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    Slate Morrison

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    “This is the real deal.”

    Fae eyes regarded the motionless bouncer unenthusiastically. The downed man was hardly interesting, and neither was the silent stone building. Whatever had happened here, they had missed it. The Real Deal… Ishsa snorted. This was more akin to being swindled. As if he— A gun! A gun was in his hand! Too near it was in the enclosed confines of the car, too near! Frantically Ishsa’s fingers pawed at the door and she scrambled out. On the sidewalk, the Fae pulled air deeply into her lungs to clear the taint of iron from her senses. But the air was false, not filled with the life of the Green; this air was dead like the grey concrete that surrounded them.

    Ishsa was not pleased! Casket should not have shown the gun again in her presence! The swift outrage, the Fae decided, would carry on forever in her memory. Never would she forgive him! But the Angel seemed not to notice her distain, for already he moved down the shadowy alley. There was little choice but to catch up quickly and see where he might lead. Like a hound scented upon a hunt, he walked ever forward, but while he appeared cool and casual, Ishsa knew better. Already she had witnessed his emotions break through stoic demeanor. Violence lurked in his heart… What mischief might summon those emotions to return? The Fae’s eyes shone with inner light to think upon it.

    Watch yer ass, Firefly… Wouldn’t want to see that tail get shot off.”

    The Fae was accustomed to neither witty banter nor streetwise accents. With a turn, she glanced at her backside; a hand hovered to smooth the garment that clung to her curves. Had the Glamour shifted without her knowledge? [ishsa]I do not have a t--[/ishsa] but she stopped as understanding dawned upon her. A pretty gasp followed as she caught the man’s grin and her angry vow of un-forgiveness was forgotten in sudden mirth.

    Quick-footed steps hurried Ishsa after him into the building, lest he get too far away. With the help of her beating, yet glamour-concealed wings, the Fae crossed the worst of the broken glass upon the floor, and floated a hairs-breath above the sharp confetti. Ishsa was delighted to find her reflection multiplied within the little pieces of glass; a thousand times it echoed. It was difficult to look away, but a sudden burst of music assaulted her senses and drew Ishsa’s attention. Casket had forged ahead and thrown open another set of doors. He had not cowered upon the threshold. This solid, self-assurance pleased the Fae. How she prized boldness in others! Cautious and curious, she slipped through the doors behind him, to see what delights this room held.

    Initially, the Fae saw nothing delightful or interesting... only bodies, both living and dead. But bodies were nothing new. Dismissively, she navigated between them, and slipped freely among the battered and broken club furniture. A strobe light danced in rainbow hues across the walls near her while the beat of music thrummed against her thoughts, never dulled. It matched her blood and woke her interest. The song was unknown, as all were now to her. But the deep base spoke a new language to the Fae; along spine and vein, Ishsa’s unsympathetic awareness began to blossom.

    And now that she was roused, it seemed there was much to see. And feel. An oddness lay upon the room… the living lived, yet they held a blankness that made them seem without life. They breathed and saw, they sat upright with awareness. As Ishsa peered into their shocked faces, they only retreated further into themselves, as if they were fearful of being seen and noticed. A woman with lines of black, wet trails of mascara down her cheeks, refused to return her gaze. An overly large man trembled like a timid mouse. Along his massive and full beard, Ishsa’s hand trailed to feel the coarseness of black and red and gray hairs. He uttered no noise or protest; his only sound was a sniveling, sniffling noise of distress.

    [ishsa]You are not natural…[/ishsa] the woodland creature breathed in a seductive whisper to the biker. Accusingly she shot a glance to the woman next to him as well, [ishsa]You cannot hide in plain view... [/ishsa] Did the Angel see? Did he notice such things as this odd pair? Ishsa’s face lifted, but Casket only looked at the three people that occupied the bar. And Ishsa looked too. An odd satisfied hum vibrated along the Fae’s vocal cords. Magick was there! Powerful Magicks! These three were not simpletons like the forlorn survivors scattered about her! They smelled of more! Their emotions gave them away. Hate. Hostility. Bitterness. A lick of her lips belayed a different kind of hunger. Ishsa located the well-spring; the one in the middle, he was the source. The others bore talents as well, but they were simply limbs compared to him. For only a moment, Ishsa’s smile formed, cruel and sly before it vanished into the shadow of the strobe light and the low voice of the man at the bar.

