Leau's Story

Anastasia walked briskly through the IPAF headquarter hallways to the command center, with an aura radiating that of controlled anger, and determination in every step. She was pissed off, and everyone jumped to get out of her way. It had been bad enough she was subjected to yet another meeting in regards to Leau's actions, her disobedience and her inability to play nice with others. But now Anastasia was informed Leau had left headquarters and something was happening in New York. But no one had reported in yet to confirm or update what was going on out there.

As she approached the guard next to the door of the command center, Anastasia held up her ID. Which identified her as having authorization to enter the command center. The guard opened the door for Anastasia, as she removed her black suit jacket, revealing a white satin blouse, and upon entering the room, thrust her jacket in to the nearest person’s hands.

“I want an update. What is going on out there?” Anastasia demanded, pulling out and lighting a cigarette.

The command center was a very extensive room, where not ten feet in front of the door, on a slightly lower level, were the two main computers. On the far wall were three large screens, each one showing larger images of whatever was being monitored. Along the sides of the room more computers lined up against the walls. While in the center of the room, was where a holographic map took up a permanent residence. Each station monitored something different, weather forecasts, radio signals, communications, personnel support… Hell they even had someone monitoring news casts.

“Ma'am, there has still been no reports in from anyone. We are still in the dark here.” A woman at one of the side stations answered.

Anastasia took a drag of her cigarette. “Well get a hold of someone. Now.” She said sternly, glaring in the woman’s direction.

She stepped down on to the lower level, listening as the woman frantically tried to reach the IPAF's team, and stopped beside a man at one of the main computer’s, the one that specifically kept track of the IPAF team member’s locations. “Where is Leau?”

The man grinned and pushed an ashtray towards Anastasia. “I’d like to tell you Miss Varias, but unfortunately she hasn’t checked in, nor is she showing up on our radars.”

She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray’s edge. “Damn it Leau.” Anastasia muttered under her breath before taking another drag. “Get me a headset and set up a secure line to Leau.”

Someone brought Anastasia a headset as she had, not so kindly, asked for and butted out her cigarette. Sliding the headset on, she pressed a button on the earpiece and waited for her to be connected to Leau. With a small click sound in her ear, and a thumbs up from one of the people in the room, Anastasia knew the line was secure and that Leau could hear her.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Anastasia walked over to the holographic map, and let some anger be heard in her voice, just enough to get a point across to Leau.

“Leau,” She growled. “Tell me where you are, or so help me god, I will put a bullet in your head instead of your arm.”

Anastasia took a deep breath and composed herself before continuing. “I will then have someone come and collect you, and when you return, you and I will be having yet another little heart-to-heart discussion.”

Leau breathed out softly as she sat on the slanted roof of a rather ornate, large, three story building which she presumed to be what humans spoke of as "museums". She had never been to one herself, and didn't particularly care to.

She moved her head forward to look through the scope of the rifle she held, balanced on her knee. It resembled the IPAF issue sniper rifle, though somewhat more compact. It was also missing the reader which told her what was Fey and what was not. She could tell which was which, and didn't need a large piece of metal and who knew what else to tell her what she should shoot and what she shouldn't.
The rifle and its scope were themselves focused on a human sitting at a bench. She had no reason to do so, she merely wanted something to point the gun at. She had been waiting for the better part of four hours on top of this building, unmoving and staring at the scene in front of her. Not a single faery had passed the area, which she had chosen to stay for the day. She had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that one would be here, and her instinct wasn't usually wrong.

So she had waited. And waited. And now, it was... Leau stopped as a loud beep, followed by a voice filled her right ear.

“Leau. Tell me where you are, or so help me god, I will put a bullet in your head instead of your arm," the voice of her commander, Anastasia, hissed in her ear. Leau thought of the scar in her arm that had come of the bullet the woman had fired at her upon their first meeting. It had, of course, long since faded, though it still caused her pain from time to time. Anastasia continued. “I will then have someone come and collect you, and when you return, you and I will be having yet another little heart-to-heart discussion.”

"Yes, ma'am. I am hunting. I will return when the Fey is dead or captured," Leau said simply. She yanked out the earpiece almost instantaneously and, without a second thought, crushed it in her hand and looked through the scope again. She could not afford any more distractions. Just in time as well, as she caught a glimmer in the crowd. It was one of the Fey, not one she had seen before. The barrel of her gun moved swiftly to point at the Faery. It was glamoured, in the form of a human boy with messy brown hair, and perfectly symmetrical doll-like features. Much like her own form, really. But this concern was not in her head for more than a moment. It was a hunt now. There was no time to think such things of her prey. As a soft smile spread across her face, the pleasure of a kill, she moved her finger to the trigger. The gun stayed trained on the Faery's chest.

The world grew slow, silenced except for the beat of Leau's heart. Everything but her and the Faery faded away into a solid grey. A single click echoed out. A single click that heralded death, the snuffing out of one more life, whose existence she loathed with every small piece of her being.

Frosted water drifted through the air, painting a colored canvas in white and death. Each exhale came with a puff of smoke, visible in the air for mere moments before vanishing, only to be replaced by the next dump of carbon dioxide and oxygen from his lungs. Earth, it was frozen, his mouth and neck was covered in a knitted navy scarf that clashed with his gray, knitted sweater that had a pattern of pink feline creatures on it. Like the yarn made red beanie on top of his head and the thick brown pants that covered his legs, they acted as barriers against the cold.

Except for his feet, which were left bare, his shoes stuffed into a black bag that rested on his back. Feet that made prints in the snow covered city, moving him through the masses of people that went on with their day despite the notion that the end would soon be upon them. Humans were fascinating creatures, they could all die today yet so many would still be attending their business meetings, ordering frappuccinos and answering math problems from a thick, thin paged book. You could say he admired that about humans, it reminded him of himself, always putting ones duty first.

His lips moved, mouthing words and emitting sounds of elongated words to a popular tune he had heard the other day. "I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums." It was soothing, the sight of the snow falling, even if it was killing the world around him. Perhaps that it was irony that this world was to die in a blanket of pure white, innocent and beautiful, as if such a corrupt realm would be allowed to start over again."Oh what a shame that you came here with someone." Praxis had no idea what the song meant, not really, but he certainly did enjoy music. It was different, although interesting, he had become quite fond of these sorts of things, these very human things.

Those eyes of his surveyed the area before him, humans that expressed their feelings into the air in reds, blues, greens, yellows. He couldn't really open his eyes like this often, each time was like stepping into a pallet of soaked watercolors, leaking emotions everywhere. "So while you're here in my arms," It was always so noisy here too, it was hard to think, it was hard to keep himself together too. Yet he would manage, he was feeling weak, six months after their arrival, but he wouldn't give up. Lethe simply reminded himself of his duty, his purpose, to find and protect the Queen, to restore order. He couldn't let himself break down so easily, not now, it would be too soon for him to go out of commission.

Speaking of going out of commission; he was going to have an even more difficult time getting anything done with these pesky gun-loving IPAF members around. He winced in pain as a bullet dug into his right arm, it tore through the muscles, mutilating them, until it exited through the other side. A woman walking next to him screamed at the sight of torn clothes with blood seeping out in bright, angry red that was slowly turning blue as it grew thicker. He heard other people chime in, if he had looked back Praxis would have seen a man of about thirty standing in shock, horror, as he realized that there was a hole in his stomach. That's the thing about bullets, you never know where they're going to end up. Though, that particular shot would have nailed him in the heart, if the people of New York wasn't so pushy and shovey.

"Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young." Well, you win some, you lose some. Right now he was more concerned about getting out of this area and away from whoever was trying to kill him, be it a trigger happy maniac or someone who had seen through his glamour. He ran, skin hitting concrete and arms moving back and forth, with hands pulled into fists. People were still in a panic about the gun shot and it worked to his advantage, they crowded together or ran as well, lest they also get holes in their flesh. He ducked between the bodies and pulled at his magic, leaving traces of purple turned blood behind was bad enough, continue to bleed out would only be counter productive. As he made his escape he felt his muscles pull back together, stitching and weaving until they were whole again while his skin mended into one. He couldn't keep that up forever though, already his power was at such a short limit, he had to get out of here fast.

Blood rushed through his ears as he focused on stayed calm, he could already feel his nerves unraveling, and he tried to keep himself from panicking. He would be fine, he just had to escape, maybe lie low for awhile, and he rushed down a near by alleyway between a bookseller and a pizza parlor. Praxis paused halfway down the path, turning around, with his breathing labored and body full of rush, pumping adrenaline. The wound wasn't completely healed, though it appeared that way, it was still sore with yet to be repaired muscles behind the skin. He couldn't afford to waste his magic, not at all, the arm would slow him down but it would at least give him the ability to counterattack if he need to. Now, was he still being followed, or was he in the clear?

"Bad day? Wait, no, don't answer that. Good days don't happen for pessimists.

Anastasia scowled but did not bother to turn around or respond to Kiser's attempt to insult, or joke, with her, when Leau's voice suddenly came through the ear piece. "Yes, ma'am. I am hunting. I will return when the Fey is dead or captured." Followed by a loud screech of feedback.

