#c: jade | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

muertarte · 4 months

Text

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @wonder-in-wings @magmahearts @amonstrousdream @banisheed @highoctanegem @gossipsnake @muertarte

SUMMARY: Friends and strangers band together to invade a crypt and bring an end to Chuy's reign.

WARNINGS: Emotional Abuse

The evening started a lot earlier for Jade and Parker. Not that she minded, hanging out with him was so much fun (even if he would insist he wasn’t good company). But fun as it was, it was super long, even by her standards. No luck tonight, again. But when the odds of them striking gold were diminishing by the second, it happened: A fledgling, in the flesh. One with a running mouth at that! It didn’t take much prodding from the duo for it to reveal the location of the most sought-after crypt on this side of the map. And with that, Jade hit the group chat, dropping the location for the rest of the team to meet up. The gang by the way? Straight up out of a model catalog. She’d never seen a more attractive group of misfits teaming up to roast a scaly douche. Which meant, they were totally about to get that W. (Everybody knew hot people always won). As soon as the group neared the crypt, Jade plunged Louis into the generous informant, no longer needed for anything.

Unfortunately, there was not much room for introductions after that, the entrance to the crypt was clearly guarded by Jesus’s bodyguards. They weren’t twelve, though. More like, ten. And no one was wearing robes or sandals (good for them, actually). Anyway, that meant slipping into slayer mode right away, the crossbow in her hands firing expertly to weaken the opposition, Harry at the ready to stab those who came near. It was a fair fight, but by the way things were moving, bodies beheaded, some burnt, others dust, Jade knew the entrance would be theirs in no time. If patience was a virtue, Parker could’ve been considered a saint. He had spent more time than he likely would’ve preferred searching for information on the location of one… Master Jesus’ crypt with Jade but if he had been bored, irritated or starting to lose whatever semblance of hope he was able to feel, he made none of it evident on his scarred face. And, as Fate would have it, patience had won out as he forcibly restrained what was called a ‘fledgling’ in place, twisting one of its arms up and behind him with his other arm around its neck.

Their methodology, with her able to sense and ask the right questions and his proclivity to do the heavy lifting in terms of threats and restraint, worked well and soon enough, they had finally acquired the information they were after: the location of the elder’s crypt. Where the coffin was was another story but as Parker carefully and rather gracefully weaved around the battlefield and his temporary allies in the party’s attempt to pierce through the first line of defense into the crypt (‘she finally got to utilize her idea for a group chat!’ Walker exclaimed in his head, threatening to distract the Warden from the fight the group was embroiled in), uncharacteristically brandishing a stake in one hand while his other still held his broad iron dagger, he knew that between the six of them, that coffin wouldn’t survive another day.

Now they just needed to make sure that Metzli would.

When she had been alive, Leila was never a fighter. There was no warrior’s blood that ran through her veins when it had been blood and not grains of dust as countless as stars in the sky. No bravery. It hadn’t been time that had changed it- if time had had it’s way, Leila Beaulieu would have been a coward until the world ended. It had been people- her people. A little family that carved itself out in a little town in Maine of all places. Those people had created an ember that slowly burned away the fear that would have sent her running in the centuries before. When she’d received the message that Jesus’s crypt had been found, that ember had roared its way into an inferno in her chest.

The plan, as far as she knew, was fairly straightforward: cut through the fledgling guard, find the coffin, burn it, get out. If the coffin burned, so too would Jesus. But first, the lot of them needed to get past the fledglings. Her fingers itched for the blowtorch that was strapped to her back, too tight to be wrenched away from her easily. It was being reserved for as long as she could- Leila did not want to risk not being able to turn the coffin to ash. And so, she wielded her dagger- Metzli’s dagger. The irony in it all was not lost on her. A stake (repulsive thing) was strapped to her thigh, a ‘just in case’ compromise she had made with the hunters in the rescue party. And there was one more tool in her toolbelt: the dark of night. A fledgling had begun barreling her direction, looking for all the world determined to rip the mare apart. But their hands caught nothing but evening air and shadow.

The next moment, Leila reappeared out of the shadows, and drove her dagger in the fledgling’s back.

Even though teamwork was something that Anita avoided at nearly all cost, for the sake of Metzli she had allowed her number to be added to some group chat. A group that didn’t fit together on paper but were all coming together for a common cause, a common connection. Upon getting the notification of the location of this fuckers crypt, Anita grabbed one of her shifter go-bags from the closet and headed towards the inevitable action. She hadn’t been the first to arrive and immediately recognized her temporary teammates fighting off a crowd of fledglings. She smirked a bit, adrenaline pumped through her bloodstream with efficiency as she transformed into a mighty Mojave before diving into the battle.

The vampires hardly even flinched at the sight of the lamia - a lack of respect she didn’t much care for. She was the biggest creature out there, they could at least pretend to react. As if she didn’t already have an excellent reason for killing them, it added fuel to her fire. Letting her tail slink around to the left and cause a distracting rattle, Anita swooped around the side of two young vampires before quickly striking and biting the head clean off one of the vampires. Nothing like decapitation to kill the undead. As she looked around to see the others also being successful in their efforts, Anita saw the merit in working well with others. It was more efficient, certainly.

Anita kept barreling towards the crypt, swerving around the fledglings as she used her fangs (which were far bigger and sharper than theirs) to rip their heads from their bodies.

Siobhan loved violence. It said so on her custom long-sleeved shirt, right up both arms. On the front, in large font, was a simple ‘I LOVE METZLI’. However, as she lacked any photos of her friend, she relied on her artistic interpretation of the vampire: a crude drawing that looked more like a hairy potato than a person. On the back, an attempt at a nude drawing of Metzli: an abstract abomination that made Picasso’s work look like Da Vinci’s. Grinning, she took as much pleasure in slicing her short swords through dead flesh as she did watching everyone else partake in such affectionate violence. Wasn’t this love? To slaughter in the name of another? She wished Metzli could see them, she wished they knew the ferocity in which blades flew and teeth ripped. There was a beauty in their massacre—a persistence; an orchestra of brutality that they all understood.