    To the Fae’s ears, he talked like an animal, with short bursts of sound that tested and flexed the environment around him. It was always the way of males - a mental battle before the physical, with only a look or a word to set hostilities off. Aggression would come between them soon, but it was no concern to Ishsa. She had done nothing worrisome and this place was not her World, this fight belonged not to her. The girl at the counter laughed, and a delayed moment passed as the other man only grinned viciously from his position on the counter.

    [npc]Who’s the bitch?[/npc] The girl had noticed Ishsa, and looked to her though the question was directed to Slate. [npc]Looks like Princess wants to play commando…[/npc]

    [ishsa]Oh yes, Ishsa does like to play…[/ishsa] fire ignited the bark-colored eyes and her voice lowered to a husky tone. The girl’s tattoos drew her attention as did the colorful hair. This one would make a very fitting diversion…

    This girl lifted her chin and gestured towards the Fae, [npc]Like she could help you... Shoulda brought better reinforcements. That one ain’t likely to do much good, Cop.[/npc] The last word was uttered with the intense loathing of someone who had had multiple run-ins with law enforcement before. [npc]Don’t worry, I know a guy that will take real good care of her… when you’re toast.[/npc] She looked up to wink at the huge man on the counter, but he said nothing. His chuckle, low and deep was not a nice sound, but a promise of a different kind of violence.

    [npc]What’s your hook, girly? Good in the sack? Too bad you didn’t pick the stronger man.[/npc] Her hand reached out to touch the leader’s shoulder. But just before the contact was made, the girl’s hand retreated as she gave the young man a nervous and thoughtful glance. The third man watched Ishsa with an icy gaze and remained silent. Seemingly aimless, Ishsa wove through the debris of the room with two pairs of eyes upon her. Her fingers trailed along round tabletop edges that had fallen onto their sides, and against the legs of overturned chairs. Across the back of a dead man’s oversized, black leather vest, she toyed with the patches there. With coy smiles, she repeatedly glanced at the girl at the bar who wished to play. Subtly worked her way closer and softly the Fae began to hum; it was a gentle sound, unheard beneath the thrum of speaker music. The tune was simple, with no direction or focus. The balance was pure sound, and quietly it built; there were no Magicks upon the melody – yet. But soon there would be.

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    • 2 weeks later...

    Slate ignored the tattooed school girl’s adolescent taunt, focusing on the ‘leader’. There wasn’t much to him, tattered black hoody and loose fitting jeans hung off his bony frame, propped up on his stool like a scarecrow. He was gaunt. Frail. He looked as though he’d shatter into a thousand pieces if fell to the floor, but he was anything but weak. Shards of glass crunched beneath his sneakers, pulverized beneath unnaturally weighty steps as he slid off the stool and made his way over. The cop stood a full head taller, but the kid was fearless, tilting a glance into the radiance of Slate’s dispassionate stare, a smug smile twisting his thing lips.

    [slate]You gonna —[/slate]

    Slate’s smart remark was cut short by a loud crack as the diminutive boy’s fist lashed out with inhuman speed, striking him across the jaw. It’s power was incredible, the blow knocking the larger man off his feet, knocking him through a turned over table and embedding him into a wall!

    [npc]Whew![/npc] The kid exclaimed, shading his eyes with a hand as he surveyed the result of his hit. [npc]Out… of… the… park.[/npc] he contemptuously announced, his two lackeys cheering him on.

    [npc]Another one bites the dust.[/npc] He joked over his shoulder, blowing on his knuckles and brushing them triumphantly on his chest. Muddy eyes then landed upon Ishsa. [npc]Well, well. Time for a —[/npc] The sound of snapping plaster distracted him. Startled eyes shooting toward the wall where the cop’s body lay. He was moving! He was standing! That punch should have taken the guy’s head off, or at least snapped his neck but the big man didn’t even have a waver to his walk.

    [slate]That’s one hell of a sucker punch you got there.[/slate] Slate complimented, rubbing his jaw and wiping away the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

    [npc]How did you? Shit, you’re one of us.[/npc] The kid quickly determined. His hands were then suddenly raised in a gesture of peace. [npc]Whoa, man. Take it easy. You’re like us.[/npc] he repeated. [npc]Com’on man. What the hell you doing with THEM? Look at these fuckers.[/npc] The kid continued, reaching over and grabbing one of the docile bikers by the throat. [npc]These pieces of shit think they can push whoever they want around. Well look at you know.[/npc] he growled, slowly crushing the man’s throat.