Anastasia ripped the headset off. “Ma'am we have--”

“I know what damn well happened!” Anastasia snapped at the communications attendant. “I will add damaging IPAF equipment to the long list of things to discuss.” Anastasia muttered under her breath.

Sighing, Anastasia pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, as Kiser came up behind her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She continued to ignore him, allowing him this rare brief moment of touch, but she didn't expect him to come any closer than that, not unless he had a death wish.

"Ana, I caught another Fey today. Type 4. He's in the holding room and speaking of rooms, I just moved into my new apartment. It has a very, very nice master bedroom." Kiser whispered against her ear.

Anastasia was just turning around to tell him she couldn't care less about his new abode, but he had already pulled away from her and was now moving on to a different topic. Putting her glasses back on she stared up at Kiser, crossing her arms over her chest as well as she listened to him.

“Kiser, I will explain this to you once, so listen closely.” Anastasia said calmly, walking up to Kiser. “You are dealing with that idiot because as much as I hate to admit it, you are one of the best on our team. And as to your request to... 'Get you off the assignment'...”

Anastasia took this moment to grab Kiser by the collar of his shirt and pull him down to her eye level. She stared at Kiser with her cold and piercing grey-blue eyes.

“You will do this assignment, and deal with Chris. I do not care if he is an idiot, if he so much of an idiot, he will either get himself killed, or you will do your job and make him less of an idiot and he will live to grow old!” She hissed in Kiser's face before releasing him.

Leau


Leau's face remained completely passive as she saw the bullet travel through the stomach of a man and hit the faery in the shoulder. That was by no means an outcome she particularly desired, but it was not completely hopeless. The second she had made certain of the direction the Fey was running, she plucked the bag that held her weapons from the ground and started running, stuffing the rifle into it as she ran up the roof and slung it over her shoulder. In it she carried her sword, rifle, and whatever other weapon she might have need of on a mission.

As she reached the edge of the next building, this one with a flat topped roof, much easier to traverse, she clambered up and began to dash across it. As she hopped off and onto the next building, a somewhat shorter one, she kept her eye on the Faery as he ran, his shoulder bleeding profusely. If it were a closer distance, she would have pulled out a handgun and made a shot at him, but she doubted the bullet would make it to her target under these circumstances. Instead she kept running across the buildings, keeping an eye to her side the whole time.

She got her chance when the Faery ducked into an alley. She immediately stopped at the railing at the edge of the two story building she was on. A fire escape was directly below, and she hopped off and hit it with a clang. Turning, she ran down one flight of the stairs and leaped over the railing.

Leau's jump wasn't quite as she would have wanted it, and her foot clipped the railing, sending her tumbling downwards. As she tried to right herself in the air, her shoulder crashed against the first floor railing of the fire escape and she tumbled yet again in midair before hitting the ground hard on her left arm with a loud crack.

As she pulled herself to her feet, she winced. That was an annoyingly human mistake to make, and not one that she would normally make. Feeling her arm, she came it the conclusion that she would be unable to use the rifle again. Instead, she put her fingers around the grip of her handgun, dashing towards the Faerie, who was still in sight, luckily enough. She didn't care as cars screeched to a stop for her when she ran into the street and the air was filled with yelling. She was focused only on the Fey in front of her

She tugged the handgun free as she reached the sidewalk, pointing it ahead of her with her one good arm. Her hand was shaking, to her severe annoyance, but the pulled the trigger anyways. The iron laced bullet exited the chamber, flying towards her target... And missed. Pain shot back into her ribs as the recoil hit her and Leau resisted the urge to double over. A she hadn't noticed it before, but she had most likely cracked a few ribs on the fall down. She cursed her lack of flying ability and once again raised the gun to point it at the Fey.

"Leau trouble, again?" A voice asked Anastasia, just as the reception in the headset came to an abrupt, ear-piercing feedback. His face winced visibily. A jacketed man was leaning on the doorway not too far from her, an IPAF Operative from the looks of it, thinking to himself as his right hand pressing the rim of a coffee cup to his face.

A mandatorily displayed I.D card hung from the pocket of his shirt read "Rorgen Avulstein: R/RD" with a small photo of him looking rather annoyed at the camera.

"When is Leau not in trouble as of late." Anastasia said flatly, she turrned around and glanced briefly at him with a stare as cold as the glass it pierced through. The Faerie has caused her more and more trouble recently, for some forsaken reason rapidly becoming more aggressive in her little 'hunts'. She might just hold up her end of the threat this time.

"Huh, you joked." A very light smirk seeped across his lips, not really sure where he got that from, maybe he was in an insane-mood. "Let's go then." The insane man said confidently as he took a last sip and put the half-filled cup down onto a nearby tablestand, contributing to a steadily growing pile of it's disposable brethren.

"Go where?" Anastasia asked sternly as she walked past Kiser, not giving him a second glance, and retrieved her jacket from the hands of whoever she had thrust it at when she first arrived at the Command Center.

"To get doll-face back to you for that heart-to-heart discussion of course." Doll-face was his and a few other co-worker's way of calling Leau, an apt description for the Type C fey to say the least. He had apparently been listening to their whole conversation, since when Anastasia stormed through the hallways it usually meant something was up.


“Kiser I expect a report on my desk by the time I get back.” Anastasia ordered as she followed Rorgen from the Command Center. “Everyone else keep me updated, I want to know immediately if something is going on out there.”


---At the Carpark, exiting the elevator---

The two were awkwardly silent through the whole journey here, he entertained himself with the rumblings of the elevator for a short while but when that stopped, things got awkward again. His shoulders sunk slightly as they exited the box, a stray thought piqued and suddenly he was more concerned whether she was following him blindly. He cocked his head sideways and threw back a glance to the right, catching her in the corner of his eye.The woman didn't question, nor did she agree. She just did.

"There was a disconnection ping from personel support and radio at the same time..." Rorgen started to reason, looking back at the parking lot once more. "our IEMs are channeled on broadcast auxilliary service to a nearby communications tower. When the pings occured, the map showed two of them, one analog and one FM radio."

As the approached the mass of vehicles, he fished out a slim silvery device and pressed on it. A lone silver Aston Martin beeped to life in the middle of the crowd,

"It may not be her but it fits the bill of our monitoring system. They occured nearby each other around the West Street area..." He said, as Rorgen got into the driver's seat, then rested his hands firmly on the steering wheel. "...and since Leau doesn't drive she couldn't have gone far. West Street isn't far either."

Anastasia followed Rorgen, clearly listening to what he was saying, but she remained silent. She took in everything that was said, it was information that she wanted.


Turning to look at to her. "It's better than nothing." He said, before jamming his foot into the accelerator.


---Driving towards West Street-------

Amber street lights zoomed past them outside, the main roads were much less empty in the past. Now they were perpetually covered in sleet and people avoided them for the danger they presented. But at least, he could say he did not miss the congestion. This also meant he could go at full speed through the highway. Usually.

Right. He mumbled when he remembered Anastasia was there right beside him, Tugging on the gears and slowing down in-short-order. Rorgen, sometimes forgetting car-crashes mattered to many a people.


Soon it came to a junction, passing a tourist hotspot of shophouses and museums. Rorgen glanced to his right, upwards and out the window to a series of low level domiciles. Paying little heed to the road. Barren trees lie guarding the sides like picket-fences, though barely obscuring their view, they still served as reminders of the ever-winter nights that had long prematuredly ended their cycle. Billows of snow made it hard to see even apartment lights, much less a little girl perched on the roof. It is unlikely New York City would ever be green again.


"Up there, in the buildings. Doll-face likes to snipe." Rorgen hinted.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kiser asked, leaning against the doorframe as he watched the Fey beasts tear the lab apart. The cold dug into the walls of the building, seeping into every inch of the Earth like skeletal fingers made of steel. The Were raised a brow, watching the fair coloured Fey with disdain. The Fey cradled a Type D in his arms and Kiser would've assumed he himself was a mere Type C had he not sensed the power that rolled from his skin, so thick it was nearly tangible. The IPAF commander assumed he should've been afraid then but alas, a Were's instincts overtook any sort of fear, replacing it with instead rage. Kiser had received an urgent message from IPAF Research Lab 86B, speaking of the deaths of dozens and the infiltration of their building. Of course, he would've noticed the monstrous blizzard in the distance without having to have received the call.

As a Were, the cold affected him little. His body was naturally much more heated than the average human's. In fact, he could hug a wall of ice and melt right through it. Not that he ever would, of course. Weres disliked the cold, however much it did not affect them. Kiser narrowed his eyes at the destruction, a small part of him impressed at the damage that had been done. The Type C before him clearly was not merely a Type C and being not quite stupid - most of the time - Kiser knew he could not defeat these Fey singlehandedly. He supposed it might've been a mistake to arrive here with only a dozen men but IPAF had many at its disposal, the deaths of a dozen would not impact it greatly, neither would the destruction of one lab. After all, most of the Fey they'd kept here were dead.

