Snippet #1566185

"Mr. Vernazza, get down!" Pandora had noticed his assistance, and while she was grateful for it, it also made keeping all her attention on the magical duel between herself and Azazel quite difficult. She managed to deflect two of the four spheres of flame directed at the scientist afterwards, but she didn't even have the time to figure out if he'd survived or not, because her opponent was after her with a vengeance now. Those few summoned shields he did not shatter with force trembled and wavered under the heavy assault, and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer and still be of any use later.

Simply put, he was willing to put more into this than she was, and she did not recognize until it was too late that this would turn out quite as badly for her as it did. She was conjuring protective barriers as quickly, as she could, but he was breaking them even faster, advancing with every successive strike, until there was no time left for her to react. Azazel threw both arms forward, and Pandora was hit with a wall of invisible force that propelled her backwards at least ten feet. Her head slammed into the cobblestones of the road, and a nausea-inducing crack informed her with grim certainty that he'd broken most if not all of her ribs.

Breathing was painful, and red and black spots flickered over her vision, swirling in random phantasmal patterns. The speed of her thoughts slowed to a crawl, blocked out on all sides by the agony spiderwebbing from the back of her head forward, and from her ribcage out. She registered only dimly that the other mage was standing over her, and she knew rather than supposed that he was summoning another crushing burst. It occurred to the healer that she was going to die, and her eyes, clouded with trauma, struggled to focus on the face of the man who was going to kill her. Ironic, perhaps, that she had had professional killers after her for the better part of a year, and in the end, it was going to be someone who wanted the same things she did that would end her.

She may have been naive and stupidly helpful on more than one occasion, but she was not actually an idiot. Pan knew that it was wrong to keep people with the gift excluded from society, just like she knew it was wrong for everyone in Delta to live in the conditions that they did. Unlike these rebels, though, she had always thought that the means to an end were even more important than the end itself. Had that been foolish of her, too? It was certainly the reason she was lying here.

Azazel turned and fired the magic elsewhere, and before she could figure out why this might be, the pressure on her head became too much, and she succumbed to beckoning unconsciousness.

---

The Nexus

Zade was reciting ingredient lists for flammable solutions under her breath as she stood behind Loki's chair in the Parliament building. Not because she was afraid she had forgotten them, but rather due to the fact that she was desperately seeking any method that she might use to keep herself from using said chemicals to immolate half of these people. It was hard to grow up the daughter of a Delta whore and one of these bastards and not have at least some bitterness. She didn't bother trying to reduce it all that much. Individual exceptions were just that- exceptions to the rule.

Actually, Loki hardly ever made her go to Parliament, because the woman knew how much she loathed it. She wondered why today was different. It would have been a simple matter to send her in Carlisle's place and let him deal with this, which was what usually happened. Maybe it was some kind of test; gods knew the Princess was cunning enough to employ such things. Though, honestly, if Zade could guess at the reason, that probably meant whatever she was thinking was not it. Sometimes working for the world's most inscrutable woman was annoying.

The other members of the legislature were slowly filing in, and the former street-rat watched them with hawklike eyes. Unlike other instances she could name, this time she really was trying to look unfriendly, and if at all possible, intimidating. A special level of hatred was reserved for David Gilgamesh, not least because he liked sending people to attempt to kill her. They both knew it, and surely he was aware that she understood that he was responsible, and so seeing him right there and not being able to lift a finger in his direction was a special kind of infuriating.