat upon his brow, that had started to trail down the his cheek, now began to evaporate into the heavy, stagnant air. “ … to harm you. I am here--”

Another step and the titan’s panic only increased further. Quinlan’s skin began to singe and crack. The intensity of this heat reminded him of the lava and his heart raced. He disliked being burned more than any other pain. He took another step and the skin began to flake off of his face, turning to ash the moment that it hit the air. The open wounds did not last long, as his divinity sparked across the raw flesh and reformed his spirit.

Another step. And then another and Quinlan was finding it increasingly difficult to move against the force now emanating from the giant. As waves of flames pulsated from Prometheus’ body, he stood his ground against it, but for each two steps he took, every painful and burning inch that he came closer to the titan, his body was pushed back, his boots grinding back in the dirt against the power.

Though he feared, Quinlan was not deterred. For there was a prophecy he knew all too well. It was said that Zeus would permit Prometheus freedom from punishment if two criteria were met. The first was that an immortal must volunteer to perish for him. This choice must be freely made and not coerced in any way. The second was that a mortal, many thought would be Hercules, must kill the eagle and unchain the titan.

If the Maiden was being honest in her sacrifice for coming to Hell. If she had really come to Hell for him, then her freedom did perish. She was indeed the immortal of this payment.

The dhampir had always felt a curious fascination with Hercules. He had found that he had much in common with this mythological half-breed. Quinlan, no more mortal than Hercules himself, was the second part of this payment.

He stepped forward, taking one final, agonizing step to be in the range of the first link which attached the titan’s collar to the ground and his body tensed, preparing to move against the heat. His bicep flexed with great intent and he flicked the crackling sword up. It glided with ease through the force, the fire, and ... the metal.

An audible gasp escaped the titan and the fire eased, allowing Quinlan to step right and sever the next chain … and then next. With each swing, the fire and fear abated further and Prometheus spun, watching him, specifically his sword, with careful, expressive, and confused eyes.

There was now only one remaining but Quinlan paused. This was the moment of absolute truth. This was the moment where he could still leave him here. His hesitation was easy to read, and in hindsight, perhaps he should have moved out of the giant’s reach. The titan stretched his shoulders back and stood fully erect and Quinlan stared up into his face like a child, his mouth agape while he was struck thoughtless by his menacing size. Prometheus’ massive hand instantly cupped around his entire jaw and the upper portion of his spine and neck.

Quinlan gagged and the sword slipped from his grip as his hands instinctively clutched at one of the single fingers around his throat. The titan began to squeeze gently and Quinlan felt his feet leave the ground. Damnation. He was entirely powerless to stop it and he was lifted to the titan’s eye level. Thunderous thoughts invaded his mind.

Give me your tongue.

Oh gods!

He should have definitely stepped out of reach. Quinlan kicked violently into the air and flailed against the grip, but he was tiny against to titan’s will. He imagined the next part would be the violent extraction of his tongue, but Prometheus pulled him close and gently their foreheads touched.

In a brief and tortuous spark, Prometheus ripped knowledge from him and Quinlan became rigid, his mouth stuck in a silent scream, as the pain of it paled in comparison to when Michael had done the same.

Everything danced for a brief and torturous moment before everything turned black.

Cut and Run - Yoke Lore

Find a way

Say her name

Keep her there

Don't let it fade

The slope of your neck gives me something to believe in,

but when the beat hits the base it takes away my aching

You make me forget myself,

but I love you I don't want anybody else

He smelled her. Musty and floral. Deep and powerful. Angelica.

Oh … gods. Yes.

It had been so very long since he had dreamed. Really dreamed. Freely. Naturally. Not the illusion that Persephone had forced down his mind, spoon-feeding him memories to control his actions.

He didn’t even think it possible with just his spirit, but after the Titan’s fire touched his mind, he found himself back in that training room. He found himself atop her. His body pressing his weight to hold her down. She had failed the technique and he had taken her to the mat to make a point of it.

"Submit." He urged and she struggled under his grip, half-giggling, half-grunting. Wait … was she the one giggling? Or had he? But really … Did it even matter?

"Never."

"Submit." He spoke down, his breath hot on the skin of her ear. Enjoying her body as she pressed and fought uselessly against his will, he knew he should stop this. This wasn’t how a teacher should act. This wasn’t a lesson he needed to teach, but he pushed harder and repeated the words. “I will release you … when you submit … to me.”

What had been the point of this lesson?