"Go," he whispered into his earpiece. Without a moment's pause, he spun and ran, his body rippling through the air as his muscles warped into that of an abnormally large lion. Men crashed through the ruin, their guns trained on the Fey as they rained iron and wielded broadswords, decapitating ogres. The men gave the Werelion leader a nod of camaraderie as they raced pass him, knowing their deaths were certain. The Fey were cruel, soulless creatures who needed to be destroyed and just as soldiers died in war, this was their battlefield. They died so their children, their loved ones, might have a chance at freedom. It was a difficult, quite possibly impossible task, but humans, Earthlings, as they were, fought for things that were impossible because they hoped. A wolf howled as his comrades fell, but his despair morphed into rage, as so many Weres did. The Werewolf bared his teeth, the fur over his body prickling as his muscles tensed for the move. He leaped at the man who was Capricorn.

In the distance, a lion tore through the woods - the trees naked with its fallen leaves - his body morphing abruptly into that of a muscular, grown man. Kiser exhaled, a fog of condensation escaping his mouth as if he were a chimney. "Ana," he spoke into his earpiece. "Ana," he repeated. "We'll have to explain things to the families of Team 102. Send a team of cleaners to Lab 86B. Experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised."

Kiser tapped his earpiece, adding a member of IPAF he very much distrusted to the conversation. It would allow for Anastasia to hear and participate and Kiser did not wish to think that she already knew what he suspected and merely chose not to tell him. The Fey he was soon to speak to was... But Leau was good at what she did, something Kiser hated to admit. "Unidentified flying ass, hey," he said without the usual snakiness he normally reserved for Leau. "So I was at the bar, swarmed by girls, as per usual, when I met this Type C. No, not just any Type C and no, it didn't make me cry. But this Type C had waves of power just spilling from its skin and a nasty look scythe. Please, enlighten me, Leau, why did he seem so much stronger than any of the other bastards we've met? What have you not told us, Leau? Who leads the Fey? We always thought they were solitary but after this little display of Fey teamwork, I'm beginning to think otherwise. Who controls the Fey?"


"You can wear this if you want... It's probably a bit warmer than those strips of cloth."

The white-haired mortal lifted her head, her heart tearing itself from her chest as their gazes seemed to entwine and pull viciously at one another's. She looked at the jacket the man held in his hand with the weariness of someone who'd just been thrown into a foreign world. She was not sure of anything and she did not know where to place her trust. Nowhere. Her mind seemed to be a black hole, devouring every organised thought she had. A black veil had been doused over her memories and she could not remember where she was, what she was, how she'd arrived here or where she'd been before, when she'd been born or even who she was.

"There is heat in these buildings, I actually live in this one," the man said, tapping against a wall. She looked at him with half puzzlement, half fear, but the cold got the better of her. Her teeth slapped against one another, a fog escaping her crimson lips and painting over her vision. Everything seemed so shielded and disguised.

"T-thank you," she said quietly, clutching the red silk to her body as she raised her delicate hand slowly. Her fingers curled around the coat and she flinched at the texture of the material against her skin but drew it to her, anyway. The woman wrapped the jacket around herself with haste, basking in the warmth of the extra layer but feeling cold enough to throw herself into a fire.

Snow rained from the skies as she held out her palm, her slim fingers appearing to be frail enough to snap with a breath. A snowflake drifted onto her open hand. The young woman stared at the ice on her pale skin, tears threatening to spill from her now sapphire eyes. Iokul. Eyes of crystalline blue flickered in her mind, struggling to remain in her empty thoughts. A layer of ice coated a body like dust on a corpse or a thin sprinkle of second skin. His beauty was eerie, impossible, as if he should not and could not exist, yet did. Iokul. The man lifted an arm, his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he reached for his Queen. "Raena, my love."

The image shattered. In its place, eyes - as if forged from thunder - gazed into the very depths of what she was with a betrayal and disappointment that seemed to curl around her neck and snap her skull from her body. His body of shadow encompassed her light, suffocating her essence and drowning her in its endless depths. She gasped, inhaling air that did not exist, breathing when there was nothing left to breathe for.

Suddenly, she crashed into her body, as if her spirit had wandered from its shell for what seemed to be years but was in reality, seconds. Her hand trembled, her fingers turning a dangerous shade of blue as she stared at the still frozen snowflake in her palm. Her body was as cold as ice and her mind, just as frozen. Without the Faerie Realms and her connection to her Fey - her souls - she was nothing but a non-existence. When the veil between the worlds had been lifted and the Faeries torn from their world, a Fey of her own had cast magic over his Queen to protect her from death, and her immortality had been the price.

Her eyes gazed through the Vampire before her, seeing him and nothing else, yet seeing nothing at all. Her emptiness made her even colder than the Undead as she pressed the snowflake into his palm. The turmoil of emotions within her was suffocating, depriving her of air. She needed him to be her breath. Her frail hand pressed into the Vampire's, the snowflake frozen between two without warmth. "Who am I?"

The bellicose Fey had a will carved from titanium, everlasting animus that carried her injured body, creating imaginary splints around broken bones. A bullet flew past him, cutting through the air with ease, it's end unknown. Even if she had missed her target, it had been too close, only missing by a couple of inches to the right of his head. His breath shook, if she hadn't been damaged it'd be very likely that the iron would have implanted itself in his skull, cursing him with an instant death that was more applicable to wild animals. His eyes couldn't observe her anymore, they tore away as he legs burned, a hasty abscond between barren buildings of cold regret and incandescent sorrow. An exhale, breathing out the hidden smoke of sulfur emotions, twisting the atmosphere between the alley. The weight of fear bore down on the area, infecting those that inhabited it. Lethe's magic was at a low, but it didn't make him powerless, only cautious.

Weaving between bullets had his blood run faster, his body reacting with ease between the barrage, evading the oncoming storm of poisoned projectiles. He couldn't afford to let any more iron to taint the form that held him together, the effect of the first already impeding his movements. Ignoring the metallic taste rising in his throat, he jumped and pulled himself up a chain link fence that stood between the exit. Invisible wings aided him in the action, yet he still avoided flight, the threat of bringing an increase in attention towards him still being too great. Praxis paused at the top of the fence, attention being grabbed the beasts that took over the sky. It was a shame that they couldn't fly to anywhere warmer, but he was grateful for their presence, as only a gentle tug would force them to surrender to his will.

He spared a glance back to the child with cream hair, watching as the masses of gray birds swopped from above and towards her, their talons and beaks exposed. A foolish choice, as the impact of a stray bullet burned its way into his shoulder, becoming trapped in a tangle of muscle. The meeting between skin and iron pushed him off the wall of wire and onto the cement floor below, his body shaking due the to toxic invasion. He coughed, blood dripping over cracked, desert lips and hands curled against loose asphalt. He rolled onto his knees and lifted his body, pushing out pain and agony in favor of his escape. Winged creatures continued to arrive from above as his fingers dug into the wound, his glamour only flickering as he cut into his skin. Fingernails scrapped against the metal, the ache being only a scrape compared to previous miseries, and he tore the hindrance out.

Lethe's eyes flashed in hostility, a glowing white that leaked crimson anger into the air to mingle with the artificial dismay. It vanished once the lids of his eyes shrouded them, restoring his silk disguise to it's state of unmatched consistency. The echo of the bullet hitting the floor was the last thing he left in the tumultuous back street before he turned his back and sprinted away, out from between the bricks and into the open sidewalks and streets. He could still taste blood and allowed a small piece of magic to begin stitching back together the hole in his shoulder; only enough to prevent it from destroying his attempt to break away from the advances of the traitor. Images flashed through his head while he bolted down the city, not once bothering to apologize for interrupting the casual travels of human individuals, instead trying to differentiate between reality and fantasy.

Lights blurred and painting of the Queen danced in his mind, words that screamed of survival burned into the back of his eyelids and coiled his actions until they became brash. A goal became his ectodermal tissue, filling him with motivation and strength, to see the restoration of the world and his home. A desire became his endothelial cells, the dream to see a dawn of peace and renewed alliances, an illusion that erased control and cogitation. His vision blurred, slanting the world and turning it upside down, draining blood to the roof of his mouth until it coated the white bones that were his teeth. Praxis' feet met the blend of aggregate, cement, and water again and again, pushing him past people and steamed store windows. He abandoned the bag on his back, the object only carried money and shoes, something he could acquire later. At the moment they had only proved to slow him down, and he had no time to waste, as he was running on borrowed time already.

This is where the sidewalk ends, and this is where Praxis barrels onto the street, eyes locked at the other side. A line of buildings, safety, and the bright, sneering pain that took over his body. It was the collision between mechanical transport and a flesh body, a car that rammed into his right side and sent him away from refuge and to the side of a frost covered road. Red was all that he could see, a color of fire that spread through his body, his still body that lied in a contorted heap. Cracked ribs and awry magic, fighting to piece together a pierced lung before it filled with dichromatic liquid. Breath, why couldn't he breath? Every inhale was a battle that that resulted in half-wins, leaving his form to shutter and shake. His mind was screaming, but no noise came from between his lips.

Skin was peeled from his right arm, ripped off in gruesome tears that decorated the ground with hues of purple and blue blood. Bones peaked out from ravaged muscle, his right humerus bone completely severed, only epimysiums held the arm together as one, barely keeping him from losing a limb. Stay conscious was the words repeated to him, blinking like neon signs as he fought to move, move and get out before it was too late. He couldn't though, his left arm tried to lift himself up, just resulting in unrecognizable tormet that ate away at his consciousness. Lethe tried to curse to himself, but it resulted in spewing blood from his mouth. The Fey, glamour still intact, fell back onto the ground, too injured to even save himself.