The assortment of them was odd: two humans, an undead, a whatever-Anita-was and two fae (one much sexier than the other). Yet, Siobhan felt the goal tethered them beyond understanding. Did Metzli know how much they were cared for? Wanted? Another fledgling fell to her blades as she skipped along. Being cared for looked like this, she thought, as death rose around her, swaddled her cold flesh and lit her body up from the inside. No matter what, they’d be setting Metzli free today, she was sure of it. She just hoped it wasn’t the sort of ashy freedom that sometimes befell vampires. She wanted hundreds of years with her friend, and this was the team that would make it happen.

The drawing of Metzli on her shirt winked with each step closer.

This was a new sensation for Cass. Most of her experience as a ‘superhero’ was more opportunistic than anything else. She went out at night looking for crime to stop, sure, but not like this. Never with a goal so specific in mind, never with an intended target. Certainly never with the intention to kill. The very thought of it dug a pit into her stomach, though she wasn’t sure if it was a genuine thing or one forced there by her desperate grip on human morality. She reminded herself, the whole trip over, that Chuy was a bad guy. This was Thanos, this was the Joker, this was Kilgrave or Black Mask. This was someone so evil that they deserved the fate that was coming to them. She repeated it as they arrived at the crypt, like a mantra in her head. She tried to hold on to the memory of the relief she’d felt when she got the news that the hunter who hurt Alex was dead and tried not to remember the sticky guilt that came right on its heels. Heroes weren’t supposed to kill people, but didn’t they have to do what needed to be done sometimes? This was for Metzli, and Metzli deserved to be free. She clung to that thought above everything.

The fledglings outside the crypt left her with a different kind of guilt, a more complicated one. She tried not to think of Metzli, who was being controlled by the same man who had created these vampires, the same man who was just as capable of forcing orders into their heads, too. She tried not to remember that the dust floating around her used to form the shapes of people, people who probably had families and friends, people who could have grown and found their freedom the same way Metzli had. There was no room for thoughts like that here; no one else seemed to be having them. Still, Cass hung back a little, sticking close to Leila but not attacking anyone directly. Her glamour was down; it was easier that way. Heroes wore masks to separate themselves from their vigilantism. Dropping her glamour allowed Cass to do the same. With the glowing magma burning beneath her rocky skin, most of the fledglings didn’t try to approach her, anyway. She pretended it wasn’t cowardly to find relief in that.

She pretended her heart didn’t rise to her throat as the path to the crypt became clearer and clearer, as less and less resistance separated their little group from the door. Soon, nothing at all stood between them and the entry, between them and Metzli. Cass steeled herself. She knew from her last encounter with the vampire that there was no telling what state they’d find them in.

The smell of lavender filled their nose before Leila’s visage became less of a blur. It was a scent accompanied with acrid blood and dust, a tale of war told by smell alone, but also one of love. Friends had gathered to destroy a man that Metzli had been forced to call Master. Worse yet, they were going to be forced to fight the very people who were dead set on saving them. The gesture and dedication angered Master, and he made it clearer as he held Metzli in place with his hand gripping the back of their neck. Not that it really bothered them. No, they were too focused on the scent that had so often brought them relief and comfort. They wanted to will it to do the very same as they sat in place, waiting.

“They really here for you?” Master asked, grip tightening.

Metzli simply nodded, inhaling slowly as they felt a trickle of blood cascade down their skin. They caught a few more scents, surprised to find sulfur among the group. It had to be Cass, no doubt. Body tensed at the realization, their soul unable to keep itself from worrying. She wasn’t supposed to join along. Of course Metzli knew she could fight, that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the worry remained, and Master caught onto it.

“Ah...the one you call child. Maybe she will be the first I kill.”

A flare of anger breached through the numbness, and Metzli whipped around to crash their arm on top of Master’s, ripping it away from their neck. A crazed mixture of surprise and excitement painted over his features, and just as quickly as their rebellion rose, it dissipated, body going slack with obedience as Master gripped them by the throat. They could hear the rest of the room bristling with bloodlust, Metzli’s friends just around the corner. A fight was coming, and even they weren’t sure who would win.

When the final fledgling turned to dust by virtue of Harry, everyone gathered around the entrance to the chamber, descending to the crypt with a very straightforward plan: Take as many as you can (hopefully, look hot while doing so). What mattered was to leave Jesus isolated. Unable to defend its crypt. They moved as a group, Anita slithering ahead of them. And sure, there was no time to like, stop and dwell on stuff… but how cool was it, to share this side quest with a snake shifter and Lavagirl (Sharkboy-less, but stilll). Jade heard the low murmurs, her skin prickling, stomach fluttering with the unmistakable presence of undead ahead. There was no point concealing their footsteps, not when every vampire within the chamber had already picked up their scents. It was always better to make an entrance, anyway. Which, they did. Storming into the main room, ready to take names. A brief moment of recognition danced around the chamber, a second, as time stood still and every player was in position. Adrenaline kicked into a higher gear. A few of her bolts found their way into vampire bodies, before deciding to take a more hands-on approach with the swarming beasts. Her crossbow discarded in favor of the classic stake and blade combo. With nothing to wait for, Jade clocked in for another shift.

Fortunately, everyone present seemed able to hold their own, at least in the context of fighting untrained vampires. More fortunately, there were no strangers that Parker could see as they hastily, yet comprehensively formulated a plan. Unfortunately, even as their dynamic movement into the crypt commenced, he still felt his blood churning in his veins every time Siobhan or Cass unintentionally drew too close to him. He wasn’t to be deterred, though, and indeed, he forced himself to push past the unpleasant sensation every time it happened. The group broke through the barrier, barely having time to catch their breaths before launching into another fight. He opted to stick close to Jade as they engaged; it was rather dark (the candles that were placed here and there, he supposed, were more for “aesthetic” as he was sure vampires could see in the dark) and he wasn’t afforded that same luxury. Good thing they had a volcanic oread to help illuminate the space, not that he’d have admitted that aloud.