Oh gods. Her head came up in a failed attempt to butt against his and her defiance flared. He could see it spark in her wild eyes. "NEVER."

"Move." The voice was distant and his vision swayed. He was being urged back to the present, but he clung to the memory, relishing in it.

Not yet. He wasn’t not done here yet ...

"You have lost. I am stronger." His weight pinned her and he resisted the urge to laugh at her slipperiness as she twisted furiously beneath him. “Just surrender ... I can remain this way all day if necessary.” It was a terrible bluff. He would have to get up very soon or they were both going to be incredibly embarrassed, but Quinlan hoped he could bluff his way into a victory before he would give in.

"Wake up."

The look of absolute refusal was both foolish and beautiful. Her lip curled up; her nostrils flared; she clenched her jaw shut as she hissed the word through her teeth. "NEVER."

Damnation. Why was he remembering this now?

"Move."

He heard the word again, distant and curt and he felt something nudge at his shoulder, rocking his body side to side against the dirt. His head pounded with abating waves of pain. He was nudged again before his brows knit and he opened his eyes.

He was laying on the ground, entirely on his side. The light invaded and everything came sharply back into focus, or at least the ground did, as his face was shoved squarely into it.

"Weak baby …"

The back of a giant hand, equipped with elongated primate fingers, nudged him again, pushing its knuckles against his shoulder and sternum as if it was prodding him for life. Quinlan’s face ground against the dirt as he groaned.

The titan grunted at his small movement and the dhampir rolled over onto his back, his body throbbing still. He wasn’t even sure if he could move again but the clanking of metal against metal concerned him enough that he finally forced himself to sit up as he grabbed the back of his neck and cracked it from side to side, cursing lowly under his breath as he did. "Deodamnatus. Auribus teneo lupum …"

Prometheus stopped whatever it was he was doing and gazed upon the dhampir, tilting his head to the side. He brought his right fingers to his lips, confusion flashing across his ape-like features while he squinted. "Wrong tongue?"

Quinlan might have questioned the meaning of the short query, but as the giant grabbed his ankle and began to drag him across the dirt, the dhampir waved his hands back and forth, crazed to not go through that pain again. The titan had clearly taken only English from him.

"Not tongue! Language! It is called language!" He corrected in haste, panic pumping through his chest. “Please! Do not! I will speak English! I WILL SPEAK ENGLISH! Do not!!!” He could not remember the last time he had begged anyone for anything, but that pain was something he did not wish to experience ever again.

"Yes. English good." Prometheus grunted a disturbing laugh and released his grip of Quinlan’s foot before returning to his previous task and the sound of metal on metal emanated from his lap. “See … weak baby.”

The titan was sitting before him, legs crossed like a child, and as Quinlan sat up again, he was able to see he was holding the dhampir’s blade in his left hand, gripping it like tiny twig in his left fist. Using clumsy caution, he ground the sword’s edge and pushed the tip against the locking mechanism of the manacle on his right wrist.

Prometheus bit his tongue, trying to be as careful as possible, but failing clumsily to force the latch open with the tiny instrument. Thrusting it into the latch, the manacle spun about his wrist and the blade pierced into the giant’s wrist in the process. Raging in frustration and pain, when it was obvious the metal would not give for him, he screamed, the volume of his voice shaking the walls and the dhampir shielded his ears from the noise. The fit of anger was followed by a simple sneer and Prometheus tossed the blade into the dirt at Quinlan’s feet.

"Useless." It was half-defeat, half-melancholy.

"No. It is not useless and I am not … weak." Quinlan responded to the ape’s earlier quip as he forced himself to his feet, dusting off his black jeans and retrieving the discarded sword. “Nor am I …” Even uttering the word revolted him. “... a baby.” He pointed to the titan’s right hand and the giant lifted both wrists to him, without hesitation or question, though the tiniest of chuckles did escape the giant.

"Heh. Heh. Weak baby. Tiny baby." The titan grunted the words again, rich in simple amusement and the dhampir slid the sword between the titan’s wrist and the manacle. As his biceps flexed, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack and the metal melted like butter against Ozryel’s divine command.

The look of amazement on Prometheus’ face was more childlike than anything. His eyes grew wide, in pure awe, and his mouth opened slightly. Remaining entirely still, he watched with bated breath as Quinlan cut the other from his remaining wrist.