His face was in similar state of his arm, right-side skin brushed away from the concrete, leaking dots of color that drained into his scleras. Was this his end? The final moments of Praxis Lethe, one of the strongest Fey in existence? To die by the effects of iron and the attack of a human contraption - it was almost funny, it a pitiful way. He was too weak without the Queen, and it was beautiful how he was nothing without her, his power being drained to a low that turned him into an insult to Fey kind. His lips relaxed into a thin line, eyes closing as those algid dark curtains began to drape over his mind. He couldn't accept this, but he couldn't resist for long, and unconsciousness took him; silencing both the the world, and the pain, in a thick blanket of inadequacy.

"The F-"

Eff. Rorgen corrected instinctively. No, this was an appropriate time to say it. "-Fuck." His eyes widened, his pupils shrunk within yellow wolf-like irises.

"NOO!" He roared as he flung open the car's door, "Nooo. No-nonononooo." He kept chanting to himself as if if he said it enough times it'd somehow turn back time and make it never happened. If the situation wasn't so dire, it would have been amusing to a cruel enough individual, to see Rorgen in one of his rare fits of panic.

Upon stepping out, there was an already growing expression on his face that battled between shock, doubt and regretful fear. His clenched hands shaking, no, changing even more as he let go of the door and with every step he took. Adrenaline did some weird things to him.


You would think a veteran IPAF Agent would have seen more death in his life than to be fazed by one little car accident. But fey were one thing. They weren't human, they had no remorse or conscience -things an innocent person had, they couldn't even compare to.


But he started charging when he saw it. There was a body, the vehicle's headlights shone brightly upon the back of it. All encumbering anxiety washed away, whoever that was more important and if he could do anything to save it -he would not loose it to another moment's lapse. Rorgen regained control. When something large that hit his car and skidded across the street, inevitably, some people started screaming. Mostly those who have not heard the gunshots that led up to this. His mind flashed back to the orange mop of hair that splayed on his windscreen followed by pale skin, and a selfish thought popped into his head. Let it be a fucking vampire.





"HEY! KID! SPEAK TO ME!" He demanded as he knelt down, the man could have said anything really, anything to elicit a response. The car lights were still blinding and with a practiced hand he held the victim's throat and neck straight, keeping airflow unimpeded.

"Fuck." Rorgen looked up at Anastasia, hoping to see her dialing an ambulance.

As he looked back down, he could feel the slight twinge of movement under his thumb. The sight of jarting bones was alarming and he quickly slid his other larger hand under the boy's arm in case it slipped and tore the lesion even wider.

Discouragingly, Rorgen realized all he could do was stay still until he figured out a way to carry this mess without making it worse.

...

...

...

...But it was strange, for the long moments he held him, he felt no pulse. Yet Rorgen's own breath heaved heavily, contrast to the thin wisps that escapes the boy's barely parted lips. There was also this farmiliarity when he touched the youth. Like something in him wanted to break free.

In sudden retrospect, his gaze immediately turned away, just for a moment, looking at the surrounding mess that led a trail from the bumper to him.



Chromatic blood. Red in small puddles, purple through shades of blue as they got larger and larger. There it was.




"...We've got a live one." Loudly, so that Anastasia could hear it. Tender care was shrug just like his jacket, taking it off and hurling the apparel into the largest pool. Then dragging it across, spreading it into puddles of inconspicuous human-coloured blood.

He let go of the Fey's limbs uncaringly. Only concern left being not to leave any evidence behind and roughly turned the otherworlder on his back like a posable doll, pressing it's largest wound to his hard torso. Gladly marring his shirt in Fae blood in favour of them dripping in smaller drops while he carried it to the car.

“What in the bloody hell--” Anastasia said as she matched Rorgen's movements and got out of the car. As she came around to the front of the car she watching Rorgen, before pulling out her phone and connected with IPAF Command Center.

“Yes Ma-”

“There has been an accident.” Anastasia stated flatly, seeing Rorgen looking back at her. “It seems we--”

"...We've got a live one." Rorgen said loudly as he tossed his jacket on to a puddle of blood.

Anastasia's eyes traveled down to the trail of blood puddles, dichromatic blood, Fey's blood. She watched as Rorgen dragged his jacket through the blood, mixing it to make it appear as if it was human's blood. “We have an injured Fey,” She eyed Rorgen as he walked past her carrying the unconscious Fey. “We're bringing it in.”

“Yes Ma'am. I will have a team ready and waiting for when you arrive.”

Anastasia ended the call and was about to head back to the car, when a new voice come through her earpiece.

"Ana. Ana. We'll have to explain things to the families of Team 102. Send a team of cleaners to lab 86B. Experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised." It was Kiser.

Anastasia stopped with her hand on the door handle. “What the hell do you mean they have been compromised?” She demanded. “Was it an attack? An accident? What in God's name is- Never mind, I'll put in the call. When you get back, come to my office immediately. I will talk to you more then.”

With that Anastasia ended the conversation, and called the Command Center back. “A team of cleaners is needed at lab 86B, experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised. Do it now.”

Anastasia shook her head as she opened the car door. The day from hell, Leau will have to wait. Anastasia's hand tightened its grip on the phone it held, as she pulled out her cigarette pack. Using one hand she slid out a cigarette and while holding it between her lips she fished out her lighter, and lit the cigarette. She took a long drag, she desperately wanted a glass of wine.

As Anastasia is about to get in the car she spots a familiar figure leaning against the allyway, who is not looking in the best of shapes. The cream colored hair that has a slight tint of orange... Leau...

Anastasia moved away from the open car door and stood in front of her guardian. “If it were not for the shape you are in at this very moment, I would slap you.” She looked down at Leau, concern written on her face. “What are your injuries Leau.”

Leau grimaced in pain as she looked up. "Ma'am. Dislocated shoulder." She gestured to her left arm, which was hanging limply at her side. "Broken ribs. Lacerations." She kept her voice steady and clear, despite the pain. In Anastasia's opinion, the Faery was lucky.

Anastasia gingerly touched Leau's face as she inspected the shallow cuts that blemished Leau's face. She noted there were also rips and tears in the white elegant button-down shirt, that Anastasia had recently purchased for Leau. Anastasia also noted the form fitting black trousers were also ruined, at least the black lolita boots survived the harsh treatment.

“Leau, I'm not going to lie to you. In a moment, you are going to wish I had just shot you in the head.”

In one quick and fluid motion, Anastasia seized Leau's left shoulder with one hand, and with the other she grabbed the same arm just above the elbow. With just enough force, Anastasia wrenched Leau's shoulder back in to place.

“We're bringing it in.”

The IPAF Operative nodded, acknowledging Anastasia's word to bring the captive Fey back to HQ.

Rorgen was about to open the door to the backseats when he heard a new message through her intercom, one of the perks of being him -especially on a quiet night when everyone has been scared off.

"Ana. Ana. We'll have to explain things to the families of Team 102. Send a team of cleaners to lab 86B. Experiments 9, 12, 33, 216, 59, 18, 17 and 99 have been compromised."

Comprosmised? That was Kiser wasn't it? The werelion rarely used such complicated words unless things were so bad he wanted to keep them hidden.

Pretending not to eavesdrop, he turned to look at the Fey in his hands. It's features, though scarred by injury were still almost perfect. Like a child, they were anything except. His grip tightened, fingers digging into it's unearthly soft flesh. If this one had anything to do with it ....but concluding there was nothing to be gained from treating it any rougher he set his mind on the job at hand, opening the doors and feeling for a small button on them. A concealed compartment soon revealed itself as it popped out of the doorframe, inside were a pair of iron manacles -made specially by the organisation for the Fey and their kind. And promptly hooked it onto the false child's ankles.

Setting their hostage upright in the back, he wandered to the front of the car, getting into the driver's seat. It didn't take long for him to notice Leau's return, Anastasia's guardian was not looking much better off than the one they chanced upon and when he saw the woman place her hand on the Type C Fey's shoulder -he knew what was about to happen and promptly looked away -giving them some semblance of privacy and Leau, a quiet dignity, even though it probably didn't matter.

"Must be your lucky day..." Rorgen's brows furrowed when he looked at the Fae's face through the rear mirror, dumping his blood soaked jacket by the foot peddles, as he waited for them to return to the car.

The skies were cruel. The young woman wondered for long moments as she watched the snowflakes tumble from the skies, unsure of their destination. The clouds had unclasped their seat belts, allowing their children to spill from their wombs and fill with an icy emptiness along the way. They would fall, fall and fall, not knowing of their fates until the very end when they shattered upon pavements or into the heated palms of mortals. She wondered as to why a parent would lead their children to their deaths and an unexplainable guilt slithered up her spine, into and beneath her skin.

"I don't know who you are.. All I know is you are going to die of cold if we don't warm you up, that body you have isn't made for extreme cold. Come with me inside, we can worry about figuring out who you are in there," said the man before her. The grey ice dug into her flesh, pushing past the thin material of her soaked dress of white. She pressed her back against the rough bricks behind her, observing the man's gold eyes with a curious contemplation. She felt no doubt, being as trustworthy as a newborn child who'd not yet learned to walk or hate.