If everyone had a job in this fight, Leila’s was both painfully simple and painfully difficult. Step one: find the coffin; Step two, make sure it is nothing but cinders. In theory, simple. But theory did not account for the half-feral fledglings that were flinging themselves at the strange little rescue party. Theory did not account for the waves of fear that she had to force herself through- fear for Cass, fear for Metzli, fear for all involved. Theory also did not account for the unbridled rage that made the nightmare want nothing more than to charge up to the elder vampire and rip him apart with her own two hands… not that she had the supernatural strength to do so.

She kept close to Cass as the group forced their way into the crypt, fighting to get to Metzli. Not going to lose anyone. That silent promise was chanted over and over again in her mind as Leila started her mad-dash hunt for Jesus’s coffin.

There was an unexpected sensation of relief that washed over Anita when she barreled her way into the crypt and saw Metzli. Seeing the way they were being gripped, however, washed that relief away expeditiously. There wasn’t time to dwell, she needed to keep her focus on the mission at hand: mass murder. It’s okay when you’re killing bad guys! “All of you,” she began muttering under her breath as the fight raged on, “are a bunch of useless, spineless, dickless…” her list of insults quickly made the transition to Spanish, which was fitting given the audience, and just like her attacks they didn’t stop once she started. Combat was nothing more than an intricate dance and even in her lamia form, Anita was nothing if not a graceful dancer. With her thermal vision, Anita was able to keep track of where her teammates were and as she tore her fangs into the icy flesh of one of the vampires she used her tail to trip another one who was trying to sneak up behind Siobhan.

“Anita, I might owe you another kiss.” Siobhan smiled, nodding her thanks at her coworker before stomping the offending vampire’s skull to a pulp, whistling as it dissolved to ash. Inside the crypt proper, Siobhan was shocked at the dedication to decoration—or the lack thereof. If she was a vampire cult leader she’d have her face plastered around. “The candles are a nice touch!” She called out into the writhing bodies of vampires. How many were there? It was hard to tell when they were being rendered into ash like spraying mist out of a fountain. “I forgot the plan,” she called out to the two humans ahead of her, “are we getting naked now or later?” Her knives hadn’t stopped moving; restless in her hands. As the fledglings lunged at her, she weaved and dodged and continued to smile. “Cass, leanbh, can you go a little brighter? I think my beauty is being lost in the darkness.” This she said as she separated another head from a fledgling, the ones she dodged rising up in snarls after her.

She was afraid. It was there in her chest, curled up like a tangible creature constricting her lungs. It had been there ever since Rhett, sleeping some days and flailing others, but never entirely absent. There were people fighting all around her, and Cass was afraid. But afraid wasn’t the only thing she was. She saw Metzli, with that terrible man’s hand locked around their throat, and she was angry, too. And she liked the second sensation better, so she clung to it. She let herself burn a little brighter, a little hotter at Siobhan’s request. A fledgling moved in to attack her, hand locking around her bicep, and Cass let the magma beneath her skin flare until the vampire was screaming, until the smell of burning flesh was replaced by the smell of ash. She felt a little sick with it… and she also kind of didn’t. She hated that a little. Glancing over, she saw a pair of vampires sneaking up on the woman with the stake — Jade, she knew her, she was nice — and ducked over to help, rearing back with a rocky fist to deliver a very solid punch.

Everyone had arrived, anger flurrying their movements and ferocity motivating their weapons. A strange and outlandish array of skills and species mixed together in one room, busting themselves with the onslaught of enemies filling it. The scent of lilac disappeared and ash flew left and right, coating Metzli’s skin uncomfortably, but that hardly mattered as they caught sight of the strangest part of the mayhem. It took a few blinks to register, to see that what Siobhan was wearing was actually real and not an illusion. They supposed it was fitting, given the strange and endearing way she went about life, and had Metzli not been on the brink of having their esophagus crushed, they surely would’ve barked out something akin to laughter. Instead, Master stole their attention and commanded them silently to attack just as he let go. Their feet met the ground and they bolted into action, knife and fangs going after their closest target.

Jade.

Um, rude. Not only did Jade find the blabbermouth fledgling, she also like… gave away some stakes for the gang to use ‘just in case’, (not to mention the excellent vibes she was providing by existing), and this was how Metzli repaid her? She braced herself as the vampire lunged at her, keenly aware she couldn’t inflict damage due to her bind (dammit, Regan). She dodged blows from the feral vampire with a little more finesse than she usually did, which was… strange. Until she understood why: Metzli couldn’t land any hits either. Something warm and inconvenient fluttered in her chest at the realization, but it had to be pushed aside in favor of continuing the awkward tussle with Metzli. Whatever kept them distracted, away from the people they might be able to hurt for realsies. It seemed to work, until they crashed against Parker and Anita. Jade barely managed to keep her balance before she was tackled by another vampire who also demanded her attention (she couldn’t help being so popular, but it was a little annoying).

Blood and dust was sprayed through the air from wounds both superficial and fatal. Parker’s eyes stung from the sweat on his brow mixed with the ash that swirled around the two factions. He could feel it catching on his exposed skin, somehow a worse sensation than when blood started to dry and become sticky on his hands, but he forced that part of his mind into further dormancy. So he moved through the battlefield, ducking, weaving, stepping lightly and striking swiftly and with opportunistic fervor. Parker never was gifted with the ability to take on multiple enemies at once, being much more suited for solo combat, but despite how he was raised, he was remarkably good at spatial recognition and reasoning - in this instance, he wouldn’t have laid a hand on any of these women that fought alongside them for any reason. …That didn’t mean he couldn’t still get irritated with his temporary allegiances, however. “That wasn’t part of the plan at–” Parker had barely not been able to finish the sentence in reply to Siobhan when a body collided with his, solid, unexpected, and eliciting a grunt of surprise from him. Stumbling to one knee, he turned, seeing the movement of the serpent out of his peripheral, and he inhaled deeply, the sting of iron, ash and smoke from the candles entering his nose as he felt himself tensing up in preparation to be attacked by Metzli. They were so close. Just a little longer, he hoped.