What came next froze Quinlan. For he knew this feeling, though he imagined, even in all the years of his own enslavement, it likely paled in comparison to what this poor creature had been through. He knew this feeling. That overwhelming and powerful rush of freedom. Touching his newly freed skin, Prometheus took turns rubbing each wrist. He stared down upon them, touching the skin that had been hidden from him for god knows how long, and then the tears came. Freely and without hesitation.

The relief that poured forth shook the dhampir to his core as he recalled his own tears after his chains were shed. He had shamefully hidden them from Ancharia, weeping silently into his blanket that first night.

But the giant was unable to prolong or hide his. He was unable to wait and his shoulders heaved heavily as he gasped the stagnant air. He wept in front of his saviour, with no concern for shame or showing such raw and untethered weakness.

Quinlan took a deep breath. It was clear this was not a creature he needed to fear. In fact, he felt such intense connection to him that the doubts about fleeing were entirely gone. He moved to slide the blade through the final chain.

"No." The titan’s sudden movement shocked him and Quinlan pulled back in confusion. Prometheus grabbed at his chain protectively and held it away from the dhampir. “No! Chained. Chained!”

"I am quite aware you are chained. I am here to remedy that situation."

"Executioner … No! Son of White Death … Go! Now!" Prometheus pointed to the stairs.

"No. I am not an executioner." Quinlan’s word were firm. “I am not here to end you.” His brows pinched. “I am here to free you, Great Titan. I am not--”

"No!" The giant shook his head, using the back of his hand to push the dhampir several steps away from him. “Forgotten. Forsaken. Go. GO!” Pointing a thick finger up towards the stairs, he nudged Quinlan again. He attempted to stand his ground, but he was moved several steps before he could fully protest.

"Stop that! I have come here to fr--"

"Leave me. I am …" Until this point, Quinlan wasn’t entirely certain if the giant was even capable of complex language beyond that of a single word at a time. “Villainous.”

"No. You are not villainous. Stop this."

"Go!" He flung his hand hand towards Quinlan, hoping to scare the dhampir away, but he did not flinch. “I am a villain … in his eyes … In all eyes! I am treacherous. Forgotten. Leave me.”

"No. You are not a villain." How long had the Titan been down here? “And you are wrong. You have never been forgotten or I would not know of you. The World would not know of you ...” Quinlan understood the way into Prometheus’ heart now and it was obvious: how Heaven truly viewed Prometheus’ ’treachery’. “You were once a hero ...”

"Hero?" The titan mocked the work, snorting madly as he rattled his chain to make his point painfully clear. “This is ... hero?!”

"The World knows of your deeds, Great Titan. In fact, history remembers you as a hero. Do you not understand what that implies?"

"Means nothing ..." Prometheus grunted, turning a shoulder to the dhampir as he continued with his childish reaction. “Villain.”

"It means everything." The giant stirred, peeking back at him out of the corner of his eye. “I know, better than most in fact, that history is always written by the victor.”

"I lost."

"Precisely. Even with your perceived treachery, even after your judgement and punishment, when they could have wiped your memory from known existence. They did not. They could have written whatever they wished about your actions; they were the victors. They could have dragged your name through the mud, but they never let your memory be tarnished. They did not allow you to be forgotten or vilified."

"History … ?" Prometheus’ shoulders slumped and he stared down into his open hands. The breadth of his grip was easily half of Quinlan’s entire height. “Man … remembers me?”

"If your maker truly thought your actions corrupt, then why would he have allowed history to remember you as a saviour? As our saviour."

"Saviour? Lies. You are--"

"If you cannot believe my words, then believe my mind." He really didn’t wish to make the offer but he did. Quinlan tensed considerably, preparing for the jolt as Prometheus turned back and touched his forehead with his index finger.

Stealing a single fact wasn’t pleasant, but it was far less painful than an entire lexicon. Quinlan took one step backwards as he steadied himself from the intrusion. The giant’s shoulders slumped further and he collapsed to his knees on the ground before him, staring at his open palms. "I am not … villainous?"

Pinching the brow of his nose, he fought the throb. "No. You are remembered as an advocate of mankind."

"My children … I gave them creation, but they saw only the weapon."

"They are young and foolish, but they have grown much while you have been … away. While you pity yourself down here, the Morning Star marches upon Earth, seeking to destroy them all."

"My morning child. I felt him …" The titan looked up the staircase. “I felt him come to the door. I felt him. He did not free me … he …” Prometheus looked upon his dirty, open palms again. “He left me here …”

"He fears you." Quinlan knew this statement to be true. It was unlikely Lucifer would have left such a strong ally locked away. “And I am very curious to see what could possible make a Hayyoth afraid.”