"If you do not know who I am, why do you care for me?" She tilted her head to the side, standing gingerly and wobbling on her knees made of bones that felt more like shortbread. The cold surface behind held her upright as she leaned against it, her pale existence a mark of light in the darkness of the alley. Apricot lights painted strawberry blonde streaks in her long hair, crimson soaking into her soft lips and amber bleeding into their gold eyes. The sunset cast a mesmerising glow over the snow capped mounds of buildings, the beauty only interrupted by the heavy black coats of people bustling about. They were too busy with places to go and people to meet in preparation for tomorrow to live today.

Soft fingertips touched Azriel's cheek, dancing lightly along his immortal face and tracing the hard line of his jaw. The strange girl's eyes faded from one shade of gold to another, puzzlement drawing her brows lightly together as she struggled to recreate the beauty of his orbs. "You have strange eyes," she whispered, her accent familiar as if she were imitating his. Her voice was near dazzling, as if it'd be able to choke mortals and render them motionless with it's sound of thick honey and eerie winds of night.

The woman turned, each elegant movement as if choreographed. She drifted through the snow like a ghost, walking towards the building the Vampire had gestured towards. Pausing before the strange slab of wall built within a wall, the girl stared at what was the door with utter confusion. Why would one build a wall within a wall? She pressed her palm against the door, pushing at it but receiving no response in return. "What is this odd mechanism? How does one remove the wall?" she asked absentmindedly, poking and prodding the edges of the wall to no avail. She looked at the sign on the door that read 'Pull.' "Pull?" she echoed. She looked at the curved metal on the door, wondering if it was safe or if it was some trigger for a curse. Taking a breath of bravery, she nodded towards the Vampire as one soldier would another. Her long fingers curled around the handle of the door. She pulled.

There was a gust of warmth and a surprised gasp as the wall came undone. "What a peculiar gate!" she exclaimed. A tentative step was taken, then another and another. The warmth emitting from the inbuilt heaters was heavenly, and she quickly raced deeper into the building, clutching both the red cape and jacket to her body. A man on his journey downstairs watched the frail woman with hunger and malice. The clockworks of his mind were spinning rapidly as he fantasised about the things he could do to her and how he would achieve his goals.

When they'd entered the Vampire's humble abode, she gazed around like a small child who'd just discovered the existence of places outside of home. "You live in a box," she said, taking an unbalanced step forward. The walls were very flat and the ceilings were as well, with no sign of murals. Everything was very... Square. She spun on the balls of her feet, spinning around and around like a toddler learning to dance ballet. Yet, there was an almost inhuman grace to her clumsiness. She paused, looking at Azriel with a trust children reserved only for their mothers. "I am weary," she stated. She walked through the doors and into Azriel's bedroom, nodding at the bed within it in approval as if she'd just concluded it was the only normal thing in the entire place. She climbed onto the bed and crawled beneath the covers, tucking the thick blankets beneath her chin. After wiggling about for the most comfortable position, she shut her eyes and fell asleep.

Light sang. Her voice carried none of the power it once did, having been dimmed to a flicker of candlelight. Rather than being powerfully haunting and deep, it was merely... Cute. That was, if one thought ghosts could sound cute. It was as if an ocean had transformed into a shallow - but lovely - stream after years of drought. Her long dress drifted along the grass made of cotton, that had been made from gold, emerald and sapphire. The rocks were translucent as if each were rare mountains of moonstone. Trees bowed before the High Queen, their branches lowered in respect. Despite the kaleidoscope of light dancing along the ivory walls of the enchanting Faerie Realms, a darkness seemed to loom overhead. The atmosphere was subdued, the world void of creatures and sound except for that of the singing Queen.

The stillness was the equivalent of a post-apocalyptal world within the Faerie Realms. No human-sized butterflies batted their crystal faceted wings against gossiping flowers, no obsidian streams cascaded into the skies and no stars gleamed in daylight. Order wandered, her presently amber eyes unseeing as she wandered amongst the lifeless. Her bare feet made no sound, their movements as seemingly stationary as the moonstone rocks they passed.

Freckles of snow tumbled from the skies.



"Which part of 'adapt to human technology' and 'keep your bloody tracker on' do you not understand, Leau?" Kiser growled, cracking his knuckles and his neck. "Did you hear a thing I said? Do you know what I think when IPAF agents don't respond to their calls, Unidentified Flying Ass?" he hissed. "I think they're dead. Dead, Leau. And you know what I think when I think you're dead? I think 'Well, damn. That's an extra fifty bucks to clean up her dead body parts.'" The Werelion slapped Leau across the back, a gesture that was meant to show all was forgiven but he still distrusted her, but instead - most likely - aggravated the Fey's wounds.

Kiser turned away from the Fey, brisk walking away from the IPAF agents behind him to tuck himself in a secluded corner. He pulled his personal phone from his jean's back pocket - as for his upper body, he was shirtless, that being nothing unusual - and dialled a familiar number. "Harold, my old man," Kiser said. Harold's wife had been Kiser's aunt, of sorts. She'd been a good friend of his mother's and a family friend. Family friends to Weres were as good as family and they protected those people with their very lives. That was both a strength and weakness when it came to Weres, they were incredibly loyal, especially to family. When Harold's wife and Kiser's aunt had died of a brain tumour, the Burntwood clan - yeah, don't laugh - had mourned for months. Harold was a bit of a kink in the head. It was as if he'd been a stuffed pillowcase and when his wife and son had passed away, the seams that held his stuffing together had come undone. Still, Harold was a good man and more importantly, did not like the Fey.

"I need a favour," he said without pause. "I need you to find out all you can about the Fey. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm in the IPAF but they're hiding things from us," he whispered before correcting himself. "From us. They keep the Fey they capture, Harold, and they put them in these suspicious laboratories. I mean, I've always known about them and they tell us it's for 'the study of how to defeat the Fey' but that sounds like a load of bull. Iron and/or decapitate. How simple is that? But, no, see, there was this creepy scythe-wielding Faerie and he smelled like power, Harold. He reeked of power. Not the normal immortal Vampire stink but I mean, he smelled weird. Different from the other Fey I've fought." Kiser was speaking fast and more than he normally did but the adrenaline pumping through his veins urged him to continue.

"That's where you come in. You're not with the IPAF, you have nothing better to do and you hate the Fey. We're next to the Grill House. That's 1991 Bronxdale Avenue. Tell me what you know. Call me, in a completely non-homosexual way. I'm just not into that, grandpa," Kiser joked before ending the call without waiting for Harold's reply. The Werelion walked towards the car, the icy winds throwing his hair about his face. The blizzard seemed to be getting worse and...

"Why, Rorgen. Why would you drive such a nice car in the middle of a blizzard." Kiser frowned at the limp figure in the backseat and at the colourful blood that spilled from the boy. Its perfection was irritating, as always. "That's going to be a sucker to clean." The Werelion slipped into the passenger seat beside his fellow Were, taking Rorgen's hand in his in the way Weres often greeted one another: by crushing each other's fingers. Kiser clenched his close friend's hand, a competition to see who could crack who's hand first. Kiser grinned, his teeth so white, it was nearly blinding. "At least it's not my car."

Rorgen's attention flinched towards the car doors as he heard it click, half expecting it to be Anastasia but when he saw who it was and who had grabbed his hand ...

"Same reason you drop your pants in the middle of a crowd." He retorted snydely, gripping back with vice-like strength as a sly grin seeped into his wolfish features. Challenge accepted. He could feel their bones crack loudly, then pop back into place again. The inside of the car sounded like the outside of a movie theatre. Both trying to maintain their most arrogant smile ever as they taunted each other with stares, as if the pain was somehow making it better.

The two had built a camraderie ever since they met and it was not just that they were both Weres, because in some ways they could not be more different from each other and yet there they were, trying to crush each other's hand as competition. But Kiser could whine about his car all the werelion wanted, Rorgen wasn't the one half-naked in his seat.

"You smell like death." He said, voice purposely overtoned with an enthusiastic growl, adding insult to injury as he pressed even harder. "What happened?"

Then he noticed Leau outside the window, her face showing emotion? But he didn't let go, not even for a second, Rorgen Avulstein hated to loose.

His body lied at the back of a car; bloodied, bruised and broken. Stray magic continued to work at his wounds on instinct, back up generators to insure that he would not die so easily. The process was slow - melting skin, pulling muscles, even as several minutes past there was hardly any progress in improving his physical well being. If anything nothing but the bleeding had nearly been made to slow to a stop. Still, drops of red blood continued to drop from his body, his mouth, and into small pools of green and yellow.

Words passed around him, eyes viewing him as nothing more than a captured, enemy solider. None of this reached him, who's body was cold, with skin turning dark blue, his glamour fading barely enough to have his skin appear as if was being covered in hemorrhages. Shallow breathes hardly moved his chest, and if he were human, he would be on his death bad. However, his body still held a pulse, and life within. Praxis would live on, long enough to face the consequences of foolish actions, and to look into the faces of wolves.