It took all of her strength not to go where Metzli was going. She knew Jesus had a grasp on their mind still, she knew that, but despite it all, she wanted to run to them. Find the coffin, find the coffin, find the coffin- Leila forced herself to become nothing but bits of smoke and shadow that danced along the periphery of the battle raging on inside the crypt. A bit of night to flit around from place to place and find that god damned coffin and turn it to nothing but a pile of slowly cooling embers that she could crush underfoot. But trying to find a safe space to land was complicated when fledglings seemed to be rushing about trying to- oh… Of course they would be trying to protect the coffin. With one last look towards Cass, one last glance towards Metzli, the nightmare charged into the thick of the fight, popping in and out of reality.

If she could be anyone’s worst nightmare, she would be Master Jesus’s and she would be damn proud to make fear the last thing he ever felt.

Anita had fallen into a rhythm and got a bit blissfully swept away in the decapitations that she had briefly stopped paying attention to how the others around her were doing. That was why it took her by surprise when Jade fighting with a very feral Metzli slammed into her. It was painful to see her friend in this state but not as painful as things were about to be for the vampire who had just tried to bite through the thick scales of the lamia while she was distracted. “Idiot,” she muttered before eating him whole.

Even though she knew they needed to keep Metzli occupied until their little mare could start a fire, Anita didn’t want them to get hurt in the process. She had seen them fight before, however, and they were a better fighter than they were seeming to be. With a forceful thwip of her tail, Anita separated Metzli from Jade and followed through with her tail shoving them against one of the stone walls of the crypt. “Te amo. Lo lamento,” she hissed softly, the only time she felt the need to apologize for any of the fighting she had done.

All that mattered was buying time for Leila to get to that coffin.

“Metzli—” Siobhan’s voice caught in her throat, choking on her quivering breath. It was one thing to see her friend captured, another to them twisted into some creature they would never want to be. She hadn't known Metzli very long, but she understood that the last thing the vampire wanted was to hurt their friends—their unbearing heart was tender, kind. In her daze, fledglings slammed into her, fangs snapping and claws tearing into her lovingly made shirt. She hissed, kicking and stabbing; she knew her part was to help thin the numbers. Yet, despite all their work, it didn’t seem like the vampires were relenting. Instead, their desperation grew and with it, their danger. One good scream would end all of it—but that wasn’t part of the plan, and anyway, she didn’t think the ancient crypt walls could handle it. Siobhan crawled out from the tangle of fledglings, stumbling to her feet. Aided by Cass’ brighter light, she watched Metzli slam into the wall and winced. Whatever optimism she had slowly dissolved; this didn’t seem like it was going well.

It was chaos. All around, the battle raged, and Cass did what she could to help, but she didn’t have the same experience as the other fighters here. She had no training beyond her quiet attempts at vigilantism, and her confidence in that had been so shaken that she wasn’t even sure it counted for anything anymore. And on top of that, her eyes kept darting over to Parker each time she threw a punch. Did this negate the bind she’d made with him? Their agreement had been that he wouldn’t hurt her, but only as long as she wasn’t hurting anyone else. Wasn’t this hurting people? Parker was doing it too, of course, but… she remembered Rhett, his hand around her throat. She didn’t think wardens held themselves to the same standards they held fae to. She pulled her attention away from him now, focusing instead on the vampires. It was okay, she thought. Even if this did nullify their agreement, even if he used it as an excuse to hurt her later, it would be fine as long as Metzli was free. That was worth more. That had to be worth more. She glanced around for Leila, seeing only flashes here and there. Good, she thought. The sooner the mare took care of that coffin, the sooner it would all be over. Cass wanted, so badly, for it to be over.

Everyone moved so quickly and with articulated precision. With no blows to land on Jade, the feral vampire was quickly thrown around and sent to whoever could best keep them occupied. To Metzli’s surprise, it had been Anita to hold them down effortlessly, eyes meeting and sending a shockwave through them as she spoke a declaration only few got to hear. Their eyes softened, fight dissipating from their limbs while she held them there, giving them a chance to truly see the room and hear Siobhan. They didn’t want to fight. Friends didn’t hurt friends, and while everyone there fighting the fledglings were Metzli’s friends, they were certainly no friend of theirs in that moment. They didn’t mind the attacks, and would welcome them with ease, even at the rage it instilled in Master. Even as that anger thundered in Metzli’s head and turned the room red.

“You will obey!” Another boom, “Kill them now!” Master Jesus’s eyes burned into Metzli, his power over them tightening as much as it could. But to his surprise and utter dismay, all Metzli’s body did was strain against itself and the giant snake holding them. There was resistance in their tether with each demand to kill, turning the rest of the fledglings silent as they turned to their master with a mixture of concern and disbelief. Master Jesus swallowed thickly, worried that they may see him as weak again. It turned his stomach and sent acid up his throat, and he was quick to make a move.

No. He simply couldn’t have his power ripped away when he not only deserved it, but just obtained it.

“Come. Now.” Master Jesus commanded, to which Metzli responded to quickly. Their face turned blank, pupils turned into mere pinpoints as they wrapped their legs carefully around Anita’s body. With determination and care guiding them, Metzli twisted and drove their knife into stone to be a grappling point, pulling themself up and away from the hold without laying a single wound on their friend. Master Jesus gritted his teeth, rage burning in his chest at the abject insubordination. There was only one option left, it was time to stop playing the game he had enjoyed up until then. All it would take was a simple end of life, the very one that had been a thorn in his side since he was stupid enough to bite them.