    [slate]You’re corrupt.[/slate] Slate stated, realizing that he and most likely his two cronies as well, were the product of the secondary resonance wave that occurred back in November of 2018. Newly endowed with extraordinary powers and seeking vengeance on all those who slighted them. [slate]You’ll never stop. It starts with vengeance, next you’re kicking the crap out of some guy who rubs you the wrong way on the subway. Now that you gotta taste of it, you’ll never get enough.[/slate]

    Blood bubbled in the biker’s mouth, eyes bulged lifelessly before the kid let the body slump to the floor.

    The cop never batted an eye.

    [npc]Looks like we got us a super-cop here. Is that it? You a super-cop, pretty boy? You and commando barbie here.[/npc] he jabbed, gesturing to Ishsa. [npc]Freaks on freaks. Well come on, take me in. Take me in and I’ll be out before you know it.[/npc] he taunted knowing all too well there wasn’t a prison that would hold him for long. That’s if the judicial system didn’t just up and regurgitate him back onto the streets first.

    [slate]I’m not here to take you in.[/slate] Slate replied, the deep resonating tones of his voice as cold as the grave it promised.

    The kid was beyond redemption. The Angel had sense for such things and he would deliver him to his end. It was his duty. As for the other two, they still had a choice. Nervous glances were exchanged behind their leader. They’d never gone up against others like themselves before. They’d always had the advantage.

    [npc]Well there’s only one problem with that.[/npc] The kid laughed, [npc]There’s only two of you and three of us.[/npc] Then just like that he sealed the fate of his two cronies.

    [npc]KILL ‘EM![/npc]

    While the other two apprehensively paused the kid didn’t hesitate, lunging at Slate with unnatural speed, arms wildly flailing. He was not a trained a fighter, solely reliant on his heightened attributes, which was usually all he needed. Vicious haymakers struck the air as the seasoned boxer bobbed and weaved, the kid growing more anxious with every miss. The cop was faster than normal; he’d never fought anyone like himself before and for all his efforts couldn’t land a single hit. The cop was toying with him!

    Slate was far more concerned with the other two, keen eyes focused on them while easily evading the kid’s amateur attacks. Outclassing their heavy hitter wasn’t to humiliate their leader so much as intimidate the others. Usually the others would ditch, but unfortunately their bond seemed to exceed the typical gang camaraderie. They weren’t going anywhere.

    Out of the corner of his eye he saw the ‘school girl’ eye Ishsa. As she charged toward the Fey, Slate ducked under an over-extended haymaker and kicked a table toward her. The heavy wooden disk spun through the air like a tossed coin but never struck it’s intended target. It was destroyed mid-flight, a flaming blue coloured blade slashed through it, reducing the table to splinters.

    The one with the shaggy hair and long rust coloured goatee intercepted the projectile, swinging his arm toward it and producing some kind of flaming sword from his finger tips. It gave whole new meaning to the term, ‘knife-hand’. Slate then recalled the deep gouges in the walls, the severed limb. This one could produce razor sharp blades from his hands, but they only lasted the duration of a single strike. The ‘Bohemian’ raised concerns because unlike the leader, this one could fight.

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    • 1 month later...

    Slate’s body hit the wall - the young man’s strike had connected mightily! Ishsa’s head lifted and her lips formed a small circle of surprise as the impact vibrations reverberated through the floor. A pout ensued. The Angel was her playmate this night! Not theirs! She would not like to see him overly harmed. Those others, while they might appear appealing, were not bound to her as Casket was. The Fae looked more closely at them, could they compare with the fun he had promised with the Scarred Man? The young man’s Magick had been sudden and violent which tempted her Fae nature. And that they were three could prove interesting…

    But Slate was up and moving, with blood upon his lip. The Angel would not care for it! He would not like it! Such a serious man was liable to take offense. Like a time-bomb, the Angel ticked silently within… almost Ishsa clapped her hands to think of the moment he would release his staunch control and burst with riotous, pent up emotion. And the Fae smelled the fear of the boy-man. He was afraid, no longer as arrogant as when they had first entered. His actions were powerful, then not. He appeared weak and then not. He was no solid creature! Change played across the youthful face and in his words. In this room filled with back beat and multicolored lights, nothing was static; everything transformed and bloomed into something other than it was originally.