There was no color, no rainbow water droplets, no whites and no blacks. There was only the pickling feeling of being numb, nothing to feel, nothing to see, and nothing to think. Unconsciousness wrapped around him, simultaneously lasting forever and not taking place at all. This would be one of the few moments where Praxis was not aware of his surroundings, letting time escape him without notice, rest falling upon his body without his mind continuing to turn away. However, this too shall pass, as he was never destined to repose for long. Soon the thick steel bars would erode away, being chipped by the voice of youth and innocence, reverberating against his soul until his eyes opened into the subconscious world.

He was home. A shuttering breath shook his frame when it dawned on him that it wasn't really his home, but a memory of it. Traces of familiar places in a make believe world, filled in by lingering thoughts and broken crayons. Even so, with this knowledge, he couldn't prevent his lips from stretching into a mournful smile. If only he had died and this was his resting place, instead it would be erased as well, and replaced with bitter reality. Lethe moved forward, stepping onto gemstone shaded plants, letting the voice of nectar lead him down the realm of another's wishes. There was no other life here, no traces of inhabitation, except for the footprints he left behind him. Fingers traced over the leaves, coming in sizes smaller than a pin head to larger than his own head, and eerie serenity was reflected in the orbs of his eyes.

In slow motion, white began to taint the world that was a recreation of his home. He stood, shoulders back, in his natural form. Dark shades of blue and teal soaked into his skin, the sight of chaos and parent souls. Hands with long, arching fingers cupped in front of him, capture the speckles that dare infiltrate the land around him. The snow was like dried paint; the dust from the ceiling of a dream, blowing in from the real world into a false one. His eyes closed, lashes long and glowing dim light. Oh, how the light inside of him was ever so dim. Nightmare's eyes had never been so dark before, even his hair had lost it's sheen, making him appear as if he was washed in dirty water. He figured that his lungs had been filled with this type of putrid water as well, so horribly polluted that any attempts to clean his slate would be in vain, and he wouldn't raise a finger with the idea of attempting to do so in mind.

A figure stepped away from the trees and appeared before him and his breathing ceased, he was not alone. "My Queen.." His words were like shattering glass, loud against the rocks of moon spirits, yet broken and strained, hiding quiet turmoil within. Praxis could only blink, frozen in place, not unlike the world around him. She looked the same, she looked differed, she was the same face that graced the corners of his eyes, and yet she had the face of a stranger. This was the Queen, but it was not the Queen; a paradox that put a bitter taste in his mouth, the flavor of fear, worry and regret. Had she slipped from between his fingers, like grains of sand that could be picked up? Or was she water, that splattered against marble and evaporated into the air, to be forever lost to him? A shutter ran throughout his body, and his legs moved forward without his consent.

Yet he couldn't get close enough, couldn't reach towards her, couldn't let his fingers brush against her skin. Instead he was held back by chains, invisible but real, wreaking of hesitation and cowardice. Hands at his sides, eyes bearing into hers, seeking for shards of the Queen he knew. Nothing, there was nothing, and it dawned on him that even if she was gone, he wouldn't abandon her. The look of foreboding remained on his face, though now he wore a smile, lips twisted upwards thanks to diamond carved loyalty.

"Oh, my Queen." If they had to, they would start anew, because even if the Queen was born again he wouldn't leave her side. If she decided to abandon order and destroy the world, he would stand beside her, and rip apart space and time with her. Or, he paused, would he destroy her, to protect the image his eyes had seen the first time they opened, to protect the order that was embroidered into her name? No, he pushed the thought away, that was preposterous. "So we are just now meeting again? It's been too long." The woman standing three feet away from him may be a new face, but she was still the Queen, his Queen, right?

"Oh, my Queen."

Raindrops spilling from crimson skies to shatter into diamonds, water morphing into beautifully horrific goblins, emerald stars leaping from waterfalls of milk, dust gathering into a whirlwind of unicorns dancing widdershins, a creature with skin of starlight and sapphire -him. The images stumbled over one another, each racing towards the forefront of her mind, demanding attention. The High Queen gasped, her draw of air interrupting the melted sugar of her voice as the places came unbidden to her mind. Her clarity was not to last, however, as her lips melted into a guileless smile and her eyes softened into one of bewilderment.

"So we are just now meeting again? It's been too long," the blue-skinned boy said. He was not one she knew, was he? He danced along the edges of her memory like a familiar song one did not know the name of. Order circled the peculiar creature before her, stepping upon her toes in a soundless, spinning waltz. The boy's voice sounded as if it were supposed to be ordinary, but was not, instead being perfect in ways she could not explain and did not care to think of. It was as if she was a child who would only be willing to play with a toy for as long as it entertained her, which was not for long.

"We have met?" she asked, her gaze following her slim fingers as they trailed their way down the curves of his back. "Trapezius, infraspinatus, teres, latissimus dorsi," she stated the names of each muscle group she touched. The words seemed to have been spoken without thought, as if she were a machine that knew of facts but not of human emotions and was merely doing as a press of a button told her to do. The boy's skin did not feel like skin, rather like water or silk or stone or all and nothing. The minuscule bones of his wings tangled in a complex web of frailty, but somehow, the girl knew they were anything but frail, being capable of carrying more than this creature's weight.

"So perfectly flawed, so gruesome in your beauty. Do your lips curve into a kind smile or is it mischievous?" she echoed the words she'd once spoken before - when time had first begun - when she was whole, when she was the fearsome High Queen. Now the words were a sicking reminiscence of her once-greatness. Praxis' lips were unnaturally soft against her touch as she ran her fingers along his lower lip. His eyes were eerie, two ghosts in the midst of an empty night. Light seeped from his orbs, but she felt that they were dimmed, somewhat, as if he was only half of what he was meant to be.

And she spoke the words that would shatter the world. "Who are you?"

The landscape shifted, warping and evaporating around them as they stood still, until it held none of the serene calm it had moments prior. The trees glowed a threatening neon, scattering the darkness in a mocking semblance of light. Monstrous beasts stalked the woods around them, slithering along the thin branches of the trees. The Queen and her second were mere spots in the world she'd created in her mind.

"Who am I?" she whimpered, her irises a grey like fog and storm as the anxiety threw her rationale disarray. She clutched her breast, as if in doing so she would be able to reach into her chest and clench her beating heart and somehow end the suffocating agony of it all. "Where am I? Why am I here?" she asked and the beasts growled and howled, their limbs creeping forward, closer to the fear and torment they sniffed from the thick air.

"The Quueeeenn," they hissed. "Ssshe'sss awake. Play with usss, Order." Their mutated words were followed by tyrannical cackles. The Queen's eyes darted around in panic as she took a frightened step back, then another and another until she was between the trees. She gave the blue-skinned boy one last glance before she spun around and ran away, deep into the depths of the tangles of her lost mind.

"Where am I?" she whimpered in her sleep, twisting and turning and tangling herself in the sheets before throwing the soft blanket off of the bed. Beads of sweat slipped into her closed eyes, her lashes fluttering as she struggled with whatever it was she was dreaming of. Her face was warped in fear as she clutched the pillows, moaning and ripping at invisible creatures. She was panting, her fear almost palpable in the air.

"Help me, help me," she begged.

The branches slapped against her flesh, tearing at her body and shredding her dress. Her bare feet pounded against the dead leaves of the woods as she looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. Her exhalations could be seen in the air as she panted, shoving aside branches as she fought for escape. The dark creatures behind her chased relentlessly, their vengeful laughs stalking her as they did. It was a game of cat and mouse and she was the latter.


"You should learn to give up, Rorgen," Kiser joked, crushing his Were friend's hand, his grin refusing to falter as his bones did. Thankfully, as did Rorgen's. The Werewolf's fingers snapped and healed at a rapid pace, only to be broken once again.

"You smell like death," Rorgen said. "What happened?"

"Saw a lot of death," the Werelion said, refusing to end the 'handshake.' "Lab 86B was infiltrated by some UFA's." UFA was the way Kiser liked to refer to the Fey and what they should've been called all along: Unidentified Flying Asses. "A dozen of our people died," he said in a voice that was quieter than normal.

“Kiser," Leau said. Her superior raised a thick brow, finally letting go of his friend's hand. "Can you describe what this Fey with a scythe looked like…?”

"If you'd not destroyed your communicator, you would know," he said tersely but answered her question, anyway. "Deceivingly good looking," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Tall. 6'5" or thereabouts. Buff. Creepy." Kiser watched the Fey closely, observing her every fraction of movement and noting the scent of her. He could smell fear from a mile away and she certainly tasted afraid, which was odd, seeing as this was Leau he was sniffing. She'd spit death in the eye if she ever met him. "Why? You know him?"

"Lab 86B was infiltrated by some UFA's. A dozen of our people died,"

Anastasia stopped just behind Leau, feeling startled. She could not believe it, members of IPAF casually talking aloud about organization matters in the middle of the street where anyone could hear! She was about to reprimand Kiser when Leau's soft voice, causing Anastasia to stop beside the small Fey.

Anastasia watched Leau's face pale, she didn't think the Fey's skin could become paler than it already was. Something about Leau's entire being seemed to change to one Anastasia has never seen her like this. Ever.