“You want them so bad?” The elder smiled sadistically, sharp teeth glinting from the candles around the room. What fledglings still stood abandoned their fights, walking calmly to watch and guard their master’s presentation as Metzli avoided anyone who tried to stop them and knelt in front of him, facing the room. “You can have them.” Master Jesus grinned even further, contorted his face menacingly. “You’ll just have to…” Breaking a leg off of a nearby chair, he made a makeshift stake and hovered the point over Metzli’s chest. “...gather the ashes.”

Metzli watched the stake with mere indifference, following Master’s hand until he ordered them to look at him. There was little they could hear through the barrier of thoughts and apologies they couldn’t speak, but they understood what he requested next, all emotion flooding into Metzli like a roaring tsunami. Their lungs burned with fervor, panic rising at the silent chime of their hourglass teetering out its final grains of sand. There was no stopping the inevitable, or the tears that blurred their vision. They blinked them away, desperate to see the people they loved dearly and loved them in return, one last time. Master laughed, and it echoed in the canyon of Metzli’s existence, a reminder that voices resonate for a while before fading into the vast silence of eternity. His would silent one day, too. Metzli would just have to be first, and the final echo was incoming fast, the stake cocked for just a moment before plunging back down.

The wild, crowded fight in the dim candle-lit crypt was persevering. Inexperienced fighters dressed as creatures of the night seemed never-ending; every time one would be reduced to ashes, another would return in its place. It was a method of attrition, something Parker was unused to in combat as he shoved yet another fledgling away from his scarred body. And yet, in the chaos of the dust, snarling, the rhythmic warning of a rattlesnake’s tail, Parker could hear the elder’s voice as it rather effortlessly punctuated it. An unnatural wave of calm swept through the crypt as the subordinates suddenly ceased in their attack. His breath heaved, deep but quiet, and he turned sharply to see Master Jesus, Metzli, the impromptu stake that was hovering dangerously near where their heart rested inert in their chest cavity. His breath caught in his throat. Instinctively he moved his hand to one of the small, tightly-packed hand crossbow bolts in the quiver on his utility belt - something, anything. Delay. Stop. But even Parker knew, however reluctantly as his blue-eyed stare, wide with an unusual emotion on his otherwise-stoic face, that there were things he couldn’t control. Things he wasn’t fast enough to react to, to change. So, instead, that reach for a crossbow bolt changed into reaching for one of the bottles that dangled from his belt instead - one had survived the fights. He would gather Metzli’s ashes while the rest of the team tore Master Jesus limb from ‘fucking’ limb.

Find the coffin, find the coffin, find the coffin.

Leila could hardly hear anything over the roar of her own thoughts. It was a race against time, and she knew it. The mare moved through the astral faster than she had ever moved before, using the dark to her advantage to slip away and cover as much ground as she could. Find the coffin, find the coffin, under rubble, in dark corners, and candle strewn quarters, she scoured for a hint- any hint- of Master Jesus’ hiding place. She promised the universe whatever it wanted, prayed to whatever was listening to give her the coffin so she could save Metzli.

And then, she spied it. Across the room, tucked away just out of sight.

It was then that she heard the eerie voice of Master Jesus rise up over the din. The fledglings she had desperately been avoiding as she dipped in and out of the bounds of reality were leaving, headed back towards their master… back towards Metzli. Jesus had the leg of a chair in his hand poised as a makeshift stake. The point of which was dangerously close to Metzli’s chest. Time felt as if it had become so painfully slow around her as Leila melted into shadow one more time, forcing herself to reappear beside the coffin, head reeling. “Jesus!” Leila shouted across the crypt, voice raw. She wanted him to see. He could not dream, and yet she wanted him to know only fear in his last moment.

She pulled the trigger, the coffin set ablaze.

Even though no words were spoken, Anita could tell by the look in her roommates eyes that she had gotten through however slightly. But that moment faded quickly and was replaced by the bellowing commands of a man who did not deserve the power he wielded. She really wanted to rip him apart piece by piece and scatter his limbs across the globe but Anita knew that a far more practical plan was in play. When Metzli escaped from her hold and approached Jesus the lamia tried to reach back out. She had been so blinded by fear and anger when he threatened them with the stake, however, that she failed to notice the group of fledglings approaching from the side. They created a barrier that prevented her from getting to Metzli as they tried to claw through her scales and keep her away.

As she tried to fight away the vampires she watched in horror as the wooden stake got so close to its intended target. There was an overwhelming tightness in her chest that caused her tail to rattle fiercely and for a moment she had stopped fighting back against her attackers. But even in Anita’s moment of weakness, she could at least see that Leila had started the revolution - she set fire to the bastard’s coffin. A stab of pain snapped her back to reality as one of the fledglings managed to claw underneath some of her scales and ripped them from her body. She repaid them by ripping their heads off of their bodies while their master’s scream echoed throughout the crypt.

The world slowed; the fledglings she’d been occupied with (mostly ash now) faded beyond Siobhan’s perception. There was Metzli, the broken chair leg and the fear that had lodged in her throat. Affection was beyond her—something she was not made to hold nor allowed to—and yet, her body caved in with it. She trembled. She couldn’t count the number of people she’d seen die, or return to death—beyond the thousands, into the ever spinning cycles of life. It was selfish to want someone to stay but the single second she took to imagine the world without her friend was enough to tell her that on this matter, on Metzli’s unlife, she would always be selfish. A plea tumbled over her lips, and then, fire. The man who’d brought them here, united unlikely allies under a single goal, made the world shudder with the idea of Metzli’s loss, was gone.