"He … " There was a spark of rage and the Titan’s upper lip curled with burgeoning anger. “He left me … here.”

"Yes he did. Shall we go? Shall we ask him why?" Quinlan offer his hand, though he imagined if the giant took it, there was no way for him to help such a giant, but Prometheus made no movement. “Will you stand with us? We could do with your help right now. Can you help us?”

"Us?" The titan looked up, confused by the word. “We?”

"We." Quinlan nodded. He planned an explanation, but there was no need as another voice joined him in the assertion.

"We." It was feminine and he was grateful. Their conversation had stolen all of their attention, and he hadn’t noticed her sneak into the chamber. She was nearly down the steps entirely and both turned to see her at once, the raggedy old man following closely behind and Quinlan grinned.

"Sister? You …" The titan’s voice cracked. “Why are you here? Why … did you … You came ... for me?”

"Amiran. Of course I did. So very long ago." Her tone quaked with the same emotion as his as she walked to him. Their familiarity was clear. “You may have been lost …” She had definitely been listening to the entire conversation. “But never forgotten.”

"So … what says you, Creator of Fire? Do you wish to stay down here and cry?" The titan turned back to the dhampir, his lip curling further with growing anger and Quinlan held his blade up for the last chain. “Do you accept my offer?”

"Do you offer me freedom?" Prometheus asked, tilting his head inquisitively. “Or revenge?”

"Neither." Quinlan said. “I offer redemption.”

Raum reached for the shackles again but Asbeel pulled away … again. This task was proving far more difficult that he assumed it would be. How hard must it be to free people?!

"You think you offer us freedom, Lord." The fallen Djinn laughed. “You offer us further pain. More punishment.”

"You know me, Asbeel. You know I would ne--"

"Knew." The Djinn Commander corrected. “We knew you, Lord. But when you ran free, we came … here.” Raum didn’t like the emphasis placed on the title. It was condescending and purposefully so.

"I did not wish you all to this fate. We had no idea this would happen. That was not my choice--"

"It does not change what happened. We came here. You did not." Asbeel interrupted him. “We came here … without true choice. Without … freedom.” The Djinn’s brows knit together. “You have no right to ask this of us.”

"The time has come." Raum looked around at his chained men. “Don’t you understand?!” He called out. “The prophecy is here … now. Everything that we worked for … everything that we sacrificed for--”

"We sacrificed for a prophecy that does not exist." Asbeel shook his head. “There is no hope, Lord. There is only subservience. When our penance is paid, he has promised we will be free to return to the top--”

"Free? How is that freedom? Serving him is not freedom. And then what?" Raum spit at the concession. His disgust painfully obvious across his face, though he knew he had no right to judge them. He had no idea what they had been through. “And what then?! Huh?! Will you bow to him? Will you fall to your knees and kiss his feet?” He spun around and screamed his growing disgust. “You would not even bow to God himself, and yet you concede to his foolish child?!? You are The Rebellious! Never forget tha--”

"Concede?" The tears in his man’s eyes stung his merciful heart and Raum regretted the harsh words immediately. “Concede?!? You have NO right to jud--”

"I know I have no right, but you misunderstand, my brothers. I’m not asking you to follow me. I would not do that." Raum took a step back from the Fallen as he felt that familiar presence enter the room from the door on the ledge from above. “I’m unworthy of your allegiance. But I will prove myself to you all again.” He saw the shadow of the dhampir across the ground before him and in a wave of unison, his men’s heads tilt up to the ledge as a flurry or words danced across their minds.

"Is he …"

"That’s …"

"He’s of …"

"Ozryel …"

"The Prophecy."

"The Prophecy. It’s real … It’s … "

"The Prophecy."

"The Child."

�� "Could that be the child?"

"The Prophecy."

"He’s of … Ozryel."

"Ozryel."

"Angel of Death."

"Ozryel."

"The First."

"He is Hayyoth.”

“He is man … "

"Is it … really possible?”

“After all this time … Is it possible?"

Thousands of voices, all at once, and the faintest hint of hope sprinkled across just a handful of them. Yes. This was a good start. His pride in the boy billowed out in a rich smile. The whispering thoughts spread like wildfire across the vast room and there was as stir of uncertainty.