“If you'd not destroyed your communicator, you would know, deceivingly good looking, tall. 6'5 or thereabouts. Buff. Creepy. Why? You know him?”

Anastasia slipped off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose while letting out a sigh. “This is not an appropriate place to even hint at IPAF related matters,” Anastasia took this moment to look directly in to Kiser's eyes. “And you. Of all people, should know that, so shut it till we are back at headquarters.”

Putting her glasses back on, Anastasia turned to Leau. “However, Kiser has a point, everyone is given a communicator for a reason. If you ever think of destroying another one again while I am talking to you, and I am subjected to the feedback…”

Opening the car door, Anastasia narrowed her eyes at Leau, “Your punishment will be severe. Get in. Now.” She hissed.

Anastasia looked back over her shoulder. “Kiser if you are coming with us, put on a god damn shirt already. While you are at it, move, you are sitting in the back. Do not forget I wish to talk with you when we get back to headquarters, Leau you will be there too.”

Then something occurred to Anastasia, Fey with a scythe...?

“Wait a minute.” She turned to face Leau, and raised an eyebrow. “Fey with a scythe? What are you talk--”

Anastasia replayed the past few minutes, analyzing everything she saw and heard in her mind. Kiser slapping Leau across the back, Kiser walking away from her and Leau, tucking himself in to a corner. Then Kiser walking towards the car, sliding a phone in to his pocket-- Anastasia realized that with this blizzard partially impairing her vision and the winds almost completely blocking out the average human's hearing ability, Anastasia was at a disadvantage. It seems she would always be disadvantaged when it came to Fae, Were-creatures and Vampires. They were physically stronger, with heightened five senses...

“Leau was eavesdropping...” Anastasia said the thought out loud. Whipping around and Anastasia put her hands on either side of the car door. She leaned down and in to the car, until she was nose-to-nose with Kiser. Something in Anastasia's gut told her Kiser was hiding something, from her, and she wanted to know why. She could not contain her anger, all her frustration. Anastasia's face lost any sign of composure, her lips twisting up in to a snarl.

“Of all the people to hide shit from, you choose me? Who was that on the phone Kiser? I thought we were on the same side. While I could care less about you, you do your job well. You show results.” Anastasia reached a hand in to the car, going for Kiser's throat. She wanted to strangle him. “What did you see in that lab? We both know there is something our superiors are not telling anyone. Not even me... And I... I am supposed to be the god damned leader!”

Anastasia felt herself fall and give in to a pent up anger, that had been accumulating since her father's death. “In the past six months I know as much as you do about the IPAF! My superiors talk down to me as if I am some... Some child! Leau is the only one who gave me answers to my questions! And though she looks down on me, I don't give a shit because at least she tells me what I want and need to know! Why the bloody hell do you think I keep her close to me at all cost? Why do you think I care more about her than I do you?” Her hand was so close to Kiser's neck, she could feel the heat from his body against her cold hand. “I'll tell you why! Because she is the only thing that has kept me alive while I am trying to find out what the IPAF superiors are keeping from me! Because I am the only one who can deal with Leau, I am the only one who has control of her!”

Anastasia took a deep breath, she was beginning to feel light headed from yelling so long without stopping. Her throat felt raw, but she wasn't done yet. “I spared her life when I had the upper hand, I made her my guard! She is my property, and if I die so does she! Everyone knows that without me Leau is a loose canon and they would put her down! Leau and I keep each other alive, but what do you do for me Kiser?”

Finally finished Anastasia was left breathing hard and heavy, her hand dropping away from Kiser's throat. “All you do is go shirtless every chance you get and talk about your bedroom.”

Aha! Rorgen smiled as if to say, when Kiser let go of his hand, but victory felt empty and it was hard to feel real joy when there was news of comrades that lay dead. Still, he did not want to disappoint and kept the upward curve on his face -no matter how false it may have looked. His stare slowly lowered to his out-of-shape hand that came to rest on the steering wheel.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle was quiet, almost unusually so even with Leau divulging what she knew, or perhaps Anastasia did not notice this when she reached out and grabbed Kiser's neck.

And maybe it was the loud noise, the uncomfortable amount of people growing around him or the simple fact that the woman had her hands wrapped around Kiser's neck that prompted him to say. "Cut him some slack. He's just seen our friends die and Kiser would never betray you." Especially you, Anastasia.


The man seemed to be holding alot more words back. If it were anyone else wrapping their scrawny fingers around Kiser's neck, he would have done alot more to them too.


Then shortly after, he stopped short for a moment to reaffirm himself, that's right Duty came first. He closed his eyes for a short moment and gripped the vehicle tight, hoping they would realize on their own that they were in Right in the middle of what must have looked like a crime scene to the outside world. More than that, he focused his mind about taking revenge on this scythe-wielding bastard he heard so much about.

"C'mon," He mentioned back in his usual light-hearted tone, trying to ease the mood, "-I can't wait to start a 'killin already." turning the keys to restart the engine. "We can talk more on the way, alrite?"

Leau grimaced as another bone snapped itself into place.

"Ma'am, if I may..." She leaned back against the car again. The pain was fading faster now, and just in time. She loathed the human's vehicles as it was, and she didn't need to get in one with any fractures. She was actually quite surprised that she hadn't punctured her lungs. Coughing up blood was never pleasant. "Kiser... Is not at fault." She gritted her teeth. It shouldn't have been so hard to say those words. She knew that she disliked the man, but she thought she could care less about his situation. Apparently not.

"He told you what he knows, though he obviously omitted a few details. What weapon a Faery uses does not matter to you. Or am I incorrect?" She looked at Anastasia with her usual dead eyes. "In any case, I do know of the Fey. He goes by the name of Capricorn... He's the King's second in command."

Anastasia looked down at Leau, her eyes still held a piercing look about them.

"It is not the weapon that matters to me Leau." She scowled. "It is the fact Kiser was talking to someone about IPAF matters before talking to me. I am the one he is supposed to report to."

Leau met her gaze with flat, glasslike eyes. "To be honest, I'm sure that the entire city knows when the IPAF fails. It's not exactly pretty. And don't kill Kiser, if you may... We... you will probably need him." She shook her head and cracked her neck. Her shoulders and back muscles still ached, but the worst of the pain in her ribs was gone. "I actually have a request. If Capricorn is fighting... it is not my place to make these demands, but we must have more troops, the... Faery artifacts, you humans call them? We need more. And..." She stepped around Anastasia and into the car, looking at the Faery sleeping inside of it, his eyes fluttering beneath their lids as if he was in a dream. "This is the one thing not up for debate, ma'am. We're going to have to keep him. I will take the blame should your superiors find out."

Anastasia stared at Leau in disbelief. "Kill Kiser?"

Anastasia turned away and cleared her throat. "I would not kill a member of my team, Leau. If I did not think I needed him, he would not be here. As for the Artifacts, all I can do is ask, but as to the Fey..." Anastasia glanced towards the back seat. "That I can surely say our superiors will say no to."

Leau's gaze sharpened. "Which is why I cannot tell them. I know of the risks. And I am willing to take them. This is a matter of life and death. The Fey lying here? I feel no kinship with him. I loathe his very being. But I am willing to side with him if it means I will become closer to our goal." she sat in her seat, her young features painting a picture not of a fearless warrior siding with an enemy, but of the stubbornnes of a small human child.

Anastasia grabbed Leau's arm, the one she had shot when the two had first met. "I know you feel no kinship to that Fey, nor anyone for that matter. The risk you are making by keeping him from the IPAF is your life, and will end up being mine as well. What is so important about this Fey Leau? What is it about this Fey that makes you risk everything?"

Anastasia paused, choosing her words carefully. "Lastly, which goal will you become closer to Leau? Ours? Or the Fey's?"

Leau's anger flashed across her face, but she fought it back and merely glared silently at Anastasia for a moment. "Whose goal...? I live for no other goal but my own. And yours happens to be on the same path. This Fey has magic. Magic that your superiors have yet to be able to use. I doubt we would live through any sort of contact with Capricorn or my former master without Fey magic." she grimaced. "Magic which I, of course, have very little of."

Anastasia released Leau's arm, taking a few steps back and looked over the small Fey. "Former master? This is the first I am hearing of this..." She glanced over at Kiser, then a glance at Rorgen, before continuing. "Leau, I think you, Kiser and myself will be having a long discussion in my office... But first, if what you say is true..."

Anastasia withdrew in to her thoughts. There was no chance of them hiding a Fey from their superiors, and she could not see Kiser or Rorgen agreeing to such a order, even from her. Torn between her duty and loyalty to the IPAF and to finding out what the IPAF was not telling her... No, this was one request from Leau that Anastasia couldn't agree to, one slip and all the members associated with her would be at risk.

"Leau... I'm sorry. But you are asking me to risk not only your life and mine, but Kiser's and everyone else associated with us. We can not hide this Fey from the IPAF, the risk is far to great."

Leau said nothing, crossing her arms and sitting back in the seat, looking sharply at Rorgen and Kiser before shaking her head and turning her gaze away. "Understood, Ma'am." She mumbled softly.

"What do you do for me Kiser?”