Siobhan dropped to her weak knees, watching the fire. Her happiness washed out of her with guilt and shame. What kind of a banshee was she? Who had taken her unfeeling heart and replaced it with the unwanted bloom of love for a friend? She should have been more concerned about the imposter that lived inside of her chest, but all she could do was watch.

Years ago, when she’d lived on the streets and clung to anyone who’d stayed around long enough to give her something to cling to, Cass confided in another lost teenager the loneliness that came with having no one. She remembered the way the other girl had scoffed at her, remembered not understanding the haunted look in her eye when she’d turned away. It’s better, she’d said, to have no one. At least then, you have nothing to lose. It was a sentiment Cass had hated, because she wanted something to lose. She wanted something to hold, even if only temporarily. It would hurt when it was gone, but it would be so full for a moment, and wasn’t that moment worth it? Wasn’t that moment all she’d ever wanted?

But now, watching as a makeshift stake moved so cruelly towards Metzli’s heart, she understood it a little better. That moment would never be enough. To have something and lose it hurt. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want it.

Magma burned hot beneath her rocky skin, pushing its way out, out through the cracks in a miniature eruption. It coated the floor of the crypt around her, creating a moat around her trembling form. A few fledglings screamed as it melted the soles of their shoes, burned their feet to the ground, but none of it mattered. There was a vampire, and she loved them. There was a vampire, and they were the first person who’d ever even tried to offer her something like a family. There was a vampire, and there was a stake moving towards their heart at a speed that was somehow both slow motion and too quick to stop.

And then, there was fire.

For the first time since that stake had appeared, Cass tore her eyes away from it, looked instead to Leila and her beautiful flames. The relief was crippling. Jesus’s screams filled the crypt, but Cass could hardly hear them over the rushing of blood in her ears, over the quiet sobs rising up in her chest and escaping through her lips.

The moment would never be enough, but that was okay. Because for now, at least, the moment would continue.

Flesh tore and blood spilled, but no ashes burst into the air with a final breath. Instead, there were flames. Bright and powerful, raging like the screams bellowing from Master’s lungs. Metzli shuddered as the world spun and slowed, mind betraying them. They were desperate to run to their family, but Master, as occupied as he was with burning, commanded them to remain where they knelt. He wanted them to burn along with him, and he grabbed the scruff of Metzli’s shirt. The flames trailed quickly to the fabric, heat blistering their skin painfully, and yet they remained. Just as he requested. Just as he wanted.

“If I’m burning, so are y—”

Master was interrupted by a force, something burning just as brightly. “Cass…!” Metzli’s eyes widened, watching as she tore Master away and slammed him powerfully and with no hint of hesitation into several fledglings. She didn’t like to hurt people, Metzli knew this, and thus they were surprised to see her jump in with such ferocity. They felt a hint of guilt for it, full of regret that they had to be saved by someone they were supposed to protect.

“I’m…” Metzli trailed off as their voice tightened in their throat, trapped behind a ball of grief that was beginning to form. Master was dying, and a strange, sick part of them felt compassion for the man that had ripped their life away. The rest of the clan reacted the same, many trying to stop Cass and Leila from allowing the fire to continue. But it was no use when a person made of magma burned every hand that made an attempt at grabbing Master. “S-stop! Stop!” Words were strained through their teeth. Truthfully, Master dying was a blessing, but the tether that came with the bite twisted Metzli’s mind into a child yearning for their father. It was demented and corrupt, sending shockwaves of pain through the vampire as they slammed their fists into the dirt floor. Whether they were reacting to the death or the desperation to be free, Metzli wasn’t entirely sure, but it was pain all the same. Embers attacking and ashes coating their skin.

They screamed, joining the chorus of torment each vampire in the crypt was consumed by when the last of the flames flickered away. That’s when it all came for Metzli. With Chuy’s death, came the cost of living as a person, experiencing the liberty of self and what it meant to have no barriers between heart and mind. They screamed, but in no way were they mourning Chuy then. They screamed, curling like a fist protesting death. They screamed, crying out in freedom, the echoes of every emotion swallowing the crypt until Metzli’s throat could no longer produce a sound.

Jade was the outlier. (Nothing new). She remained perfectly chill as she disposed of the inexperienced vampires guarding their master. The fact that she, with subpar fighting skills, could so easily exterminate those creatures had her thinking it was all rigged. The math wasn’t mathing. A plot twist hid somewhere. The plot twist came in the shape of a chair leg pointed directly into Metzli’s chest. Huh. Jade’s eyebrow quirked in interest. This was totally a two-birds-with-one-stone scenario, wasn’t it? Jesus staked Metzli and the mare burned Jesus in retaliation. It sounded like an even greater finale than the scripted one. (To her). It took one look around the dimly lit chamber to know it was a tough crowd to share that sentiment with.

Something bitter simmered inside as she took in the faces of concern. Of love. Jade was bound to die a hunter’s death one day (fingers crossed, not before Rihanna released that freaking album). Probably some unoriginal stab wound in one of those annoying ‘vital’ organs. She’d bleed out, alone. Scared, maybe (definitely). Yet Metzli, had an audience to witness them leave their second go at life. (Even the snake had like, a perfectly timed tear, come on!). An audience that ached for them in a way no one would ache for her. A dead beast, a monster with no heart would be mourned harder than she ever would be. And sure dying wasn’t the annoying bit, that was the commitment. That was fair. But boy if jealousy didn’t burn hotter than the flames engulfing Jesus’s coffin. Guilt over said jealousy was a little new, though. Cause like, Metzli was totally not having the time of their unlife right now. So getting pissy about it? Kinda totally out of line. This had to be like one of those, multicolored emotions from Inside Out, for sure.