"This?" Asbeel laughed. He was not swayed at all. “This is what you offer us?! A god-child?!”

"No." Raum looked up and nodded to Quintus. The nod was returned before he turned back to face his weary commander. “Not him.”

The next shadow was curvy and she didn’t remain as quiet as the dhampir. Her patronizing tone echoing against the rock walls as she stole Quintus’ line. "Are we going or what? Chop chop, boys! Don’t tell me you’re afraid!"

"Persephone? Really? You think she can raise a hand to the Rainbow King?!" Asbeel raised a hand and all his men grew complacent. “Lucifer PUT her in that cage. He can do so again.” The demon laughed. “You offer a us a cowardly commander … a halfling hayyoth … a defeated seraphim?! I am sorry, Raum, but we will remain--”

Insurrection (Instrumental) - Tommee Profitt

"No. I’m not asking you to follow her either." The words trailed off as the ground rumbled and Raum grinned slightly at first. “No, brother. I’m not asking you to follow us ...” He looked up, and for the first time caught the dhampir’s triumphant grin and he matched it as his eyes followed the figure that slowly walked into view from behind them. The figure from which all the shadows were illuminating. “We’re asking you to follow him.”

There were no whispered words. No mad flutter of furious thoughts across the chained fallen. There were no sounds of even the slightest movement or even breath as Prometheus came into view above. There was only silence and absolute stillness. The Titan looked out across the vast room and Persephone reached a hand up to lay on his wrist in quiet support.

"Good. Fire children don’t burn easy." Goodness. The titan had always been a man of curt phrases.

Turning back to Asbeel, who had not yet torn his eyes from the Titan and whose mouth hung slightly agape at the revelation, Raum cocked his head slightly to the side. "So what say you, brother? I mean, you are more than welcome to stay here. Or--"

Asbeel raised his chain to Raum, still not tearing his eyes from the fire god. The Marid moved to unlock the chain but Prometheus raised his hands, palms up and then he made fists of them as he growled into the dank air. The room filled with glorious light as all the chains melted away with his focused fire. Before turning to leave the room, he uttered only a single word.

"Come."

Quinlan watched from above as Raum waited at the base of the stairs below, greeting each and every soldier that walked by. Thousands of them. His relief was obvious and it was coupled with happiness to see them all again. He shook each hand and remembered each name. Each one. Their beaten and broken souls sparking with the tiniest hint of hope. There was an immense respect shown between them that Quinlan envied and a clear history he longed to know more about.

As the marid followed the last one up the stairs, he found only Quinlan remained. Raum grinned as he moved to step past and Quinlan found his prideful amusement confusing. "Why are you smiling? You thought it not possible. You assumed I would fail."

"Oh my boy." He chuckled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you … in all of your brief two thousand years …” The marid gripped Quinlan’s shoulder again and for the first time, the dhampir didn’t cringe at the contact nor the title of ‘boy’. This gesture was actually beginning to grow on him though he would never admit it. How he hated this man and his contagious smile. It displayed a level of affection to which he was uncomfortable.

"And what … exactly ... is that?"

"That the best way to get you to succeed at something difficult. In fact, to get you to succeed at anything ..." Raum smirked even wider. “Is to tell you that you can’t.”

Quinlan now stood alone in the vast room for just a moment and he gazed down at the thousands of chains, melted and scattered across the chamber’s floor. Raum’s words had annoyed him at first, but as they sank in, the smallest of grins crept at the left corner of his wide mouth and slowly stretched the full length of it, to his right.

"Heh. Irrumator." No one would see him smile as he wiped it from his face before he joined them in the corridor. Nor would anyone hear the genuine grunt of a chuckle, except for that quiet wind that blew across the room.

"You look …" Adam scratched his chin as he grinned and leaned heavily against his staff; his eyes seemingly stuck on a point on the ground two feet in front of Quinlan. “Relieved.”

If was obvious the blind man had been waiting for him to exit the room after the large cohort of soldiers, who were already making their way down the long corridor and up the winding stairs.

"I am …" Quinlan wasn’t sure what it was that he felt, but if wasn’t exactly relief. “Hopeful.”

"So am I." Before they walked, Quinlan paused and looked at the other doors sprinkled around the area. This level, the level right before the very bottom, was reserved for those considered the blackest of souls. Those who had committed atrocities unmatched. These were the ones judged like none others. There were five other doors and the dhampir gazed upon them, his mind racing at the possibility of who else might be housed within. Except for the one that they had just exited from, none of the others were open or empty.