Well, well. Kiser would admit, Anastasia's fit was rather... Unexpected. Yet, strangely arousing. Leaning back against the car seat, Kiser propped his legs on the dashboard, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb and then pressing them against Anastasia's mouth. "Sorry about my disobedience and all that jazz. It's not like I'm a wild lion or anything," he said, pressing his lips together and failing in his attempt to not grin. "In my defence, I do a lot for you. Satisfying all your sexy needs 24/7," he said with a bark of laughter. God, Ana was fun to mess with.

"Cut him some slack. He's just seen our friends die and Kiser would never betray you," the Werewolf beside him said. Huh, Kiser thought. Coming to my defence? He didn't realise their brotherly bond extended so far; it was cute. "C'mon, I can't wait to start a 'killin already. We can talk more on the way, alrite?"

"God, more killing?" Kiser cracked his knuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "You'd think I'd seen enough death to last an hour." The Werelion lifted his arm, looking at the black and iron laid watch encircling his wrist. "Hour's up. Let's start killin'," he said, beaming at Rorgen. He loved the guy when he wasn't being a moral killjoy.

He stared at the roof of the car as Leau and Anastasia continued to talk and bicker, his long limbs combined with Rorgen's filling much of the vehicle. A certain line stood in contrast. "He goes by the name of Capricorn... He's the King's second in command."

"Wait, king? What king?" Kiser asked, sitting upright and staring intently at Leau. "Great, the Faeries have a monarchy now?"

"Leau... I'm sorry. But you are asking me to risk not only your life and mine, but Kiser's and everyone else associated with us. We can not hide this Fey from the IPAF, the risk is far to great." Hide things from the IPAF? Kiser frowned, wondering what Ana hid for surely, she hid things from them. Say something, Leau.

"Understood, Ma'am." That was it? 'Understood, ma'am?'

"We bett-" he began.

"The mail has been delivered," a familiar voice vibrated from his earpiece.

"Dunkelzahn," he called Zahn by her full name. "You're not dead," he mused. He had to admit, he was impressed. Zahn was difficult and her life could easily be named 'Taming of the Shrew,' okay, minus the taming, but she did her job well. "Great. We won't have lesbian body parts to clean up," he joked. He sucked at jokes. Kiser tapped his earpiece, adding Alistair and Jenson to the call. "Meet us in the IPAF headquarters. Ana's big bad office." Kiser slapped Rorgen's steering wheel, throwing Leau and Anastasia a look. "We're not exactly in the best place to talk."

A hooded figure stood in the shadows, his presence invisible to all.

Minutes later, the group of IPAF operatives stood behind Hotel Pennsylvania. The building loomed overhead, its old structure abnormal in the midst of contemporary, newer buildings; it was one of the few structures that remained untouched after the Technological Revolution of 1914. Kiser felt the bricks of the wall, running his coarse fingers along the bumpy surface. "There," he whispered to himself. He tapped on a brick thrice, the slightly paler, newer colour of it imperceptible unless one knew what to look for.

There was a stillness, followed by a soft ticking as if within the brick was an atomic bomb. The brick shifted backwards with a groan, leaving a scanner in its place. Kiser grinned, pressing his palm to the sleek glass just as two lasers beamed into his forest green eyes. "Authentication successful. Welcome, Kiser Nathaniel Burntwood," a computerised voice said. The scanner turned green before disappearing, the brick that was there taking its place. Kiser grinned at his comrades - he'd never get over IPAF's technology - as a section of the wall in the shape of a door moved backwards into the darkness, revealing an elevator with iron gates in its place. Kiser stepped in.

"Come on, we don't have all day," he said to the IPAF agents.

28.43 seconds was how long it took for the elevator to arrive at the IPAF headquarters deep underground. Agents bustled about, a few robots scattered about, running errands and processing information human, Were and Vampire minds could not. The iron furnishings and structures drenched the headquarters in a metallic scent. Men and women slapped both sides of their chests and then their foreheads in greeting as Anastasia passed them by. It was the worst salute in all of Earth's history, but it appeared IPAF's creator had run out of imagination. Kiser chuckled at the greeting, returning it with a mock salute.


Soft hands grasped her shoulders, a hand caressed her hair, easing the pressure of the ceiling as it pressed down on her mind, tampering her light. She was no longer running and now, instead, the crumpled to the ground, her fingers tangling themselves with the leaves - the pillow. "My name is Praxis Lethe, and you are Raena," the mesmerising creature said. The dream shifted, the beasts evaporating into the depths of her mind, leaving a throne room in its place. A domed roof that seemed to be as high as the clouds was only overshadowed by a throne of glass, crystal and light. Silver sunlight streamed in from the opaque walls, scattering the light and creating a kaleidoscope of colours as it was fractured by the multi-faceted crystals that made the Throne of the High Queen.

"I am here to help you see again."

The strands that made Order's tattered dress began to unwind, replaced by a dress with cloth made of sapphire and amethyst liquid. Her eyes sieved through an endless stream of colours - some of Earth and others of the Faerie Realms - at the speed of light. Her white hair bled into silver as it grew, lengthening till it touched the floors made of crystal and clouds.

"I am your puppet, and you are a hypnotist, the master of all that is just. You only have to breathe in what you had forgotten." A blue shadow began to form before the throne, struggling to seep through her subconscious. Remember.

Raena awoke with a start, nearly smacking her head against Azriel's. She breathed heavily, her eyes darting around the room in search of... Something. She looked at Azriel, her eyes wide as she edged closer to him, pressing one palm to her chest and the other to his. "I dreamed," she whispered. "It was important." But she could not, for the life of her, remember it with any semblance of clarity. All she knew was- "I am Raena. You may refer to me as such, although 'My Queen' is preferred."

The world's creator crawled over Azriel to lean against his back between his legs, oblivious to her change of clothing and the lack of distance between her and the stranger. The Fey were not built to be uncomfortable with closeness and touch. "You will comb my hair," she demanded. Her eyes searched his room; she jumped off his bed without warning, racing towards the end of a blue shirt that was wedged between his closet doors. Raena threw the door open, snatching the shirt off its hanger and pressing it to her chest. Her long, ivory legs was clearly visible through Azriel's shirt as she jumped and ran on the spot. Praxis.

"We must find him," she said frantically, running towards the window and throwing open the curtains. The light stretched towards her, seeping into her skin as if it begging for her loving touch. Raena threw open the window, swing a slim leg over the frame as if to climb out. "We must go."

Elena wasn't paying attention to the couple she'd knocked into - she was focusing instead on her scattered belongings, which was why she jumped violently when the boy bent down to help her. "Sorry, I should have been watching where I was going." Instantly, Elena was remorseful for not apologising to him. "No, it was my fault, I'm sorry," she tried to tell him, but by then he was already picking up her things, his long fingers curling around her notebook in which she scribbled her ideas and placing it inside her bag.

"Oh my god! You're soaked! Here, you've gotta keep warm!" Elena looked up, alarmed. She was about to reject his help, but before she could do so, something warm was draped around her shoulders. Her eyes raked over the boy, taking in his appearance. Tall and handsome, his cheeky smile definitely helped rope in the girls, Elena thought. In an instant, Elena also saw what he'd put over her - his shirt.

In this weather, Elena was sure he shouldn't be bare-chested, even if she was soaking. But it felt so good - warmth from the cold was definitely welcome, and the shirt was nice and warm. "Alright, we have to get you into some dry clothes or you'll freeze! My house is just a few blocks away. You can use my clothes until you're feeling better."

"Wait, what? Hold on a minute - " Before she knew it, Elena's bag was swung on the boy's shoulder, and he had scooped her up into his arms. Gasping, she tried to push him away, but he was holding on tight to her - there was no escape. Elena was, to say the least, shocked - this boy was nicer than she'd given him credit for.

Swaying dangerously above the ground, Elena reached out and grasped his shoulders tightly. The gesture was involuntary, of course - moving at such a speed, suspended above the ground, held up by only the boy's sinewy arms - Elena was terrified. Add to that the shock at the boy's gesture and she probably could have been knocked over by a feather.

Despite the shirt draped around her shoulders, Elena was still freezing. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering. Reaching back, she pulled the shirt closer around her, cherishing its warmth, even if it was only around her shoulders. Her breaths ragged, mist erupted from her lips every time she exhaled. She tried to control her breathing, stop herself from fading out. Hypothermia was dangerous, she knew. What would Alistair say if he found out what had happened?

Finally, the boy reached what Elena could only presume was his house. He pushed open the door and set Elena down. Still shivering, Elena rubbed her frozen hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself. Finally, her teeth stopped chattering enough for her to speak.

"Thank you."





Alistair had been lounging in the study reading a book, when Kiser's voice came through the earpiece. "Meet us in the IPAF headquarters. Ana's big bad office." "Roger that," Alistair replied easily. He sprang out of his chair, surprisingly lithe. As he was already dressed in his trademark blue suit, there was no time wasted on preparation.

After leaving a note for Elena on the dining table, Alistair raced downstairs and hopped into his black Ford Focus and drove straight to the entrance of the headquarters, pausing only to allow the scanner to scan his palm and eyes.

Moments later, he strode into Anastasia's office where the rest of the crew were. "What's happened?" he offered by way of greeting.