Leila came through before the stake sank (bummer). And the master burned, pulling Metzli along with him. Agonizing pleas spilled from their lips and Louis tightened in her hand. Jade shuddered. This was duty. This was kindness. This was mercy. She was meant to end that pain. She pushed forward, careful not to step into Lavagirl’s doing. Screw the promise, she'd handle the strain. Metzli’s suffering would be over soon. They’d no longer be tormented by the years used as a killing machine, they’d no longer belong to anyone, no more fight to control bestial urges for the rest of their miserable existence. It ended now. She could do this, and she’d fight the crowd once their friend turned to dust anyway, despite their best efforts. Her conviction was unwavering. But the screams turned into something else, and Jade froze, witnessing something she couldn’t grasp yet: A new beginning.

She would have stood there forever, trigger pulled, flames swallowing the coffin whole until there was no more coffin to burn, until the embers didn’t even have the strength to burn anymore. She would have stayed if it meant Jesus could never come back, could never hurt Metzli again. Leila swallowed down the sob of relief mingled with rage as she watched the lid of the coffin start to cave inward. No return. Lost to the flames. Good.

A scream pierced through her- one particular raising up with the lamenting chorus- and the spell of fury that had her fixed on the spot while fire spewed forth from the flamethrower like some demon cradled in her arms utterly shattered. Metzli… A wave of panic crashed over her, dousing the heat of her wrath, replacing it with icy fear and guilt. The flamethrower had not clattered to the ground yet by the time Leila had vanished once more only to reappear closer to Metzli. She scrambled past bodies- fledgling and friend, fallen and filled with life- anything to get to them. The screaming only got louder as the mare approached, falling to her knees before the vampire. And worst of all, worst of all, she did not know how to comfort them. She did not even know if they would want comfort.

Hands that had only ever created had now destroyed someone important- monstrous, terrible, horrific? yes to all of the above. But important nonetheless. The nightmare had no words to give, all of them trapped in her throat with no hope of escape. I’m sorry… the word echoed in her mind. A hand sat open before Metzli, there to be taken or ignored. She only wanted them to know they were not alone.

Even as the fire began to engulf that wretched man, Anita couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly the end, if this would give Metzli the relief they so deserved. Then she saw him reaching towards them and Anita quickly darted down and through the few fledglings left staring towards Metzli, trying to push away the obvious realization that she was likely too far away to get there in time to help. And she was, but Cass wasn’t. As she finally reached where they were, Anita saw the subtle, gentle gesture Leila made; reaching out her hand as an act of affection.

Now that they all had a moment to breathe, Anita looked around at all these people that she knew in differing contexts standing together in this crypt. They had all come together, to fight together. She and Metzli may have been outcasts together at some point in time, but it was apparent that they had managed to build something much bigger than that. Once again, Anita felt like she was out of place. The vampires who had been trying to kill them just moments before their so-called Master had fallen to the floor as a pile of worthless ash also seemed to be freed from whatever hold they had been under. There was no longer any need to fight, no need to kill. Anita didn’t have anything to contribute anymore. She wasn’t equipped to deal with the aftermath; she only thrived in the violence.

Normally this would be where she made some quip, some joke or gentle dig that cut through the emotional tension and made light of what had transpired. And while she had more than a few one-liners locked and loaded, they all felt… wrong. Turning away from Metzli, Anita coiled her tail up underneath her and simply stared down the remaining fledglings to make sure they didn’t decide to turn any residual anger they may be feeling towards them. It was, quite literally, the least she could do in that moment.

As he was anticipating Metzli’s form to erupt into ashes, instead the elder vampire behind them was spontaneously enveloped in flames, tongued demons licking greedily at the pale skin and dark cloak. Parker’s blue eyes, illuminated with orange fire from the spectacle before him, also saw clawed hands grasping at Metzli’s shirt and, without having a way to explain it, his heart leapt into his throat. Again, he wasn’t quick enough to stop what was attempting to transpire and wordlessly, he mouthed the name “Cass”; she was a volcanic construct, a golem that could withstand any heat that was directed at Metzli. And Cass was there, prying the elder off of his plaything. Screaming rose with the smoke in the air, bouncing off of the walls, but it wasn’t until he heard Metzli yell ‘stop’ that Parker subconsciously dropped the stake he was holding and reached up to cover his working ear - a childish gesture when he had experienced overstimulation. And yet, he didn’t remove his eyes from the display until there was nothing but the kneeling figure of Metzli, the ash from the dead fledglings and the elder swirling around them, around the room. Hundreds of years rendered indistinguishable from the dregs he surrounded himself with. The elder was dead. But Jade’s ambitions weren’t. Parker finally blinked, his eyes stinging but instead of going to Metzli, he approached the slayer as her body was positioned in such a way that she was ready to break the promise to one to fulfill another, one that was older, much more powerful as it had been one she had been forced to take for over two decades. The Warden, seeing Leila there, seeing Cass and Siobhan and Anita there, approached Jade and placed one hand on her shoulder, the other reaching the stake and wrapping powerful fingers around it gently. “You did well.” He said, just loud enough that she could hear as he attempted to make eye contact with her. Quiet, but surprisingly genuine. “Come on.” He gestured towards the exit with his head. The battle was won. The elder lay in ashes, Metzli was freed, no doubt overwhelmed with the influx of emotions returned to them all at once like a tidal wave. Surrounded by their friends and loved ones, the makeshift family that they had formed. It wasn’t a place for Parker or Jade; they were weapons, the tools to assist in getting the job done. And their job was done, at least for that day. And he… was satisfied. Not happy or expectant, but as though he had contributed to something larger than him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not entirely unwelcome.

There was something to be said about ends and beginnings, though Siobhan didn’t say any of it. The crypt hadn’t filled with relief, but pain--screaming, searing pain. The victory echoed through her hollow body and she turned her attention on to the frozen fledglings. There was comfort in certainty, and in a life lived with obedience to certainty. Nothing was certain now: freedom was achingly terrifying. Her attention moved along to Parker and Jade; her smile for them lost to the crypt’s dancing darkness. She felt emptied out, as if someone had reached down her throat and pulled her fleshy stuffing out. Inside, there was her own tiny vampire-on-fire: compassion for her friend. Really, her only friend--the only one she allowed herself to have for reasons completely unknown to her. She pushed herself off the ground, dusted off her legs, and walked over to Metzli.