    “You’re corrupt… You’ll never stop. It starts with vengeance, next you’re kicking the crap out of some guy who rubs you the wrong way on the subway. Now that you gotta taste of it, you’ll never get enough... I’m not here to take you in.”

    Casket’s words were a reminder of his similar lecture concerning the Scarred Man. As an Angel, Ishsa believed he could not help but to sermonize. Though he gave himself away… this was where the man’s emotions lay. Judgement! And this was where Ishsa’s fun might truly begin - if he was goaded just enough. Here! Inside concrete, with music so loud it crowded thoughts and senses. Here, Magick had been loosened and chaos met seriousness. The young man charged, but to Ishsa’s eyes, it was scarcely a fight. The Angel was the more solid, with energy like a stone, deep and silent. Yet he moved and breathed… and judged. This boy was insignificant in comparison; his pathetic fight could scarce hold the Fae’s attention, so she turned away to find more of interest elsewhere amid the bodies and broken glass.

    It was a mistake, for Ishsa looked up to see the tattooed girl coming at her in mid-charge. But it was a table spun between them, kicked by Casket that ultimately saved her. The Fae was unprepared. Blue light struck and the table shattered. Ishsa flinched at the sudden destruction even as she realized it was the man at the bar with the leering gaze that had destroyed it. Her mood shifted, eyes hardened. Threats upon her person?! She had done naught to be treated so… She watched with cunning as the man slid purposefully from the bar, his eyes upon the Angel. Mana swirled about his movements and clung to him, its scent was upon her tongue, seedy and greasy with his stranger’s essence. Another spell was in the making! No longer did she wish to play! Neither would she stand for her companion to be harmed.

    But the tattooed girl had skirted the shattered table and made for Ishsa whose camo garment fooled none, to all appearances the Fae appeared delicate and thoroughly out of her element. [npc]I shouldn’t even waste my magic on you, fucking Princess! [/npc] the Asian girl spat. But she did and her movements became lighting fast, and stronger. Too easily the girl had a rough hold upon the Fae who stood docile and wide eyed, as if in surprise. An arm was around Ishsa’s throat, the crook of an elbow at her windpipe. Air still flowed, though it would be an easy thing to simply cut it off. An ugly looking knife was in the girl’s other hand, held outward. [npc]Slow the fuck down Hero.[/npc] She yelled across the room, more concerned with Slate’s powers than the seemingly meek Ishsa. [npc]I got your girlfriend…[/npc] The knife turned in the air, but Ishsa made no move to escape. [npc]…if you don’t back down, right the fuck now, she’ll be in pieces. [/npc]

    Hands at her sides, Ishsa did not balk or struggle. There was air enough to breathe... and to sing. The Song started as a whisper, low and haunting to weave below the sounds of bass and inappropriate lyrics from the speakers. Slowly the Song rose until the tattooed girl could just hear it. [npc]Shut up! Damn, you’re bat shit crazy! [/npc] But the Song was ignored as inconsequential; it was obvious to the girl that Slate was the true threat. Yet Ishsa's eyes gleamed brightly alert as the haunting melody continued. [npc]Do as I say Cop… Throw your – your… gun over there… and, umm – and just sit…[/npc] she had to think a minute where to point with the knife. [npc]There, in ummm. That chair… and…just…[/npc] Ishsa’s voice remained low, whisper soft and honeyed. The others would not hear for its softness; it was a gift, like a caress for just this girl with the pretty drawings upon her skin. The Song caused Confusion and Ishsa’s attacker shook her head to try to hold thoughts together, but instead they simply unraveled. [npc]Just…, ummm fucking – sit, okay? Ju--[/npc] Dazed, she peered about the room, and her arm slipped and gave Ishsa more freedom. But the Fae remained where she stood, only a pale hand rose to touch upon the girl’s arm, to commune more fully.