Lucifer had chosen to leave all of these soul behind.

"If Prometheus and The Fallen were down here …." Without much thought behind his action, he approached the oldest one. It was large and black and oddly menacing. A strange sigil was carved into its front and a flood of bumps prickled across his skin as he touched the engraved mark. He could now hear the crying of a man within and he reached for the knob, leaping at the opportunity to free another tormented soul. “... perhaps these others souls that might be usefu--”

"No!" Adam’s hand was upon the door. The force of the slap shocked Quinlan and he took a step back as the prophet’s unusually rattled voice surprised him. “No. No. Not this one. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to … I’m … just … no … Not this door.” Adam was rattled. His hand moved up to the mark and his fingers prodded the grooves delicately. “Some souls … some are not ready for redemption yet.”

"Not ready for redemption?" Quinlan tilted his head. “Or perhaps you mean some souls are not ready for forgiveness?” Who was behind this door was now obvious to the dhampir and he took another step from it.

"Forgiveness is not always an easy thing. I think you understand this better than most." Adam whispered the words as they caught in his throat. “Some actions … cannot be so easily forgiven … ”

"I meant no judgement. Only understanding."

He turned to leave the man to deal with his solace and reflection in his struggle for forgiveness. His hand still on the door, and Raum nearly bumped into the dhampir as he rounded the corner back into the area.

Both stopped in their tracks and the marid spoke first. "Well? Are we going?"

"Yes. We are." He nodded. “Adam just needs a moment and--”

The voice was tiny. Young and masculine. It cracked with trembling pain. Almost inaudible, its cry leaked from the door directly to the right of him. The last door in the level. The newest door. Black, shiny, and metal. Without any marks. "Mister … Quinlan?" It was followed by what sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and Raum’s brows knit together. “Is that … is that you? Mister Quinlan?”

"Who the fuck is--" Raum began but as familiarity rolled over Quinlan, his mouth curled up with rage. He grabbed the Djinn by the arm and turned him around.

"It is no one. We need to go now."

"Please …" The word was rich in pure desperation and the scratching began again. “Don’t leave me here … please. Where’s my dad? Please. I’m so sorry … I’m so--”

"We are going. Now." He only took one step when he heard Adam shuffling up behind them.

Though he waved the prophet by, Adam tilted his head down, listening to that private voice and nodded. "Yes. Yes. I agree. Yes. He’s had enough." The prophet reached for the handle of the black metal door.

"No!" Quinlan slapped the door much the same way Adam had done earlier, although much harder. His words were just as firm. There was a sound of something falling to the ground on the other side of it and he imagined the boy had been listening with his ear pressed to the metal.

"Quintus ... I do not think you realize who is behind this--"

"I know who is behind this door." He slapped it hard again. “I KNOW.”

"His punishment has been enough. He is--"

"His punishment?" Quinlan snorted. His eyes grew wide and slightly mad. He poked the metal with his gloved hand. “This soul was responsible for more deaths on Earth than any soul that has ever lived before. Billions of souls. BILLIONS.”

"What happened from his actions were not his intention. Intent is important when--"

"Intent?" The dhampir laughed. “Intent? I saw the pain that resulted from his actions. You think ignorance alleviates one from responsibility? Or perhaps it was his age that you feel his actions forgivable? In my time, you were an adult at 12. Age does not preclude you from evil deeds. I witnessed, first hand, the death and destruction he caused. I was there. We had the Master. It was over. We had won and … none of this would have happened.”

"None of this?" Adam sighed. “Exactly. If he had not done what he did, you would have never met her.”

Quinlan turned his pointed index finger towards Adam. This was the first time the prophet had ever provoked his usually dormant temper. "Do not use her as a weapon in your argument against me."

"We are all pawns in this game of Gods, child. Don’t you see that? He was a pawn the same as you. The same as her."

"I’m sorry." He tilted his head and squinted. “I believe your words were: Some actions cannot be forgiven. Is that not right, Adam?”

"This is hardly the same--"

"If you wish to bargain, prophet. My terms on this matter are simple." He pointed back to the metal and touched his finger to it. “If you open this door.” Quinlan then pointed to the old door with the ominous mark. “Then I open that door. The choice is yours.”

There was audible gulp from Raum and the marid stared at the direction of Quinlan’s threat. Clearly, he was very familiar with that mark. "Let’s … uh … yeah. Umm. No. Let’s not open that door. Please?"