She had no kind hands to offer, not like Leila, and she stood with a degree of awkwardness slightly aside from them. “It’s done,” she said softly. “It’s over.” But Siobhan knew that wasn’t entirely true; something else had begun, something that had been stirring for a while and could exist properly now. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and remained watching over her friend, considering that some things were entirely worth the agony they caused: freedom, friendship, particularly spicy chips.

And most of all, Metzli, her friend, who might finally find life the way birds did: songs carried into the air, wings across blue sky.

For as long as she could remember, Cass had loved stories. As a child on an island where there were two worlds, neither of which wanted her, she’d found some strange comfort in telling them to herself late at night, like self-created bedtime stories. They were simple at first, of course; retellings of other stories she’d seen or heard, but they got more complex as she got older. She told herself stories about princesses in castles, waiting for rescue. She told herself stories about princesses rescuing themselves. She invented worlds where nothing was wrong, and worlds where everything was. She told stories where the sea was made of lava and the sky was full of water.

She told stories where she was loved to make up for the fact that she wasn’t.

But all of those stories, from the beginning, had common themes. There were always heroes, and there were always villains. And the heroes were good, and the villains were bad. Real life wasn’t like that, she’d learned; it was never so straightforward. But today, in this case, it was simple. Chuy was a monster, a tiny man who wanted power to make himself feel better and who would step on anyone and everyone to get it for himself. He had an ego so large it filled the crypt with a suffocating atmosphere. He threw tantrums when he knew he was beaten. He reached for Metzli, for someone who loved her, and he tried to burn them up with him just to be petty, just to claim some form of victory even in his death. And Cass acted on instinct. She surged forward, she pulled him away, she held him in place. She made sure he died alone, and he did. Even among the screams of the people who only cared about him because he’d forced them to, he was alone. The way he should have been, the way he deserved to be.

Chuy died screaming, and Cass liked it. There was something terrifying about that.

It was over quickly, even if it felt like an eternity. The body under her hands turned to ash. The screaming died down. The fledglings stopped fighting. Metzli was screaming. And Cass wanted to pretend that there was something heavy in her chest, wanted to pretend that she felt regret for her part in the ashes on the floor, but instead, she felt something else. She didn’t feel like she had outside her cave, with Rhett’s hand wrapped around her throat. She didn’t feel small or helpless, didn’t feel like she needed saving. A monster was dead, and he’d lived for centuries. He’d terrorized her friend, he’d made them feel like they were nothing, and Cass held him in place until he was ashes even if she hadn’t struck the match. And she felt good. She felt powerful. Like the way she used to feel stopping muggers, multiplied by a thousand. It was a good feeling. She didn’t think it was supposed to be.

She pushed it to the side now, shoved it down as deep as she could. It wasn’t important. Metzli was what mattered here, and Cass approached them slowly. She put her glamour back up, let that rocky skin give way to something that looked more human, let the fire burning behind her eyes die down. The volcano went dormant, its eruption finished. She placed a hand on Metzli’s shoulder with caution, unsure if they wanted to be touched but needing tangible proof that they were okay. “Let’s go home,” she said quietly, squeezing their shoulder. “We can go home now.”

It was easy to forget things when you reached an age with triple digits. Even easier to let yourself go numb and disregard the person you were before a monumental change. When Metzli collapsed, all screams dead inside their chest, they remembered how they forgot. Each enemy quickly became a friend, and in a matter of seconds, the hold Chuy once had in the bending of their mind, dissipated. With that came a tumultuous wave of emotions that had laid dormant for over a century. It was agony, an avalanche of passion that threatened to smother Metzli completely. And they welcomed it, turning it into a cacophony of instruments instead, so that when the swell finally came to its apex, the music would die down into a melody that wouldn’t shred their ears.

Grief and sorrow, like a heavy cloak draping over their shoulders. Joy, a butterfly dancing within their chest. Fear, a shadow looming over the landscape of their thoughts, on the verge of swallowing Metzli whole. Regret, a haunting ghost from the past; a wish that they would finally be able to verbalize. But most importantly, love and heartache. A bittersweet mixture that few had the opportunity to experience. It was a raging fire that danced to no clear tempo, too many hearts enchanting the tune. It burned and it ached, and in spite of this, Metzli stood on unsteady feet with the help of Leila, feeling grounded by Cass’s touch. They pulled Leila into a tight hug, their vision greeted with friends they were told they’d never had. They hardly minded that Parker and Jade were leaving, knowing it was likely for the best. There was too much to focus on. Because, right then, they knew that they finally had their wish.

“I am…free.” Metzli croaked, stumbling forward to reach Anita. Besides Honey, she’d known them the longest. She knew them just as well as Leila, if not better. They became family first. Without much of a voice to use, Metzli propped their chin over Anita’s shoulder, still holding Leila’s hand and looking to Siobhan and Cass with a smile that finally knew what happiness felt like. Never mind the way their stoic features trembled as they struggled to keep the drowning emotions at bay. Everything was okay now that Chuy was dead and the fledglings were scurrying away. Metzli just wanted their family to get the appreciation they deserved.

“I…” They fell back to the ground, too weak to keep themself up. It looked like the appreciation had to come later, much to Metzli’s dismay. “Home?” They looked to Cass and attempted to reach for Anita’s hand, but it looked more like they swatted at it, and they laughed, genuinely, for the first time—albeit with a bit of exasperation. “Home.” Pain, it seemed, wasn’t so bad.

The freedom was worth it.

Hearts truly could heal.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #hazy shade of winter #c: jade #c: leila #c: cass #c: siobhan #c: anita #c: parker #emotional abuse tw

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