    The knife dropped and clattered to the floor as Ishsa’s attacker attempted to speak further, but the forgotten words faltered, as Fae enchantment entangled her. Ishsa turned with a radiant and benevolent glow, and her fingers touched upon the girl’s once cruel face. As if to soothe a lost child, she cooed softly, [ishsa]Shhhh…. Shhhh… Ishsa will care for you, and all your pretty pictures.[/ishsa]
     

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    • 2 weeks later...

    ‘Shaggy’ was a Magus! Who knew what other tricks the guy had up his sleeve; Slate wasn’t about to wait and find out. As the kid telegraphed a right cross, Slate made his move, smoothly slipping under the clumsy attack. A right hit to the body struck like a freight train, lifting the kid off the ground, paralyzed by the painful shock of the blow rippling trough his body. Slate heard the familiar ‘snap’ of a broken rib as his fist suck in, followed by a retching scream as the kid spewed vomit across the floor he landed face first into. The kid was done but the Nephilim wasn’t. Snatching the boy’s arm he violently twisted it behind his back until there was a loud, ‘Pop!’.

    [slate]You don’t make the rules.[/slate] Slate whispered in the kid’s ear as he mercilessly hefted him by his dislocated arm, while his other hand gripped him by the jaw, harshly straining his scrawny neck.

    [slate]That’s enough.[/slate] He ordered, threatening to break the kid’s neck if they didn’t comply. He had them, that is until ’School Girl’ caught the Faerie and put her under the knife.

    ‘Fuck.’ He should’a snapped the kid’s neck when he had the chance, but he had make the shit play of the year. That psycho-bitch wasn’t playing. She’d kill Ishsa if he so much as flinched.

    [slate]Okay. Easy.[/slate] Slate complied, releasing the kid from his hold. Letting him slump into floor, broken arm twisted sickly behind his back.

    Backing away, Slate raised his hands. He slowly pulled his piece out, dropped it at his feet and kicked it over to the girl, who then ordered him to sit in a chair. She’d definitely thought this all through. the cop considered with a condescending smirk. He sat calmly, elbows leaning across his knees, keeping a close watch on ‘Shaggy’ out the corner of his eye. ‘Muscles’, was out of commission but still might be conscious enough to exact some revenge through his associates. The situation had quickly turned bleak and the cop figured he might just have to cut his losses, that is until sensitive ears picked up the soft lulling notes of the Fay under the loud steady drone of the dance music booming through the room.

    ‘A charm?’ School girl seemed out of it, the Fey’s comely countenance dark and sinister. Even before the knife struck the floor, Slate was on his feet, charging toward the Magus. He had to strike fast before he could get a spell off, but ‘Shaggy’ was ready. He slashed the air before him with a rigid hand moving across the line of his body. There was suddenly a burning pain, a warm sticky sensation spilling across Slate’s chest but he didn’t pause. Ignoring the wound he leapt high in the air, forcing the Magus to duck out of the way of his knee as he descended upon him. ‘Shaggy’ wasn’t just all incantations, he had some martial skills as well.

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    This new side of Casket was delicious! He was more unrestrained than the Fae had yet seen. Violently beaten, his opponent lay discarded on the floor. What cared the Fae for that one? Arm twisted oddly and lying in vomit, that young man was nothing! The World spun and rotated as it would, she would not lament the likes of him. The girl though, she was a novel thing, different – the Fae desired to play with her further... but how to get the befuddled Human back to her Tree? And how long would it take for girl’s allure to fade? A day? A week? Ishsa pondered this as her fingers traced along the vibrant edge of a stalking tiger tattoo and then across to an ornate butterfly’s wing. Each colorful swirl and flourish required further study, but there was no calm within the room to do so. Chaos reigned instead.

    Her companion had charged the big man, who in turn had made his own magical strike. Blood flowed! Casket bled! Sudden concern gripped the normally aloof Fae as she watched the Angel’s leap land too late. The man below it had rotated and shifted to the left and then threw a terrible counter-punch aimed directly into Casket’s newly opened chest wound. But… he could not be hurt, Ishsa thought. Her Angel could not be injured! There was still fun to be had! He was going to return to the Wood! He was going to wait for the scarred man. He wanted to wait… with her.