Adam shook his head and stepped out of the room. His disappointment in the dhampir was clear, but Quinlan didn’t care. Not one bit.

"Please … Mister … Quinlan … Please. I’m so sorry." The voice trembled and that pathetic scratching began again. Raum stared at the metal as the dhampir turned to leave. The Djinn’s heart was clearly torn at the pathetic plea.

Quinlan was having none of it and he turned back and uttering his catchphrase one more time before he would escape out of sight and up the stairs. "Well? Are we going then?"

Ambling back up the stairs took more time than he had hoped. Their speed dictated by the much-slower time of those at the very front. Adam didn’t seem as talkative this time, but the two still walked side by side. He did not regret his tantrum over the uncomfortable situation concerning that miserable brat and Adam’s first born. Quinlan’s words had been right and true. Regardless of the boy’s age when he died, he was not easily swayed by modern day’s definition of child, nor over the infantilization of children in general. He’d seen many horrors that humans of all ages were capable of.

"So …" They had made it up ten levels in silence when Adam finally spoke again and Quinlan was grateful. “Why do you still look like that, Quintus?”

"I …" He had no idea, actually. “It is not me. He still--”

"He still lingers? You still think that?" Adam stole the statement swiftly. “He was you, Quintus. He will always linger. That is a deflection of my question and I think you know it.”

"I …" Quinlan stuttered. “I do not know how to answer your question. This is not my doing. I …” Was that true though? He could force his appearance, but didn’t that mean that he was in control of it? Could it have been his unconscious that was doing this? “I …” Was it shame? His shoulders fell and he nodded. “She liked this. She liked me being … human. She--”

"Can you blame her?" Raum snorted from ahead and Quinlan shook his head. He was eavesdropping. Damnation. “Maybe she just prefers a man with a little hair on his head?”

"Quintus …" The prophet’s hand was on his shoulder. “She will like you any way she can have you. I think that should be painfully clear by now. Would you have wanted her to stay as the disingenuous Elaine?”

"No. Of course not! That face was …" He had disliked it intensely. He prefered her uniqueness and suddenly the consideration of it hit him hard. “That is not what I … I just … ” His head flicked suddenly to the right as he stopped dead in his tracks and stared down a long, dark corridor.

His head tilted right, then left, then right again. On the way down, they had been in a hurried rush and now, as they were delayed a bit, the noises of Hell beared down on them with all their volume. In the midst of it, he heard something ... familiar. He heard someone familiar and his heart billowed with relief.

Oh gods … Could it be? Could it really be?

He had searched for this soul in Heaven. When Hathu had explained his fate, Quinlan regretted pulling him into this battle. The cost of the revenge he had promised turned out to be eternal damnation, and this was all Quinlan’s fault.

"What is it?" Raum asked, turned to investigate the sudden pause.

"What is down there?"

"The next several hundred floors are the Breaking Rooms. Where the human souls were broken so that Lucifer can convert them to his will … to convince … to seduce them to his side. Any left here are the ones he found entirely unusable."

"Why not move them to purgatory?" Quinlan stared down the darkness and tilted his head as the sound looped.

"I think you know why, Quintus." Adam smiled. “The ones left here could not be controlled.”

"Your men …" Quinlan turned to Raum. “Are they completely loyal to you or are they also loyal to your brother?”

"That’s …" Raum swallowed. “That’s a difficult question. I--”

"Yes. A difficult but an important one." The dhampir agreed. “No matter how good you clearly are, you know you will need help getting into that tower.”

"I think I know who I’ll take. I’ve already been consider--"

Quinlan cut him off. "You will need a team unloyal to Shaitan. A team well-trained. Surgical. Incorruptible to Lucifer’s will."

"That would be nice, yes, but the Djinn and Gregori are all we have. Human souls cannot be--"

"My soul is human." Quinlan finally began to smile and he looked down the corridor again. He heard the old man’s voice. In fact, he even remembered him uttering that same sentence when they first met.

Raum sighed. "We’ve been over this. Your soul is bathed in the divini--"

"Yes." Quinlan took a step toward the hall. “My human soul is not the only soul in Hell bathed in Ozryel’s divinity.”

#the strain fanfic #quinlan fanfic #Mr. Quinlan fanfic #quintus sertorius fanfic #quintus densus #strainingfororiginality #an insatiable ache #chapter 13 #part 4 #did you see that one coming?#who understands the end?

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