    The Angel would wait with her… Human memory teased just out of reach, significant yet unformed. She tried to grasp what had once been easily recalled, but Ishsa was tormented by Fae inability instead. Casket’s words had triggered a depth of emotional feeling, but the grey past was invisible! She could not see it! Only the gun at her feet lay prominent to her vision. The Asian girl had no need of it, entranced as she was. Yet without a wielder, the gun was powerful still. Already Ishsa’s sensitive nose smelled the heavy stench of metal and she moved closer, drawn hypnotically towards it.

    With trepidation and a shaky hand, the Fae reached for the weapon. She would save him! Nausea rose as fingers gently closed around the smooth handle. It was worse than she had imagined! From her soul, a piercing cry rose to sound her sorrow. Thin arms shook as Ishsa attempted to lift the gun and aim the barrel. It was madness what she did. But this place caused confusion - the Angel’s words caused more. She was a delicate and peaceful creature; she knew not weapons or fighting. The fray before her she dare not enter! Those men were too engaged to be distracted with illusion or glamour, so caught up as they were with one another. But Casket needed safeguarding, and for once the self-absorbed Fae, acted selflessly upon a memory she could not name.

    Aim. Shoot.

    The gun in her hand was as a river of poison to the Fae, the taint of its metal flowed through her veins, silent and deadly. Ghostly white, her face turned ever paler with shock. To hold the barrel motionless was impossible. The gun wavered and dipped in the air, pointed at the large man, and everything in his vicinity. Casket was too close, if Ishsa had been Human, the proximity might have caused worry. But always the Fae did as she would; even sick with metal taint, her will was great. She wished to help him. And so she would…

    A wave of sickness washed across Ishsa and again the firearm wobbled in her hand. Tears filled the Fae’s eyes freely; wrongness was palpable upon her tongue. [ishsa]Fight not! I will use this![/ishsa] Her strained voice called out. But the metal was too strong, where she touched, her hands burned even as her knees weakened. The camouflaged Glamour that covered her lightly flowing dress and wings faltered, and Ishsa’s true from appeared. With effort, she squeezed the trigger just as the ground began to rise. As the Fae fell against the tile, the gun skittered from her hands and slid away, while she lay small and crumpled among the lifeless bikers.
     

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    Blood soaked into Slate’s unscathed clothing, while beneath an unseen blade, razor sharp, had sliced through the flesh. [slate]Fuck’n Magus.[/slate] Slate raged, the growl, erupting into a roar as ‘Shaggy’ thrust a vicious palm into his wounded chest, the strike erupting with brilliant white flame as it made contact.

    The concussive force of the impact was incredible, driving the powerful Nephilim to the floor, sprawled and prone to attack. ‘So this prick was the big gun.’ he concluded. Sitting back and watching, measuring and weighing his opponent. Had to give the guy credit where credit was due, but Slate would be damned he was gonna check-out at the hands of these punks. Unfortunately, the Magus met the cop’s tenacity with equal determination.

    [npc]DIE ALREADY![/npc] The young Magus roared, hand reaching back, pulsating with white light. The power he would summon would pulverize the cop. A powerful spell, one rarely used. It required but a moment to reach it’s full potential, but it was a moment he suddenly didn’t have. Before he could he could unleash the force, the trembling voice of the gun brandishing girl paused his attack. Only she was NO girl. Her failing glamour betrayed her. She was a Fey!

    This was too good.

    Knowing a thing or two about their kind, the Magus relaxed, a cocky grin twisting his thin lips. [npc]No you won’t[/npc] he disagreed, immediately recognizing the ‘sickness’ as it over took her. [npc]You should know your place.[/npc] he taunted, slowly waving a scolding finger.

    Slate could only watch helplessly as Ishsa suffered the poisoning of the iron. He knew it well. Had seen the toll it took on his beloved Aislin.

    [slate]No! Drop it![/slate] He futilely warned her, rare raw emotion overruling his logic. It was too late.

    [npc]Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your pet.[/npc] The Magus delighted, dark eyes glistening in the radiant glow of his empowered hand. [npc]Time to…[/npc]

    The booming blast of the gun shot echoed above the heavy beat of the music that continued to reverberate through the bar. Ishsa had squeezed off a round before succumbing to the fatigue, the deadly shot spinning toward the Magus’ head. He couldn’t possible react, but then, he didn’t have to. The bullet struck an unseen barrier, a spray of sparks and shards bursting into the air just above the Magus’ eye, causing him to flinch; a momentary lapse in concentration.

    It was all Slate needed. Biting back the pain, he rotated his body and threw a powerful kick into the side of the Magus’ knee. He could feel the magical shield, hard as steel against his shin but he drove through, the barrier shattering like glass.

    The Magus screamed in pain as Slate’s shin connected with the side of his knee, snapping his leg in two like a hunk of old wood. The illumination of his hand immediately fizzled, the mana dispelled by the shock of the break. Then springing to his feet with cat-like quickness and grace the Angel caught the Magus by the throat and with one jerk of his hand snapped his neck.

    [slate]Ishsa![/slate] He called out, tossing aside the lifeless body as he hastened to her side. He hobbled as the pain in the lower leg that broke through the shield pulsated with the pressure of the slightest footfall. Definitely fractured.

    [slate]Ishsa.[/slate] He softly roused, hand lightly touching her back. [slate]Hey, Firefly. Can you hear me? You got ‘em.[/slate] It was a half-truth. Maybe the bullet had breached the magical shield, he convinced himself. It all happened so fast. [slate]Com’on. We gotta get you home.[/slate] The words were soothing. Soft, the man’s jagged exterior smoothing to weathered stone as he gently attempted to prod the Faerie back to consciousness. [slate]Look’s like I owe you another.[/slate]

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    There was neither reason nor explanation for why the she had picked up the gun. From the depths of Iron Sickness Ishsa had no answers; yet the Fae had knowingly damaged herself. To the heart of the Human hidden within, it was an opportunity to cling to something that had been thought forever lost. In the murky dim of Ishsa’s mind, confusion and pain eddied and swirled unceasing as she fell deeper into oblivion. Yet warm and heavy on her back, a touch settled and Ishsa drew strength from it. It was an anchor in the churning waters of despair. The Fae shuddered with pain and the icy fingers of shock began to take hold. When had she last felt such a minor thing as cold? This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong. Her thoughts circled in anguish, her body drained of strength.

    [ishsa]Cold…[/ishsa] The word formed, but it was from another time, distant and foreign. Once, long ago the Fae had been cold within the Wood. Then, she had been afraid at no longer being Human; lost and fearful, vulnerability threatened. But that was before Endride had been found and cold disappeared.

    The Fae shivered, as coldness spread. To open her eyes seemed a daunting task. Yet the hand was there and brought warmth to her chill. The man’s voice drew the Fae out from the sunken depths. Foggy awareness returned. Ishsa remembered that voice. It mattered not what he said, so gently he spoke. She listened, and returned. Behind his voice, the music pounded loudly and the lights alternated in endless strobe against closed eyelids. Her hands throbbed, her fingers burned red hot. How she hurt! To move was an agony. Upon her side, the Fae lay beaten, like a perfectly used rag doll; platinum-white strands of hair fell across her face to cover thick, black lashes. Wings folded gently at her back were unnaturally still, they did not move or flutter. Nothing mattered. Never would she move again. But his voice…

    Com’on. We gotta get you home.”

    [ishsa]I… cannot fly.[/ishsa] Her small voice broke at the severity of the confession. To not fly… the thought was crushing and air exhaled heavily from her lungs. Home was too far away; Endride and his canopy of leaves were too far away. The Fae had forgotten the car that had brought them to this terrible place. [ishsa]Ishsa hurts. [/ishsa]

    With Ishsa’s attention and focus lost, the Fae’s Song holding the Asian girl in thrall was lost. Slowly befuddled senses began to return to the girl. In confusion she glanced around the room to find her fallen and dead companions. What had happened? The girl she had attacked was on the ground, but she was no girl, but a Fae! Bent over her was the man. For a moment she watched them, thought to attack them, but it was apparent the fight was lost. She wasn’t about to sacrifice herself for her beaten companions! Wishing to draw no attention to herself, the girl moved slowly and silently away. She slipped around a battered table and skirted a wall towards a red-lighted EXIT sign. Then she began to run.

    Looks like I owe you another.”

    Normally such a declaration of debt would have produced an animated and victorious response from the Fae. But Ishsa, weighted by the venomous poison, could not grasp satisfaction from even that. That alone spoke volumes as to her compromised condition. The pull inward was more incessant now and to answer an impossible task. Her eyes fluttered open once; it was the only acknowledgement the Fae could muster. Oblivion was near, ready to claim the Iron-sick Fae, but before it took her, Ishsa with breath like a sparrows, so soft and ethereal, [ishsa]Your coat… is sullied. [/ishsa]

     

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    • 4 weeks later...

    Home. That’s where she needed to be. The Faerie were often tied to their element; connected. An extension. Slate didn’t know how to explain it, he just knew what he learned from Aislin and past encounters with the ‘Dark Elves’ and Fey folk of the underworld. He had to get her back to her forest, the place he’d first encountered her. Central Park.

    [slate]Forget the coat.[/slate] Slate assured her, shrugging off her innocent respect for the half-cocked statement, [slate]Let’s get y—[/slate] The sound of approaching sirens touched upon sensitive ears and he knew he’d have no choice but to deal with his fellow officers.

    Sweat beaded his brow. His leg throbbed, his chest burned, but he couldn’t stop. Concealing his secret was too important, always had, and so rising on one leg, grimacing in pain, Slate limped over to the bodies of his latest victims. Standing before them, eyes closed as steady stream of air flowed from his parted lips. Strange arcane words like no other flowed from his lips, resonating through the now, silent room. Beautiful chords of the Enochian tongue preceded his rising hand, continuing as it paused before to the dead sinners until a bright symbol appeared upon his palm. A fiery blue glyph burned bright, igniting their sins, consuming the bodies in blue flame, reducing them to ash.

    Slate shuffled over to the nearby body of one of the fallen patrons, a woman from which he pilfered a long black coat with which he gently wrapped the Faerie. [slate]Com’on.[/slate] he groaned through grit teeth as he easily rose with her cradled in his arms, [slate]We’re gettin’ outta here.[/slate]

    Bright beams probed the dark, the spotlights falling upon Slate’s squinting face. [npc]Hold it right there![/npc]

    [slate]Easy, easy.[/slate] Slate alerted in a soothing voice. [slate]Detective Morrison,[/slate] Slate announced, revealing his badge while balancing Ishsa on a forearm.

    [slate]Three perps, busted up the place. They took off out the back.[/slate] He lied. Well, a partial truth.

    [npc]An ambulance is on the way.[/npc] One of the officer’s informed Slate, urging that he stay and wait.

    [slate]There’s no time.[/slate] He argued.

    [npc]But sir, you’re injured.[/npc]

    [slate]I’ll live. She’s gotta get to a hospital now.[/slate] He lied, pushing his way past the officers.

    [npc]But sir…[/npc]

    [slate]I’m fine.[/slate]

    Powerful arms cradled the hidden Fey close as Slate bit back the pain of his ‘normalized’ walk until at long last he reached his car.

    [slate]This metal coffin ain’t gonna feel very good right now but it’s the only way.[/slate] he explained to Ishsa as he carefully eased her onto the back seat. [slate]We’re not far away.[/slate] He hoped.

    Slate could only assume that the place he first encountered Ishsa was close to her ‘home’. He’d need her directions once he got close so he could only pray that she’d still be coherent.

    Activating his car’s concealed police-lights, Slate punched it, the heavy tires screeching along the pavement as he peeled out.

    [slate]Just hang in there kid.[/slate]

    They weren’t far, in no time they were back in the park, but this time Slate went off road. He followed a maintenance trail designed for those golf-cart styled vehicles, it was just wide enough to accommodate the Charger. When that veered off, he made his own road, skidding across the soft grass until he could go no further.

    [slate]Here we go.[/slate] Slate notified Ishsa before he hefted her up once more and marched into the dark woods.

    It wasn’t difficult to retrace his steps, Slate was no stranger to the outdoors and the directions were still fresh in his mind. Still, the constant agony of his leg combined with blood loss was beginning to wear down even his iron constitution.

    [slate]How much further?[/slate] Slate gasped. His arms were trembling. Sweat streamed down his face. [slate]Ishsa? Where is your home? Can you hear me?[/slate]

    Bright eyes desperately searched the area, but he had no idea what he was looking for. ‘A tree? A mound? A pond? It could also be hidden from sight. Protected by a glamour. She was the only one that could find it, unfortunately Slate didn’t know how long he had. ‘Minutes? Seconds?’

    [slate]Ishsa…?[/slate]

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